CHAPTER XX
IN THE TOILS OF THE BLIZZARD
Something was tugged and wrenched mighty hard as Jim rode finallyaround the hill, and so out of sight of the meagre little camp hecalled his home, but resolution was strong within him. Up and upthrough the narrow canon, winding tortuously towards the summit, likethe trail of a most prodigious serpent channelled in the snow, thehorse slowly climbed, with Tintoretto, the joyous, busily visiting eachand every portion of the road, behind, before, and at the sides.
What a world of white it was! The wind had increased, and a fewscattered specks of snow that sped before it seemed trying to musterthe force of a storm, from the sky in which the sun was still shining,between huge rents and spaces that separated scudding clouds.
It was not, however, until an hour had gone that the flakes began toswirl in fitful flurries. By then the travellers were making bettertime, and Jim was convinced the blotted sun would soon again assert itsmastery over clouds so abruptly accumulated in the sky. The wind,however, had veered about. It came directly in their faces, causingthe horse to lower his head and the pup to sniff in displeasure.
Little Skeezucks, with his back to the slanting fire of small, hardflakes, nestled in comfort on the big, protecting shoulder, where hefelt secure against all manner of attack.
For two more hours they rode ahead, while the snow came down somewhatthicker.
"It can't last," old Jim said, cheerily, to the child and horse andpup. "Just a blowout. Too fierce and sudden to hold."
Yet, when they came to the great level valley beyond the second rangeof hills, the biting gale appeared to greet them with a fury pent upfor the purpose. Unobstructed it swept across the desert of snow,flinging not only the shotlike particles from the sky, but also theloose, roving drift, as dry as salt, that lay four inches deep upon thesolider snow that floored the plain. And such miles and miles of thefrozen waste were there! The distant mountains looked like hugewindrows of snow wearing away in the rush of the gale.
Confident still it was only a flurry, Jim rode on. The pup by now wastrailing behind, his tail less high, his fuzzy coat beginning to fillwith snow, his eyes so pelted that he sneezed to keep them clear.
The air was cold and piercing as it drove upon them. Jim felt his feetbegin to ache in his hard, leather boots. Beneath his clothing thechill lay thinly against his body, save for the place where littleCarson was strapped to his breast.
"It can't last," the man insisted. "Never yet saw a blusterin' stormthat didn't blow itself to nothin' in a hurry."
But a darkness was flung about them with the thicker snow that flew.Indeed, the flakes were multiplying tremendously. The wind wasbecoming a hurricane. With a roar it rushed across the valley. Theworld of storm suddenly closed in upon them and narrowed down thevisible circle of desolation. Like hurrying troops of incalculableunits, the dots of frozen stuff went sweeping past in a blinding swarm.
The thing had become a blizzard. Jim halted his horse, convinced thatwisdom prompted them to turn their backs upon the fury and flee againto Borealis, to await a calmer day for travelling. A fiercer buffetingof wind puffed from the west, fiercely toothed with shot of snow. Asif in fear unnamable, a gaunt coyote suddenly appeared scurrying onwardbefore the hail and snow, and was quickly gone.
The horse shied violently out of the road. The girth of the saddle wasloosened. With a superhuman effort old Jim remained in his seat, buthe knew he must tighten the cinch. Dismounting, he permitted the horseto face away from the gale. The pup came gladly to the shelter of theminer's boots and clambered stiffly up on his leg, for a word ofcompanionship and comfort.
"All right," said Jim, giving him a pat on the head when the saddle wasonce more secure in its place; "but I reckon we'll turn back homeward,and I'll walk myself, for a spell, to warm me up. It may let up, andif it does we can head for Fremont again without much loss of time."
With the bridle-rein over his shoulder, he led the horse back the waythey had come, his own head low on his breast, to avoid the particlesof snow that searched him out persistently.
They had not plodded homeward far when the miner presently discoveredthey were floundering about in snow-covered brush. He quickly liftedhis head to look about. He could see for a distance of less thantwenty feet in any direction. Mountains, plain--the world ofwhite--had disappeared in the blinding onrush of snow and wind. Achaos of driving particles comprised the universe. And by the token ofthe brush underfoot they had wandered from the road. There had been noattempt on the miner's part to follow any tracks they had left on theirwestward course, for the gale and drift had obliterated every sign,almost as soon as the horse's hoofs had ploughed them in the snow.
Believing that the narrow road across the desolation of the valley layto the right, he forged ahead in that direction. Soon they came uponsmoother walking, which he thought was an indication that the road theysought was underfoot. It was not. He plodded onward for fifteenminutes, however, before he knew he had made a mistake.
The storm was, if possible, more furious. The snow flew thicker; itstung more sharply, and seemed to come from every direction.
"We'll stand right here behind the horse till it quits," he said. "Itcan't keep up a lick like this."
But turning about, in an effort to face the animal away from the worstof the blizzard, he kicked a clump of sage brush arched fairly over byits burden of snow. Instantly a startled rabbit leaped from beneaththe shrub and bounded against the horse's legs, and then away in thestorm. In affright the horse jerked madly backward. The bridle wasbroken. It held for a second, then tore away from the animal's headand fell in a heap in the snow.
"Whoa, boy!--whoa!" said the miner, in a quiet way, but the horse, inhis terror, snorted at the brush and galloped away, to be lost fromsight on the instant.
For a moment the miner, with his bundled little burden in his arms,started in pursuit of the bronco. But even the animal's tracks in thesnow were being already effaced by the sweep of the powdery gale. Theutter futility of searching for anything was harshly thrust upon theminer's senses.
They were lost in that valley of snow, cold, and blizzard.
"We'll have to make a shelter the best we can," he said, "and waithere, maybe half an hour, till the storm has quit."
He kicked the snow from a cluster of sagebrush shrubs, and behind thisflimsy barrier presently crouched, with the shivering pup, and with thesilent little foundling in his arms.
What hours that merciless blizzard raged, no annals of Nevada tell.What struggles the gray old miner made to find his way homeward beforeits wrath, what a fight it was he waged against the elements till nightcame on and the worst of the storm had ceased, could never be known inBorealis.
But early that night the teamster, Lufkins, was startled by theneighing of a horse, and when he came to the stable, there was thehalf-blinded animal on which old Jim and tiny Skeezucks had ridden awayin the morning--the empty saddle still upon his back.
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