“‘I think you’re a good weather-prophet,’ Brother Cedric said as he threw more twisted straw on the fire. We don’t use wood on the prairie, you know, because there isn’t any wood to use. In the late fall, when there is little farm work to be done, we spend hours twisting straw into hard knots, and this we store away for winter use.
“‘Well,’ I said as cheerfully as I could, ‘if the blizzard is coming, we’ll have to let it. We’ll be snug enough in here. I have heaps of potatoes back of the stove and there’s plenty of twisted straw.’
“Then I asked Cedric to light the lanterns that were hanging from the rafters overhead. Basil sliced the meat and soon I had supper cooking. It was growing colder every minute, and before we had finished, we heard a mournful sound in the distance, which made me shudder, though the room was warm.
“In another moment a blast of wind shook the house, and though it was still late afternoon, it suddenly grew very dark. We heard the cattle bellowing with fright above the shrieking of the oncoming storm. For hours it raged and though we could not see it, we knew that the snow was falling heavily.
“‘Hang a lantern in the window,’ I said to Basil. ‘If any one happens to be out in this storm, he may be able to find his way to our house.’
“Cedric shook his head. ‘If there’s any one out in this blizzard,’ he said, ‘heaven help him, for mere man could not.’
“Now, it was right at this moment that I was sure that I heard a voice calling. ‘What was that?’ I asked, listening intently.
“‘Nothing but the wind,’ Basil replied. There was indeed something almost human about the shrieking of the wind, but I was not satisfied.
“I put my ear to the crack of the door and listened. Then I beckoned to Basil and said, ‘I am sure that I hear some one calling for help.’
“My younger brother was convinced that he, too, heard, and without saying a word, he put on his greatcoat and started for the door.