“I cannot talk.”
“You must—you shall, so as to keep from thinking of our being—oh, help! help! help!”
“Man, man! don’t cry out in that horrible way;” and one shook the other fiercely, till he sobbed out, “Yes; go on. I am a coward; but the thought came upon me, and seemed to crush me.”
“What thought? That we must die?”
“No, no,” groaned the other in his husky voice; “that we are buried alive.”
Once more there was silence, during which the elder and firmer grasped the hand of his brother in adversity. “Yes, yes,” he whispered, “it is horrible to think of; but for our manhood’s sake keep up, lad. We are not children, to be frightened of being in the dark.”
“No; you are right.”
“Here, help me sweep away the snow from under us. No, no. Here is the waterproof sheet. We can drag it out—yes, I can feel the sledges. Let’s drag out those blankets.”
“No, no, don’t stir; you may bring down the snow roof upon our heads. I mean, yes. I’ll try and help you.”
They worked busily for a few minutes, and then knelt together upon what felt like a soft couch.