Then we all sat around the stove on the warm robes and listened to the wind howling above our little roof and the stories of Uncle Eb.  The hissing of the snow as it beat upon the sledgehouse grew fainter by and by, and Uncle Eb said he guessed we were pretty well covered up.  We fell asleep soon.  I remember he stopped in the middle of a wolf story, and, seeing that our eyes were shut, pulled us back from the fire a little and covered us with one of the robes.  It had been a mighty struggle between Sleep and Romance, and Sleep had won.  I roused myself and begged him to go on with the story, but he only said, ‘Hush, boy; it’s bedtime,’ and turned up the lantern and went out of doors.  I woke once or twice in the night and saw him putting wood on the fire.  He had put out the light.  The gleam of the fire shone on his face when he opened the stove door.

‘Gittin’ a leetle cool here, Uncle Eb,’ he was saying to himself.

We were up at daylight, and even then it was snowing and blowing fiercely.  There were two feet of snow on the sledgehouse roof, and we were nearly buried in the bank.  Uncle Eb had to do a lot of shoveling to get out of doors and into the stable.  Old Doctor was quite out of the wind in a cave of snow and nickering for his breakfast.  There was plenty for him, but we were on short rations.  Uncle Eb put on the snow shoes, after we had eaten what there was left, and, cautioning us to keep in, set out for Fadden’s across lots.  He came back inside of an hour with a good supply of provisions in a basket on his shoulder.  The wind had gone down and the air was milder.  Big flakes of snow came fluttering slowly downward out of a dark sky.  After dinner we went up on top of the sledgehouse and saw a big scraper coming in the valley below.  Six teams of oxen were drawing it, and we could see the flying furrows on either side of the scraper as it ploughed in the deep drifts.  Uncle Eb put on the snow shoes again, and, with Hope on his back and me clinging to his hand, he went down to meet them and to tell of our plight.  The front team had wallowed to their ears, and the men were digging them out with shovels when we got to the scraper.  A score of men and boys clung to the sides of that big, hollow wedge, and put their weight on it as the oxen pulled.  We got on with the others, I remember, and I was swept off as soon as the scraper started by a roaring avalanche of snow that came down upon our heads and buried me completely.  I was up again and had a fresh hold in a jiffy, and clung to my place until I was nearly smothered by the flying snow.  It was great fun for me, and they were all shouting and hallooing as if it were a fine holiday.  They made slow progress, however, and we left them shortly on their promise to try to reach us before night.  If they failed to get through, one of them said he would drive over to Paradise Valley, if possible, and tell the Browers we were all right.

On our return, Uncle Eb began shoveling a tunnel in the cut.  When we got through to the open late in the afternoon we saw the scraper party going back with their teams.