"The cabin's empty," he called presently.
"Any stove and fuel?" Pod asked.
"Yep," answered Coonskin, "and a hay tick, and-waow-w-w-w!!!—!—!—!—!—spook! Scat you!—and a gol blasted cat," he added. "Folks must've left just before the storm." Then to the dog he called, "Here, Don, sick'em—cats!" and Don sicked.
My elated master next ordered Skates to slide down that chute to the cabin, and she shooted. He hinted that Coxey and I would follow, but I wasn't so sure. Judging from Coonskin's experiment, it looked too swift for my blood. But when I witnessed Skates safely descend and heard Coxey's whisper, "Come on, Mac, show your nerve," I was bound to stay with it and follow suit.
We donks no sooner reached the door than Pod began to unpack us. It was no go. Knots and buckles, everything was frozen stiff; my saddle felt glued to my back.
"We must fire up, and thaw them out," said Pod, and he led us in doors. Coonskin converted some shelves into kindling, and soon the little stove was roaring like a coke oven. When we began to thaw, one by one the ropes and straps were unhitched, or cut, until we were all relieved of our burdens—and part of our avoirdupois.
Although the men had tramped almost all the way from Carson in order to spare us, our wrenching and twisting in climbing the slippery summits had loosened our saddles, which rubbed into our shoulders until we were badly galled. Our proud flesh had frozen to the icy blankets, and when Pod, while near the stove saw our conditions great tears melted in his eyes, and he rubbed my frosted nose, I suppose expecting me to purr. We got thawed out by three in the morning.
That small apartment depicted a busy scene. We donks were so cramped that we couldn't turn if we had tried. While Coonskin dried the bedding, the Prof found in the luggage a box of tar, and gave us a good plastering. Then he put us in the other room,—it was a two-room house,—and fed us the hay tick, and a wooden soap box for dessert, and bade us good-night.
I heard Coonskin mention something about supper, but Pod told him all the grub was cachéd in the snow over the summit and that Damfino carried the keys; there was, however, a possible chance of getting a bite later if he would go back for the supplies. Soon after I heard both men snoring.
As I recall the circumstance, I don't see how we three donks stood it, cramped up in that small room, eight long hours before the men got up. First we ate the hay tick; the hay went fast enough, but it took time to chew the tick. Then we gnawed soap box until dawn. The latter was savory, but rather tough, and had to be eaten slowly on account of the bones—nails, Pod called them—which would get into our teeth. Coxey happened to swallow one, and said he wouldn't lie down for a week for fear of puncturing himself. Every time one of us gnawed on the box Don barked, taking it to be mice. He lay under Coxey with one eye open, ready to vacate at a second's warning, for that donk pretended he was going to lie down every moment.