I had long since hunted out all our literature and packed it. I went through the remainder of our eatables, finding a few things that my new friends had not received. What more could I do to pass the weary time?
I could not start for four days at any rate, as the weather became terrible—wind, snow, and continual darkness. Not a star or ray of light was visible when I went outside, as I very rarely did, for necessaries only. I can conceive nothing more dismal, nothing more frightful, than this four days' gale. It seemed to me the very forest would be uprooted; the hill shook, inside which I lived. Alone in that awful turmoil was torment. I feared that the whole aspect of the country would be changed, that I should never find my friends again; indeed I fancied it was more than probable that they and their frail habitation must have been swept away.
To live outdoors in such weather, to travel through it, I knew was impossible, and I wondered if any poor folk were journeying, and I pictured their sufferings. I little knew then that there were crowds of people hurrying into this very part—for I was ignorant that the news of these great discoveries of gold had already startled the world, and that all the passes and trails were crowded with folk trying to get in—and most of them what we call "tenderfeet," men, ay, and women too, who had never known privations before, to whom the idea of sleeping out of their comfortable beds had been till recently an event undreamed of. What they must be suffering I could imagine, and what many are suffering now, even during the winter of '98-99, who can tell? although already much improvement has been made.
On the fifth day behold an entirely different state of matters. The wind had dropped; the absolute quietness was painful. I peeped out: the cold was intense, and all nature was deep imbedded in fresh snow. The full moon was shilling brilliantly in the south, and the northern heavens were sown thick with stars, and the sky was cloudless.
Believing that some days of quiet weather were assured, I made ready for a start.
Our load this time was quite light, and we went off gleefully. Patch quite knew where we were going, and made no scruple about his happiness.
Decidedly I was glad to be off, but I had some very grave anxieties. I was impatient to know if my friends had weathered the gale. Having cut a large supply of fuel and carried it in before I left the last time, I knew that May had no need to go outside, and so I thought if the shanty had held together I might find all well.
We soon skimmed up the creek—my dog and I—and camped again in the pine thicket for refreshment. Here I shot two black foxes. They had, I suppose, scented the meat we had with us, for happening to look behind me just before we stopped, I saw them in our track. At first I thought of slipping Patch after them; then I wondered if I left them unnoticed whether they would draw nearer, and come within gunshot; but I soon perceived that they were afraid, although they kept after us, so I gave up hope of getting them.
When we camped we left the laden sleigh out in the open, thirty yards away—I had forgotten the foxes. Patch was in the shelter with me eating; suddenly he stood up alert. Fortunately I took him by the collar instantly, and looking under the branches saw one of the black beauties on the load, tearing at the cover to get at the meat, whilst the other was rooting in the snow close by.
Commanding Patch by gesture to lie still, I raised my gun, and from the rifle-barrel drove a ball through the head of one, and as the other dashed away I bowled it over with buckshot, with which the second barrel was charged.