A Snow Storm in Humboldt [pp. 539-543]

8 Snow Storm in Htumboldt.
on which end of the arc it would go I
could not tell. It was impossible to discover its weakest point.
I determined to get a hearty lunch
and try for Mr. Carney's again, all the
time praying the tree would hold until I
should be from under it. I only made
coffee and ate bread. I forgot the nice
venison and bacon I had already cooked.
While I was eating I heard a crack. I
stopped, trembled, and listened. Then
came another big crack. I ran to the
door and looked up. I could see nothing, and yet I knew it was the tree. The
suspense was terrible, but did not last
long. I heard it crushing the outer cabin, and instantly the crash came. When
I went to the door I ran directly under
the tree, but I did not stay there. I
ran back to the. fireplace and waited.
Those few minutes seemed a life-time.
The roof smashed in, and once more
I was blinded with the flying snow that
filled the caNin. The tree stopped, resting on the plates and corner posts and
door. Little corner posts, only three by
four. Plates two by four. Once more
I had been miraculously saved. I said
aloud, "Thank God, the tree is down,
and I am safe."
It fell about I P. M. I finished.lunch,
gathered up a few things, carried them
back where they would not get wet, and
started. It is two miles to my nearest
neighbor, and two and a half to Mr. Carney's place. I hoped to reach Mr. Carney's, but did not that night. It was
half past one when I started up the hill.
There were four hours of daylight in
which to make the two miles,- a half
mile an hour. The sun came out as I
started, but soon disappeared in a storm
cloud, which poured snow on my devoted
head, and added another foot under my
feet and legs, already weary and almost
exhausted from my morning struggle.
I'could see the tracks along the trail
up the hill I had broken in the morning,
and I made good time until I lost them.
A temporary lull in the storm showed
me a landmark:, and I knew where I
was. Then followed a long struggle
over bushes from twelve to fifteen feet
high, with from six to ten feet of snow
under me. Sometimes I would miss a
bush, and go down; then I would have.
to pack the snow to get out. Finally I
reached the top of the ridge I was trying for, and found myself on the trail
once more. I did not lose it again. My
only hope was that in the woods I could
make time, as more than half the snow
was on the tree-tops. Although one
tree had broken above my head, and
others were cracking and falling around
me, I was delighted when out of the
first patch of brush, and into the timber.
Then came another mile and a half of
brush up and down hill.
I carried a stick four feet long, and
nowhere in the brush or open country
was the snow less in depth than the
stick. It was heavy, but light enough
to let me in up to my arms. When my
legs were tired out pushing ahead heavy
masses of snow that would refuse to
part and let me through, I would lie
down, lay hold of a bush if possible, and
pull myself along. Sometimes I would
seize the stick with both hands, and
throw myself forward on my knees. I
traveled on hands and knees a good deal,
going down hill, to rest myself. If there
was room I would lie down, and roll
over and over to the foot. Oh, such a
trip as that was!
When I had traveled only one third
the distance, I had consumed more than
one half of the time. On the trail, just
before night, I stopped at a fir-tree,
and filled one pocket with pitch. When
I stopped I was warm. Though I was
wet to the skin from my ankles to the
top of my head, my feet were dry. I
had taken the precaution to tie each up
in a grain sack. Had I made them as
big as old "Nick Cisco's" feet it would
have been all the better. I stopped at
the tree only a few minutes, but when I
drew on my wet gloves and started on