My own future did not trouble me. I had no one dependent on me, but I suddenly felt strong in what I saw was my bounden duty. I straightened myself up and exclaimed, "No; I'll not give in! I'll fight this matter through, God helping me!"
I must have spoken loudly, and I suppose cheerily, for Patch jumped from his nook beside the fire, looked at me brightly, eagerly, waved his grand tail, and made me think that he had understood my exclamation, approved it, and would gladly aid me.
The bitter wind blew keenly past us, the powdery snow penetrated every crevice in my clothing, my beard was a mass of ice, and I knew that a few minutes more of this terrible cold would be fatal.
Still I could not bring my mind to going into that dismal den again, or to remain there with the body of my friend beside me.
How should I proceed then? I thought hard. If I could only get shelter from this awful blizzard, I believed I could manage to exist until I could plan something. But where was there shelter! I gazed around; there was no bank, no rock, nothing which offered the slightest protection from the furious blasts.
Something must be done, however—to stay where I was meant death. The very fire was being blown away and smothered in the snow-drifts.
Just then the tunnel we had excavated occurred to me. I grasped a glowing firebrand, gathered a bunch of sticks, and rushed to the entrance, Patch excitedly following me. Pushing my way over the obstructions I had placed there as protection from the flooded creek, I entered, passed in a dozen feet, and found this retreat was dry enough, and such a good protection from the wind and snow outside that it felt quite warm. I flung down my fire-stick and soon had a blaze, gladly perceiving that the smoke ascended to the roof and passed out, leaving a clear space below where we could sit or lie without annoyance.
I was so pleased with this arrangement that I made excursions for fuel, and actually went into the shanty for my blankets, more food, a kettle, and a lamp.
And in this retreat Patch and I remained some days, I only venturing out for firewood, of which, most happily, I had a good heap cut.
The storm raged furiously and ceaselessly, the snow fell continuously, it all but closed the entrance to the tunnel; but having a pick and shovel, I was able to keep an opening for air and to let out the smoke.