To keep the beds off the wet earth, two rows of short posts were driven along the sides in the tent, and poles were laid across the tops, thus forming racks to support the pine boughs upon which the beds should be made.  While this was being done, Elitha, Leanna, and Mrs. Wolfinger were bringing poles and brush with which to strengthen and sheath the tent walls against wind and weather.  Even Sister Frances looked tall and helpful as she trudged by with her little loads.

The combination of tent and hut was designed for my father and family and Mrs. Wolfinger.  The teamsters, Samuel Shoemaker, Joseph Rhinehart, James Smith, and John Baptiste, built their hut in Indian wigwam fashion.  Not far from us, across the stream, braced against a log, was reared a mixed structure of brush and tent for use of Uncle Jacob, Aunt Betsy, and William and Solomon Hook (Aunt Betsy’s sons by a former husband), and their five small children, George, Mary, Isaac, Lewis, and Samuel Donner.

Before we two could leave our perch, the snow was falling faster and in larger flakes.  It made pictures for Georgia and me upon the branches of big and little trees; it gathered in a ridge beside us upon the log; it nestled in piles upon our buffalo robe; and by the time our quarters were finished, it was veiling Uncle Jacob’s from view.  Everything within was cold, damp, and dreary, until our tired mother and elder sisters built the fire, prepared our supper, and sent us to bed, each with a lump of loaf sugar as comforter.

[Footnote 3:  Thornton.]

CHAPTER VII

SNOWBOUND—­SCARCITY OF FOOD AT BOTH CAMPS—­WATCHING FOR RETURN OF M’CUTCHEN AND REED.

When we awoke the following morning, little heaps of snow lay here and there upon the floor.  No threshold could be seen, only a snow-bank reaching up to the white plain beyond, where every sound was muffled, and every object was blurred by falling flakes.

Father’s face was very grave.  His morning caress had all its wonted tenderness, but the merry twinkle was gone from his eye, and the gladsome note from his voice.  For eight consecutive days, the fatal snow fell with but few short intermissions.  Eight days, in which there was nothing to break the monotony of torturing, inactive endurance, except the necessity of gathering wood, keeping the fires, and cutting anew the steps which led upward, as the snow increased in depth.  Hope well-nigh died within us.

All in camp fared alike, and all were on short rations.  Three of our men became dispirited, said that they were too weak and hungry to gather wood, and did not care how soon death should put an end to their miseries.

The out-of-door duties would have fallen wholly upon my Aunt Betsy’s two sons and on John Baptiste and on my crippled father, had the women lost their fortitude.  They, however, hid their fears from their children, even from each other, and helped to gather fuel, hunt cattle, and keep camp.