The first day of the snowstorm Conrad spent in repairing the damage to his wigwam. He thought of his father and his brothers and sisters, and wondered once more, in deep depression, to what goal his wanderings would bring him. At nightfall he ate the last of his food.
It was still dark when he woke in the morning; at least no light came through the chinks of the wigwam or through the opening at the top. Stiff and sore, he turned and slept. When he woke again, he sprang up and went to lift the curtain at the door. To his amazement he looked into darkness. When he thrust out his hand he discovered that it was not night which surrounded him, but a wall of snow, higher than the wigwam.
He was not at first alarmed. He had heard more than one story of imprisonment for days while the great snows fell. The snow was porous, and the wigwams, thus blanketed, were warm. He had, it was true, no food, but he could go without food for a day or two. He was still not thoroughly rested and he would sleep.
He was wakened by what sounded like the report of a gun. His heart failed. Perhaps Quagnant's friends had come back and were prepared to finish the work which they had threatened! Again there came the sharp explosion. Now Conrad remembered the cold nights of the great frost in Gross Anspach when the trees had cracked like pistols. The snow must have ceased to fall and rescue would soon come.
In the morning his mind was not clear. He heard a whistling sound in the top of the wigwam and saw a pale light filtering in. Deep drifts must be forming.
"It will be best to stay here," said he heavily.
As the hours passed he fell into a stupor. The wind died, the light of sunset showed for a few minutes in a yellow haze at the top of the wigwam, and once more through the long night the trees cracked like pistols.
Quagnant and his squaw and their large brood got comfortably through the three days of imprisonment. Quagnant grew mild and peaceable; he told stories to the children and obeyed his wife. But when she ordered him to go and dig Conrad out, he sent several young Indians in his place. The recollection of the flying hatchet disturbed him.
"I will drink no more fire-water," he promised himself solemnly.
Run-as-the-Wind and Turkey Feather and Young Deer all worked diligently with the hoes which they borrowed from their mothers. As they approached the door of the wigwam they cried,—