"I do'no—a hund'ed steps, me'be—me'be half a mile—'twouldn't be fah."
"Tell me what's the matter, Waseche. What's going to happen? And why have you closed up the door?"
"It's the white death," answered the man in an awed tone. "Nothin' won't happen if we stay inside. I've hea'd it spoke of, only I somehow—I neveh believed it befo'. As fo' the robe—hold yo' breath an' peek out through that crack along the aidge. Hold yo' breath, mind—don't breathe that air!"
Connie filled his lungs and drew back the edge of the robe. Instantly his face seemed seared by the points of a million red-hot needles. He scarcely noticed the pain, for he was gazing in awestruck wonder where a thousand suns seemed dancing in the cloudless sky. As upon the previous day, the air was filled with dancing white specks, and the suns glared with a glassy, yellow brightness. They looked wet and shiny, but their light seemed no brighter than the light of a single sun. No blue sky was visible, and the mountain peaks, even the nearer ones, were nowhere to be seen. The whole world seemed enveloped in a thick haze of sickly yellow.
He let go the edge of the robe and drew back from the opening.
"Gee whiz! but it's cold," he exclaimed, rubbing his stinging cheeks. "How cold is it, pardner?" For answer Waseche shifted his position, reached swiftly beneath the bottom of the robe, and withdrew from the outside a small spirit thermometer which he held up for the boy's inspection. It was frozen solid!
CHAPTER X
THE IGLOO IN THE SNOW