The snow continued all of that day and far into the night. Then the wind arose, sweeping great drifts of white across the landscape. The expedition was under the shelter of a cliff and some trees, and was snowed in beyond a doubt.
“Snowbound!” cried Sam Barringford, grimly. “Here we be an’ here we are likely to stay fer some time to come.”
“We are certainly shut in pretty well,” returned Joseph Morris. “At the best, we’ll have to dig our way out.”
“The hosses could never git through on the trail,” put in one of the frontiersmen. “It would be cruelty to try it. Why, the snow must be ten an’ twelve feet deep in some o’ the hollows.”
“And we’d lose our way,” said another. “Might as well stay where we are and be comfortable until it clears a bit.” He was troubled with soreness of the feet, and found traveling very hard.
“We can’t stay here very long,” said Joseph Morris. “We have lost so much time our provisions are running low.”
The matter was discussed for an hour, and they decided to remain in the camp and make themselves as comfortable as possible. The snow was banked up for shelter, and pine boughs cut for couches, and a roaring fire was kept going all the while.
“It’s a pity we must stay here,” sighed Dave. “I think if we could reach the post in such weather as this we would take Jean Bevoir and his crowd completely by surprise.”
“I think so myself,” replied Henry. “But we must be patient, and take matters as they come.”