CHAPTER XV THE SNOWSTORM
After many weeks journeying in dense woodland country, Frey's wagon was now to cross a range of high mountains. The forest grew lighter, the way was steadily uphill, the wind blew cooler, the trees were more backward. At last they were fairly in the uplands among boulders of rock with here and there a few pines, or a grove of birch. It became like winter again, except for the length of daylight.
There was a rough road by which the mountains were to be passed. They reached it at sunset, and it seemed likely they would have to spend the night upon the top where the snow was still deep. It began to blow fitfully from the east and north, and Gunnar did not like the look of things at all.
"Sweetheart," he said, "we had best shelter hereabouts, for I doubt it is coming on to blow, and we might have snowstorms up above."
"No," said Sigrid, "I feel sure we had best get on. They await us on the further side of the mountain, but a little way down."
"As you will," said Gunnar; "only keep yourself warm inside, and make your curtains as snug as you can."
He had spoken truly. The wind increased, and the powdery snow began flitting in wreaths over the frozen ground. Gunnar put a blanket round Sigrid and drew his coat closer about him. The oxen plodded on without taking notice. But both wind and snow were in their faces, and it was a slow business.
Gunnar kept his eye on the look of the sky. He saw masses of dark cloud behind the mountain range, inky towards the middle, brown at the edges. "There's a mort of snow to come," he said.