“How are we going to see out?” asked Hamp.
For answer, Jerry took an ax and chopped a small, oblong hole in the front wall of the cabin, at the height of five feet from the ground. The boys crowded in front of it and looked out.
To say that they were astonished and alarmed, would but feebly express their feelings. The snow was level with the hole, and lay to the depth of five feet all through the ravine. The air was white with swirling flakes, and the lofty trees to right and left were creaking and groaning in the teeth of a tremendous gale.
Fortunately the storm was blowing from the northeast, and thus the cabin was effectively screened by the upper bank of the ravine. Had it been exposed, even partially, to the gale, it would have been demolished long ago.
Jerry stuffed an old coat into the hole to shut out the bitterly cold air that filtered through.
“This is a pretty ugly fix,” he said, gravely. “I hope the storm won’t keep up.”
“We’re snug enough in here, at any rate,” replied Hamp.
“And we can stand a long siege,” added Brick, who was disposed to be cheerful. To him, a snowstorm suggested only the pleasing excitement of winter sports.
“We are all right as long as the wind don’t change,” responded Jerry, “but if it does—then good-by to the cabin. The snow itself is not as deep as it looks. The wind blowing over the bank makes a sort of an eddy behind it, and all this snow in the ravine has drifted. It will keep on drifting, too—higher and higher.”
“We’ll find a way to pull through,” said Hamp, confidently. “I don’t believe the wind is going to change.”