“It is the dog’s master, Bel,” whispered Dallas, springing to the door and beginning to unfasten it, just as the dog raised his head and whined dismally.
The disposition was there to help, and as soon as he could get the door open, Dallas dashed out into the whirling snow, which rushed in blinding eddies about the hut, while Abel, awestricken and panting, clung to the post and tried to pierce the black darkness.
“It is madness. It means death,” he groaned to himself.
Even as the thought crossed his mind Dallas staggered back, to stand panting and wiping the snow from his eyes.
Then he dashed out again, but was beaten back breathless and exhausted.
Again he tried, for Abel had not the heart to stay him, and a good ten minutes elapsed—minutes of anxiety to the watcher, which seemed like hours—before his companion was literally driven in again, to fall completely exhausted upon the floor.
“I can’t do it, Bel,” he said at last feebly. “I never thought the wind and snow could be like this. It’s death to go out there, and I felt that I should never get back again.”
He struggled to his feet once more and made for the door, but Abel seized him by the arm and tried to shut out the blinding snow, which had given the interior of the hut the appearance of winter, and after a hard struggle the door was closed.
“Bel, that biggest tree at the side is split right down, and half has fallen this way,” said Dallas breathlessly. “It must have been that we heard. I fell over it as I tried to find the door.”
“You shall not go again,” said Abel.