“Je-ru-sa-lem!” muttered the startled Sammy, “I guess it did snow some. How are we ever going to dig out of here?”
There was a slab of wood standing beside the opening, leaning against the rock. Sammy seized this and began to dig desperately at the snow.
So interested did he become in digging through the bank that filled the cave entrance that he did not pay much attention to where he flung the snow behind him. He was still digging like a woodchuck when Rowdy’s voice reached him:
“What are you trying to do? Going to fill this cave with snow?”
“Say!” said Sammy, “it’s getting-up time. And there’s an awful lot of snow here. I guess we’re buried alive, that’s what I guess!”
Just then Rafe coughed again, and his brother hopped up and went to him.
“Don’t scatter that snow all about, Sammy,” he commanded. Then to Rafe: “What’s the matter, Rafe, dear? Don’t you feel any better?”
“I’m—I’m chilly,” chattered the boy with the cough.
“I’ll cover you up better,” said Rowdy, getting his own blanket. “And we’ll have more fire and some breakfast. Are you hungry, Rafe?”
“I’m thirsty,” said Rafe, rather whiningly. “I want some—some coffee.”