Sammy was not without fertility of ideas, however; and these to a practical end. It must never be said of him, when the lost party got back to Red Deer Lodge, that he had not done his duty toward his companions.
He saw that the lower branches of some of the big spruce trees swept the snow—indeed, their ends were drifted over in places. Under those trees were shelters that would break both the wind and the snow. He said this to Tess, and she agreed.
“But we must keep a hole open to look out of,” she said. “Otherwise we won’t see the folks when they come hunting for us.”
“Je-ru-sa-lem! If they come along this road while it’s snowing like this lookin’ for us, we’d never see ’em,” muttered the boy.
But he kept this opinion to himself. Vigorous action claimed Sammy Pinkney almost immediately. While Dot “sniffled,” as he called it, on the half-buried sled, Sammy started to dig under the boughs of a tree near at hand.
The wind seemed to be less boisterous here, but the snow was drifting rapidly. Back of the tree the steep hillside rose abruptly, somewhat sheltering the spot.
Sammy burrowed through the drift like a dog seeking a rabbit. He found a way between two branches of the spruce, over which the snow had packed hard at a previous fall. He had to break away fronds of the tough branches to open a hole into the dark interior.
“Come on!” he shouted, half smothered by the snow he was pawing out. “Here’s a hole.”
“Oh, Sammy! suppose there should be something in there?” gasped Tess, her lips close to his ear.
At this suggestion Master Sammy drew back with some precipitation.