IN THE GRIP OF THE TORNADO
In the morning all thoughts of moving had to be abandoned. It was
snowing furiously and the wind was sweeping around them in a perfect
gale.
"We're snowbound," said Jack Wumble, after a look around. "Winter this
year has come on putty quick."
It was a dismaying state of affairs and Sam and Dick looked at each
other questioningly. What was to be done?
Tom was no better nor was he worse. He lay where they had placed him,
close to the fire, and took such nourishment as was given to him. At
times he appeared quite rational, but once in a while he asked some
question that showed he was not altogether in his right mind.
"We could stay here for some time if it wasn't for one thing," remarked
Dick. "We have got to have food."
"Just what I was thinking," returned Sam. "As it is, we haven't enough
to last us for more than a week at the most."
"If there was a river anywhere near I'd try my hand at fishin'," said
the old miner. "Ye kin get plenty o' fish in Alaska, even if ye have
to fish through a hole in the ice fer 'em."
The cold was so intense that the boys were glad enough to stir around
in the snow and wind to keep warm. They cut a big pile of firewood and
piled the brushwood thickly around the shelter, taking care, however,
to keep it from the campfire.
The day went slowly by. At nightfall the snow stopped coming down, but
the wind blew as before and if anything it was colder.
"Nothing but ice from now on," announced Jack Wumble, and he was right,
by morning everything was frozen up, "as stiff as a stake," as Sam
expressed it. The day before they had caught some water dripping from
the rocks, for drinking purposes, now they had to melt the ice over the
fire to get the liquid.
But the sun was shining brightly and that raised their spirits.
"Don't you suppose, if we made a drag for Tom, that we could get back
to Dawson somehow?" questioned Sam, after all had been outside to look
at the sky.
"Well, we kin try it, if ye say so," answered Jack Wumble. "It sure
ain't no fun stayin' here, with no more grub showin' itself. If I
could only shoot a wildcat fer the meat I'd feel better."
With so much brushwood at hand it was an easy matter to construct a
rude sled-like drag for poor Tom. To make it more comfortable they
heaped on it some tundra moss which they found growing on one of the
wind-swept stretches nearby.
"Where are you going to take me?" demanded the sufferer, when told that
they were going to leave the place.
"We are going to take you to a safe shelter, Tom, and then home,"
answered Dick.
"Home! That sounds good!" murmured Tom. "I'll be glad to get there
and rest!" and he gave a long-drawn sigh.
The start was made by ten o'clock, Tom being warmly wrapped in
blankets, and all the traps being piled on the drag in front and behind
him. A rope had been tied fast in front and on this Wumble and Dick
pulled, while Sam had hold of the drag itself, to pull and to steer.
It was still bitter cold and many times on the way those hauling the
drag stopped, to make sure that Tom was comfortable and in no danger of
getting his nose or his ears frostbitten. Fortunately the route was
largely down hill, so pulling the long drag was not such a hardship as
it otherwise might have been.
At noon they stopped in a small hollow, sheltered from the wind, and
made themselves a hot pot of coffee, and ate a frugal lunch. Tom sat
up for a few minutes and the others were glad to see that the journey
had done him no harm, either physically or mentally.
By the middle of the afternoon it was snowing again and they had all
they could do to keep to the trail. The old miner shook his head
dubiously.
"Reckon as how we're up against it," was his comment. "If it gits much
wuss we'll have to look fer another shelter, boys."
The wind had let up during the middle of the day, but now it commenced
to blow with a suddenness that was alarming. It sent the whirling snow
into their faces with pitiless fury and almost blinded them, while they
breathed with difficulty.
"Got to git out o' this, an' mighty quick too!" gasped Jack Wumble.
"Which way shall we turn, Jack?" questioned Dick. "I can't see at all."
"I think thar's a woods below--let's strike fer that, lad. It will
mean shelter an' firewood, at least."
They hurried on, pulling the long drag after them. They were in a
valley and suddenly they came to a broad patch of ice and Sam went
sprawling on his back. His brother helped him to arise, and onward
they went once more, but with added caution.
"This must be a lake," said Dick, as, after traveling for some time,
they found the ice still under their feet. "Or else a river."
"Can it be safe?" asked Sam. "Why, it wasn't frozen over four days
ago!"
"We'll be careful," cried Wumble. "Even if it is hard enough, there
may be airholes around."
The situation seemed to grow steadily worse. The wind blew so hard
that at times they were fairly carried along by it. The snow cut off
the view from all sides, so they could not determine in what direction
they were traveling.
"Here's something ahead!" cried Wumble presently. "A hut--a miner's
hut!"
"Let's get inside, just as quickly as we can," returned Sam, his teeth
chattering. "I'm mo--most frozen stiff!"
The hut was on a small bank, evidently on the shore of the lake, or
river, on which they had been traveling. It was closed up tightly, and
a pounding on the door brought no response.
"Nobuddy home, I reckon," said Jack Wumble. "Well, here goes to git
in," and he pushed on the door.
It was not locked and swung inward, revealing a single room, about
twelve feet square and lit up by one small window. Opposite the door
was a fireplace, partly filled with cold ashes. On a shelf and on a
rude table rested some cooking utensils, and to one side of the hut was
a bunk containing some pine tree boughs and several old blankets.
"Hello!" cried Dick. "Anybody in here?"
There was no answer, and a quick look around convinced them that nobody
had been in the place for several days if not weeks. Yet on a shelf in
a rude locker were a number of stores--beans, coffee, a side of bacon,
and several other things.
"Let us start a fire, first thing, and get thawed out," suggested Sam,
and this was done, the boys finding plenty of wood piled up behind the
hut. They had already brought Tom in from the drag and placed him in
the bunk, and now they closed the door.
"In this awful blow, we'll have to watch that fire carefully," warned
Wumble. "Ef we don't, we may burn down the shebang over our heads."
The blaze soon warmed them all up and even Tom said he felt better.
The boys looked over the stores in the cabin with interest.
"What about touching these?" said Dick to the old miner. "Have we any
right to do it? Of course we'd pay for the things."
"We won't touch 'em unless we have to, Dick. It ain't a question o'
pay in sech a spot as this. The owner may be comin' back 'and
dependin' on 'em. A man as wants grub won't part with it fer no amount
o' gold. Why, I've seen the time, in camp in winter, when a feller
wouldn't sell a quart o' plain beans fer a hundred dollars o' dust!"
"Yes, I know that. All right, we'll leave the things alone." And Dick
sighed. How good an old fashion home dinner would have tasted to all
of them just then!
The wind continued to howl, occasionally rocking the hut in a fashion
that alarmed them. Sam asked the old miner if there was any danger of
it being tipped over.
"There is allers danger when the wind gits too high," was the reply.
Presently the sparks commenced to blow out into the room and the wind
outside grew wilder and wilder. They stamped out the fire and sat
huddled together in the darkness, Tom with the rest, for he was now a
little stronger and did not want to remain alone.
And then came a shock as paralyzing as it was appalling. The hut
seemed to be lifted into the air and whirled around. Then came a
crash, and the structure fell over on the ice and snow of the river, or
lake, below. The boys tumbled in a heap, with Jack Wumble on top of
them. Before they could get up, all felt themselves moving swiftly
along in a wind that was blowing little short of a tornado. All was
pitch black around them and to get up, or to do anything, was totally
out of the question. Sam started to ask Dick a question, when
something hit him on the head, and he fell back unconscious.