Read Online Blizzard: Colorado, 1886 by Kathleen Duey and Karen A. Bale - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathleen Duey and Karen A. Bale
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central trunk. Where the pine had died back, the smaller branches snapped off easily. Maggie backed her way out of the krummholz over and over, stacking armloads of splintered wood across her shirts. Every two or three trips she sat on the brittle brush, compressing it. Once she had enough kindling, she tried to get larger branches.
Because the wood was dried so completely by the constant freezing cold and the winds, it was light and fragile. Using only her hands, Maggie managed to break off branches as big as her wrist. Using a stone for a hammer, she got four or five bigger ones.
When the pile of brush and branches on her shirts was big enough, she pulled the outermost sleeves up and over, tying them together to form a tight circle of flannel around the middle of the stack of wood. Then, breathing hard, Maggie stepped back and glanced at the sky. If she hurried, she would have time for one more load.
Maggie rolled the bundle of wood forward so thatthe knot in the ends of her shirtsleeves was easy to reach. Using it as a handle, she hoisted the load of wood onto her back. She could manage the weight, but it would be difficult. She looked up the mountainside.
The sharp incline that she had skidded down so fast seemed five times as long now. Twice, Maggie started upward and fell back, unable to balance the weight of the wood. Feeling her stomach tighten, she sat panting to catch her breath. If she couldnât get the wood back up to Hadyn, they wouldnât make it through the night.
The wind whistled through the rocks above. Maggie shuddered, remembering her body lifting, being driven along against her will. If the wind came up again, she wasnât sure she could make herself brave the drop-off a second time. She balled her hands into fists, stamping her feet to warm them. She glanced at the rounded canopy of the krummholz and hesitated, an idea forming in her mind.
Dropping to her knees, Maggie squeezed back into the little sheltered room formed by the wind-tortured branches. Using a stout limb to gouge at the ground, she began to dig.
Hadyn felt a weight on his chest. He had no idea what it was or where it had come from. It was dark where he was now, and there was little sound, only a distant whining, like someone singing a vague, sad song.
Slowly, Hadyn became aware that he was uncomfortable. He rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up close to his chest. It was cold and still very dark. His bed seemed too lumpy, too hard. Was he dreaming? The whining sound seemed to get louder and he wondered what it was.
A trembling began in Hadynâs legs and passed upward through his body. It got worse, until he was shuddering, almost convulsing. He was cold, too cold. What was wrong? He had the awful thought that he might be dead. He wasnât sure why he thought it was likely, but somewhere deep in his heart, he knew it was. Frightened, Hadyn opened his eyes.
For an instant he was confused by what he was seeing. Some kind of dark, uneven wall rose crookedly over his head. Above it was an irregular strip of dusky light. The sky? The mournful whining went on and on, rising, then falling.
Hadyn blinked and uncurled his body, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. Sitting up slowly, he leaned forward, nauseated. He rubbed his hands together as parts of his memory came rushing back. He could recall the terrible wind and the cliff he had been so sure he was heading straight toward. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
Fingering the bedroll, Hadyn tried to remember how he had gotten here. He could vaguely recall struggling toward the rocks in the howling wind. Obviously someone had helped himâsomeone who had the kindness to wrap him up in a bedroll. But where had he gone? Hadyn leaned out from beneath the overhanging rock, then ducked back. It was snowing.
Abruptly, Hadyn realized his bag was gone. Where was it? He frowned. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, images of himself leaving the ranch and Maggie
Because the wood was dried so completely by the constant freezing cold and the winds, it was light and fragile. Using only her hands, Maggie managed to break off branches as big as her wrist. Using a stone for a hammer, she got four or five bigger ones.
When the pile of brush and branches on her shirts was big enough, she pulled the outermost sleeves up and over, tying them together to form a tight circle of flannel around the middle of the stack of wood. Then, breathing hard, Maggie stepped back and glanced at the sky. If she hurried, she would have time for one more load.
Maggie rolled the bundle of wood forward so thatthe knot in the ends of her shirtsleeves was easy to reach. Using it as a handle, she hoisted the load of wood onto her back. She could manage the weight, but it would be difficult. She looked up the mountainside.
The sharp incline that she had skidded down so fast seemed five times as long now. Twice, Maggie started upward and fell back, unable to balance the weight of the wood. Feeling her stomach tighten, she sat panting to catch her breath. If she couldnât get the wood back up to Hadyn, they wouldnât make it through the night.
The wind whistled through the rocks above. Maggie shuddered, remembering her body lifting, being driven along against her will. If the wind came up again, she wasnât sure she could make herself brave the drop-off a second time. She balled her hands into fists, stamping her feet to warm them. She glanced at the rounded canopy of the krummholz and hesitated, an idea forming in her mind.
Dropping to her knees, Maggie squeezed back into the little sheltered room formed by the wind-tortured branches. Using a stout limb to gouge at the ground, she began to dig.
Hadyn felt a weight on his chest. He had no idea what it was or where it had come from. It was dark where he was now, and there was little sound, only a distant whining, like someone singing a vague, sad song.
Slowly, Hadyn became aware that he was uncomfortable. He rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up close to his chest. It was cold and still very dark. His bed seemed too lumpy, too hard. Was he dreaming? The whining sound seemed to get louder and he wondered what it was.
A trembling began in Hadynâs legs and passed upward through his body. It got worse, until he was shuddering, almost convulsing. He was cold, too cold. What was wrong? He had the awful thought that he might be dead. He wasnât sure why he thought it was likely, but somewhere deep in his heart, he knew it was. Frightened, Hadyn opened his eyes.
For an instant he was confused by what he was seeing. Some kind of dark, uneven wall rose crookedly over his head. Above it was an irregular strip of dusky light. The sky? The mournful whining went on and on, rising, then falling.
Hadyn blinked and uncurled his body, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. Sitting up slowly, he leaned forward, nauseated. He rubbed his hands together as parts of his memory came rushing back. He could recall the terrible wind and the cliff he had been so sure he was heading straight toward. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
Fingering the bedroll, Hadyn tried to remember how he had gotten here. He could vaguely recall struggling toward the rocks in the howling wind. Obviously someone had helped himâsomeone who had the kindness to wrap him up in a bedroll. But where had he gone? Hadyn leaned out from beneath the overhanging rock, then ducked back. It was snowing.
Abruptly, Hadyn realized his bag was gone. Where was it? He frowned. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, images of himself leaving the ranch and Maggie
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