Rod shoveled the snow into a corner and replaced the barricade while his companions dressed.

“This means a week’s work digging out traps,” declared Wabi.  “And only Mukoki’s Great Spirit, who sends all blessings to this country, knows when the blizzard is going to stop.  It may last a week.  There is no chance of finding our waterfall in this.”

“We can play dominoes,” suggested Rod cheerfully.  “You remember we haven’t finished that series we began at the Post.  But you don’t expect me to believe that it snowed enough yesterday afternoon and last night to cover this cabin, do you?”

“It didn’t exactly snow enough to cover it,” explained his comrade.  “But we’re covered for all of that.  The cabin is on the edge of an open, and of course the snow just naturally drifts around us, blown there by the wind.  If this blizzard keeps up we shall be under a small mountain by night.”

“Won’t it—­smother us?” faltered Rod.

Wabi gave a joyous whoop of merriment at the city-bred youth’s half-expressed fear and a volley of Mukoki’s chuckles came from where he was slicing moose-steak on the table.

“Snow mighty nice thing live under,” he asserted with emphasis.

“If you were under a mountain of snow you could live, if you weren’t crushed to death,” said Wabi.  “Snow is filled with air.  Mukoki was caught under a snow-slide once and was buried under thirty feet for ten hours.  He had made a nest about as big as a barrel and was nice and comfortable when we dug him out.  We won’t have to burn much wood to keep warm now.”

After breakfast the boys again lowered the barricade at the window and Wabi began to bring small avalanches of snow down into the cabin with his shovel.  At the third or fourth upward thrust a huge mass plunged through the window, burying them to the waist, and when they looked out they could see the light of day and the whirling blizzard above their heads.

“It’s up to the roof,” gasped Rod.  “Great Scott, what a snow-storm!”

“Now for some fun!” cried the Indian youth.  “Come on, Rod, if you want to be in it.”

He crawled through the window into the cavity he had made in the drift, and Rod followed.  Wabi waited, a mischievous smile on his face, and no sooner had his companion joined him than he plunged his shovel deep into the base of the drift.  Half a dozen quick thrusts and there tumbled down upon their heads a mass of light snow that for a few moments completely buried them.  The suddenness of it knocked Rod to his knees, where he floundered, gasped and made a vain effort to yell.  Struggling like a fish he first kicked his feet free, and Wabi, who had thrust out his head and shoulders, shrieked with laughter as he saw only Rod’s boots sticking out of the snow.

“You’re going the wrong way, Rod!” he shouted.  “Wow—­wow!”

He seized his companion’s legs and helped to drag him out, and then stood shaking, the tears streaming down his face, and continued to laugh until he leaned back in the drift, half exhausted.  Rod was a curious and ludicrous-looking object.  His eyes were wide and blinking; the snow was in his ears, his mouth, and in his floundering he had packed his coat collar full of it.  Slowly he recovered from his astonishment, saw Wabi and Mukoki quivering with laughter, grinned—­and then joined them in their merriment.