The second day after they had gone it began snowing, and for three long and weary days the snow continued to fall thick and fast.  It blocked the door-way and covered the dug-out to the depth of several feet, so that I became a snowbound prisoner.  My wood was mostly under the snow, and it was with great difficulty that I could get enough to start a fire with.  My prospects were gloomy indeed.  I had just faced death at the hands of the Indians, and now I was in danger of losing my life from starvation and cold.  I knew that the heavy snow would surely delay Harrington on his return; and I feared that he might have perished in the storm, or that some other accident might have befallen him.  Perhaps some wandering band of Indians had run across him and killed him.

I was continually thinking of all these possibilities, and I must say that my outlook seemed desperate.  At last the twentieth day arrived—­the day on which Harrington was to return—­and I counted the tours from morning till night, but the day passed away with no signs of Harrington.  The wolves made the night hideous with their howls; they gathered around the dug-out; ran over the roof; and pawed and scratched as if trying to get in.

Several days and nights thus wore away, the monotony all the time becoming greater, until at last it became almost unendurable.  Some days I would go without any fire at all, and eat raw frozen meat and melt snow in my mouth for water.  I became almost convinced that Harrington had been caught in the storm and had been buried under the snow, or was lost.  Many a time during that dreary period of uncertainty, I made up my mind that if I ever got out of that place alive, I would abandon the plains and the life of a trapper forever.  I had nearly given up all hopes of leaving the dug-out alive.

It was on the twenty-ninth day, while I was lying thus despondently thinking and wondering, that I heard the cheerful sound of Harrington’s voice as he came slowly up the creek, yelling, “whoa! haw!” to his cattle.  A criminal on the scaffold, with the noose around his neck, the trap about to be sprung, and receiving a pardon just at the last moment, thus giving him a new lease of life, could not have been more grateful than I was at that time.  It was useless for me to try to force the door open, as the snow had completely blockaded it, and I therefore anxiously awaited Harrington’s arrival.

“Hello!  Billy!” he sang out in a loud voice as he came up, he evidently being uncertain as to my being alive.

“All right, Dave,” was my reply.

“Well, old boy, you’re alive, are you?” said he.

“Yes; and that’s about all.  I’ve had a tough siege of it since you’ve been away, and I came pretty nearly passing in my chips.  I began to think you never would get here, as I was afraid you had been snowed under,” said I.

He soon cleared away the snow from the entrance, and opening the door he came in.  I don’t think there ever was a more welcome visitor than he was.  I remember that I was so glad to see him that I put my arms around his neck and hugged him for five minutes; never shall I forget faithful Dave Harrington.