packing box and two large planks, which George had spilled our water on the night before, had been blown far up the hill. Around the Basin, stovepipes and an endless variety of articles were strewn. The sheet-iron roof on Lee Galter’s house had been lifted and tossed aside. George held me tighter as we braced ourselves against the lash of the wild wind.
We found that Beth and Jim were up and dressed as they had been all night, ready for any emergency. Their welcome and Beth’s hot breakfast made the storm less terrifying. Jim and George then left for the mill.
By afternoon the wind had eased, the temperature rose, and snow began to fall in big blinding flakes. When George’s shift was over and we climbed our hill, he set long stakes beside the path protruding three feet above the snowbank as there was every indication we were to have a heavy fall and he must outline the trail. He wired the stovepipes securely again, shoveled the snow out of the house, and made up the fires, and after the fury of the night before we settled down to enjoy the silence and beauty of softly falling snow.
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