Suddenly the wind seemed to increase.
“Ah,” said he, “now I know where we are; it’s one mile more.” But one mile, you must remember, meant seven.
Lars checked the horse, and peered anxiously from side to side in the darkness. I looked also, but could see nothing.
“What is the matter?” I finally asked.
“We have got past the hills on the left,” he said. “The country is open to the wind, and here the snow drifts worse than anywhere else on the road. If there have been no snow ploughs out to-night, we shall have trouble.”
You must know that the farmers along the road are obliged to turn out with their horses and oxen, and plough down the drifts, whenever the road is blocked up by a storm.
In less than a quarter of an hour we could see that the horse was sinking in the deep snow. He plunged bravely forward, but made scarcely any headway, and presently became so exhausted that he stood quite still.
Lars and I stood up and looked around. In a few minutes the horse started again, and with great labor carried us a few yards farther.
“Shall we get out and try to find the road?” said I.
“It’s no use,” Lars answered. “In these new drifts we would sink to the waist. Wait a little, and we shall get through this one.”