"Injun shovel off snow one time more. Roof heem sag some," Lucky whispered back.
Reaching up with his hand Bob could tell that the roof was indeed sagging.
"Let me go this time," he said.
"Non, Injun no mind eet."
Bob was asleep when the Indian returned and did not hear him. Some time later he dreamed that he was lying at the foot of a high precipice. Overhead, jutting out from the top of the cliff, hung a volume of snow which he knew was about to fall on him. And yet he was unable to move try as he might. He could see the immense mass, slowly slipping at first, and then gathering speed as it approached. He wondered why it did not fall more rapidly. It seemed to take a fearful long time getting down, but, finally it was just above his head and he closed his eyes as he realized that he would be buried in another instant. Then it struck.
"What the Sam Hill!" he heard some one say in tones which sounded far off.
"Roof heem fall in," another voice answered.
Realizing at last that he was awake and that his dream had, in a measure, come true almost before it was over, he began to paw his way out. But the others were also pawing and soon they were all tangled up in a mass of canvas and snow.
"Wait till I get my bearings, you fellows," he shouted.
"Get 'em quick then or I'll suffocate," Jack gasped.