Through the low pine-lands to the right ran a road which was very thoroughly protected from drifting snow by the overhanging trees, and along this road there now appeared two pair of oxen. In front of the oxen were five men armed with wooden snow-shovels, with which they beat down and scattered the snow. Behind all was a small, square box on runners. It was very small and contained only one board seat. Three persons could sit and three stand in it: no more.
Upon the appearance of this squad of road-breakers with their team, three hearty cheers went up from the train. They were immediately answered by the approach of the apparent leader of the expedition. He was a small, active, spare old fellow, so incrusted with frozen snow, which hung all over him in tiny white pellets, as to resemble more an active, but rather diminutive white bear, than anything else known to Natural History. He scrambled and puffed through the snow till he found a mounting-place upon an unseen fence, when he arose two or three feet above the surrounding surface, and spoke,—
"There's five on us, an' two yoke."
A pause.
"Two yoke yender, an' five on us."
"Well! supposing there is?" from the train.
"Five mile to town," continued the White Bear, "an' been sence nine this mornin' gittin' here. Five times five is twenty-five, but, seein' it's you, I'll call it twelve 'n' 'arf."
"Call what 'twelve 'n' 'arf,' Sheep-Shanks?" from the train.
"That man don't ride, nohow! I've marked him! I don't cal'late to take no sarse this trip! Take any six or eight for twelve dollars an' fifty cents right straight to the tahvern! Who bids?"
"I'll give you fifteen dollars, my friend, to take myself, my wife, and three children to the village."