Chapter 16: Noel

The snow fell three days and nights without ceasing, and they rejoiced greatly over their foresight in preparing so well for it, because it was a big snow, a very big snow. “It ain’t jest snowin’,” said Shif’less Sol; “the bottom o’ the sky hez dropped out, an’ all the snow’s tumblin’ down.”

The great flakes never ceased for a moment to fall. The sun did not get a single chance to shine, and as fast as one cloud was emptied, another, huge and black, was drawn in its place across the sky. The island ceased to be an island, because the snow heaped up on the frozen surface of the lake, and it was impossible to tell where land ended and water began. The boughs of the trees bent and cracked beneath their load, and some fell to the ground. At times the sound of snapping boughs was like stray rifle shots.

Paul watched the snow deepen before their door. First an inch, then two, then four, then six, and on and on. The roof began to strain and creak ominously beneath the great weight. All rushed forth at once into the storm, and with poles and their rude shovels they thrust the great mass of accumulated snow from the roof. This task they repeated at intervals throughout the three days, but they had little else to do, except cook, eat, and sleep. They had recourse again to the chessmen and Paul’s stories, and they reverted often to their friends and relatives at Wareville.

“At any rate,” said Henry, “Kentucky is safe so long as this great snow lasts. What holds us holds the Shawnees and the Miamis, too; they can’t go south through it.”

“That’s so,” said Paul, with intense satisfaction, as he ran over all the chances of success or failure in their great task.

At the end of the third day the snow ceased. It lay three feet deep on the level, and deeper in the hollows and gullies. Then all the clouds floated away, the sun came out, and the whole world was a dazzling globe of white, so intense that it hurt Paul’s eyes.

“We’ve got to guard against snow-blindness,” said Shif’less Sol, “an’ I’m thinkin’ o’ a plan that’ll keep us from sufferin’.”

He procured small pieces of wood, and fitted them together so there would be only a narrow slit between. These were placed over the eyes like spectacles, and fastened with deerskin string, tied behind the head. The range of vision was then very narrow, but all the glare from the snow was shut out. Shif’less Sol unconsciously had imitated a device employed by the Esquimaux of the far north to protect their eyesight. Sets were made for all, and they used them a few days until their eyes grew accustomed to the glare.

All had a great sense of coziness and warmth. The snow pushed from the roof had gone to reinforce that on the ground, and it now lay heaped up beside the house to a depth of five or six feet, adding to the snugness and security of their walls. They had gathered an ample supply of firewood, and a deep bed of coals always threw out a mellow and satisfying glow.

They did not spend their time in idleness. The narrow confines of their house would soon grow irksome to five able-bodied boys and men, and every one of them knew it. They went forth with rude wooden shovels, and began to clear paths in the snow, one to a point among the trees where the fallen brushwood lay thickest, another to the edge of the lake, where they broke holes in the ice and caught pickerel, and two or three more to various points around their little domain. This task gave them healthy occupation for two or three days, and on the fourth day, while Henry, Ross, and Jim Hart were fishing, Paul and Shif’less Sol sat together in the house.

“This snow is goin’ to last a long time, Paul,” said Sol, “an’ we’ve got to stay here till at least most o’ it’s gone. The warriors won’t be movin’, nor will we. While we’re idlin’, I wish we had three or four o’ them books that your father an’ Mr. Pennypacker brought over the mountains with ‘em.”

“So do I,” said Paul, with a sigh. He was thinking of an interminable romance, translated from the French of a certain Mademoiselle de Scudéry, which his teacher, Mr. Pennypacker, had among his possessions, and which he had once secretly shown to Paul, who was his favorite pupil. But he added, resignedly: “You’d never find a book in all this region up here, Sol. We’d better make up our minds to some monotonous days.”

Shif’less Sol had been leaning lazily against a heap of firewood, and suddenly he sat up with a look of interest in his eyes. His acute ear had detected a sound on the hill above them, a faint crunching in the snow.

“It’s one o’ the boys, I s’pose,” he said. “Now, I wonder what he wants to be tramping around in the deep snow up thar fur.”

“Yes, I hear him,” said Paul, “and he’s lumbering about queerly.”

“He’s comin’ down toward the house,” said Shif’less Sol. “Now, what in thunder is that?”

There was the sound of an angry “snuff!” a sudden, wild threshing in the snow, and the next instant a tremendous weight struck the roof of their house. A rending of bark and thatch followed, and a massive black form shot down into the center of the room and lay there a moment, stunned. Paul, too, was dizzy. He had been struck a glancing blow on the shoulder by the big black body in its fall, and hurled into a heap of furs. Shif’less Sol had been sent spinning in another direction.

When both rose to their feet the big black body also rose, growling savagely and extending long, powerful paws, armed with cruel claws. A bear, prowling in the snow, had fallen through the roof of their house, and it was furiously angry.

“Jump back, Paul, jump back!” shouted Shif’less Sol, “an’ get to the door, ef you kin!”

Paul obeyed a part of his command instinctively and sprang away, just in time to escape the cruel claws. But he was compelled to press against the wall. The enraged animal was between him and the door. Shif’less Sol himself was darting here and there in an effort to keep out of the way. Both Paul’s rifle and Shif’less Sol’s stood in a corner far from reach.

The bear, blind with rage, fright, and astonishment, whirled around ripping into the air with his long claws. The man and the boy not able to reach the door, hopped about like jumping jacks, and the cold air poured down upon them from the huge hole in their damaged roof. The bear suddenly ran into Jim Hart’s furnace and uttered a roar of pain. He stopped for a moment to lick his singed flank, and Shif’less Sol, seizing the opportunity, leaped for his rifle. He grasped it, and the next instant the cabin roared with the rifle shot. The great bear uttered a whining cry, plucked once or twice at his breast, and then stretched himself out in front of Jim Hart’s furnace, quite dead. Paul stopped dancing to and fro, and uttered a gasp of relief.

“You got that rifle just in time, Sol,” he said.

“We shorely did need a gun,” Shif’less Sol said. “I guess nobody ever had a more sudden or unwelcome visitor than you an’ me did, Paul. But I believe that thar b’ar wuz ez bad skeered ez we wuz.”

“And just look at our house,” said Paul ruefully. “Half the roof smashed in, our furs and our food supplies thrown in every direction, and a big bear stretched out in front of our fire.”

They heard the patter of swift footsteps outside, and the three fishing at the lake, who had heard the shot, came in, running.

“It’s nothin’, boys,” said Shif’less Sol carelessly. “A gentleman livin’ in these parts, but a stranger to us, came into our house uninvited. He wouldn’t go away when we axed him to, most earnest, so we’ve jest put him to sleep.”