I stooped low and peered into the dark depths. Then I called to my
cousins to come to me, because I was afraid to go where they were. I
had not seen them since the day we encamped. At that time they were
chubby and playful, carrying water from the creek to their tent in
small tin pails. Now, they were so changed in looks that I scarcely
knew them, and they stared at me as at a stranger. So I was glad when
my mother came up and took me back to our own tent, which seemed less
dreary because I knew the things that were in it, and the faces about
me.
Father's hand became worse. The swelling and inflammation extending up
the arm to the shoulder produced suffering which he could not conceal.
Each day that we had a fire, I watched mother sitting by his side, with
a basin of warm water upon her lap, laving the wounded and inflamed
parts very tenderly, with a strip of frayed linen wrapped around a
little stick. I remember well the look of comfort that swept over his
worn features as she laid the soothed arm back into place.
By the middle of January the snow measured twelve and fourteen feet in
depth. Nothing could be seen of our abode except the coils of smoke
that found their way up through the opening. There was a dearth of
water. Prosser Creek was frozen over and covered with snow. Icicles
hung from the branches of every tree. The stock of pine cones that had
been gathered for lights was almost consumed.
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