CHAPTER XXVI
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.