"Hello! Who is this?" came the query from Sharon.
"I am Robert Felton. Tell Jim Worthy or George Long that we are snowed in at Parsons, without provisions for more than a few days, and tell them to come in a hurry—the trail is from five to twenty feet deep in snow."
"Who do you mean by we—all of the Parson's crowd?"
Then another question was put.
"My wife is with me—we are alone—the Parson's outfit left the night the storm began."
"All right. Keep a stiff upper lip. There'll be help coming," called the operator, and the bell rung ending the conversation.
Felton could not speak. He sat dumbly waiting, while Catherine chattered to him of commonplace things to win him back to his ordinary frame of mind.
Soon the telephone bell rang again, and this time friendly, well known voices gave messages of hope and good cheer. It was rumored that the men from Parson's camp were on the way—but so far they had not arrived. Men and horses amply supplied with tools, with provisions, with everything needful, would leave the valley at once for the work of rescue.
"But how long can you hold out?" at last broke in one of the heartsome, friendly voices.
"It may take us ten or even twenty days to shovel through to you—can you stand such a siege?"