And such miles and miles of the
frozen waste were there! The distant mountains looked like huge
windrows of snow wearing away in the rush of the gale.
Confident still it was only a flurry, Jim rode on. The pup by now was
trailing behind, his tail less high, his fuzzy coat beginning to fill
with snow, his eyes so pelted that he sneezed to keep them clear.
The air was cold and piercing as it drove upon them. Jim felt his feet
begin to ache in his hard, leather boots. Beneath his clothing the
chill lay thinly against his body, save for the place where little
Carson was strapped to his breast.
"It can't last," the man insisted. "Never yet saw a blusterin' storm
that didn't blow itself to nothin' in a hurry."
But a darkness was flung about them with the thicker snow that flew.
Indeed, the flakes were multiplying tremendously. The wind was
becoming a hurricane. With a roar it rushed across the valley. The
world of storm suddenly closed in upon them and narrowed down the
visible circle of desolation. Like hurrying troops of incalculable
units, the dots of frozen stuff went sweeping past in a blinding swarm.
The thing had become a blizzard. Jim halted his horse, convinced that
wisdom prompted them to turn their backs upon the fury and flee again
to Borealis, to await a calmer day for travelling.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189