Shoshone journal. [volume] (Shoshone, Idaho) 1884-1931, 1905-04-28
CHAPTER XII.
Lost In the Snow.


At the sound of his masters voice
shepherd dog raised his head in
quiringly, and followed the gaze of
the speaker as he studied the leaden
sky and the crests of snowclad ridges
and mountains. This habit of voicing
thought develops in those who spend
long periods in solitude, and James
Blake-once a farmer boy in Hing
ham, and now a California gold miner
and prospector-was no exception to
the rule.
Lets get breakfast, Dog" he said
as he entered the cabin. Il told you
it was going to snow"
Blake's cabin stood we'll back from
the edge of cliff half way up the
slope of a valley in the Sierra Ne
vadas of Central California.
Scattered along the walls were min
ing tools, powder kegs, guns, fishing
rods, and a miscellaneous assortment
of lumber and firewood. A small but
strongly constructed ell was used as
a storeroom. launches of venison,
the carcass Of a brown bear, and long
securely guarded against the depre-
dations of wandering animals. Bags
of flour and oatmeal, some potatoes,
sides of bacon, and the remnants of
ham completed the more substantial
portion of Blake's larder. He often
surveyed his snug storeroom with
much satisfaction. Nothing but con-
Aorr t-fn In anfIId
disturb his labors during the long
winter season.
Breakfast ended, James Blake lit
his pipe and started for the mouth Of
the tunnel. Though less than an hour
had passed since he entered the cabin
the snow already had drifted across
the path and blocked the door. Those
whose knowledge of snowstorms is
confined to localities where foot or
two of snow in forty-eight hours is
called a blizzard" and esteemed
meteorological event, have no con-
ception of a snow storm in the ST.
erras. Near the timber line in the
Sierra Nevadas there has been re-
corded a fall of fourteen feet of
snow in as many consecutive hours
an inch every five minutes-a swirl
ing, writhing, choking maelstrom of
flakes, borne on the wings of a freez-
ing gale.
1t was such storm that Blake
faced when he opened the cabin door
and plunged through the drifts into
the tunnel
'This is an old snifter, isn't it,
Dog?" he exclaimed as he stood in
the mouth of the shaft and shook the
snow from his blouse.
Blake lit lantern and wormed his
way into the dismal hole. A few min
utes later he was hard at work, paus
ing now and then to examine the rock
with eager eyes. He had been toiling
for three hours or more when the
dogs smiling attracted his notice. AS
he turned, the animal raised his head,
barked sharply, and growled in a
peculiar manner.
whats the matter, Dog?" said
Blake, patting his friend. What a
cursed shame the creature can't talk
What's up, old boy? Seen a bear.
Don't bother with him-let him alone.
Go away, Dog, I'm busy" and Blake
returned to his task.
Leaning back against the wall of
the tunnel, with his paws hanging
in a most doleful fashion, the dog
sounded long-drawn wall, so pitiful
in it's intensity that Blake dropped
his pick and gazed at the animal in
amazement mixed with terror. The
animal sprang forward and fastened
his teeth in the leg of Blake's trous-
ers, pulling gently but firmly, growl-
ing and whining.
This is a new freak" muttered |
Blake, grabbing the lantern. Some
thing has happened. Perhaps the |
hut's ahre."
He moved quickly towards the
mouth of the tunnel. The dog gave
joyful bark, and led the way. Blake
reached the open air, and fioundered |
the drifts until the cabin
was visible through the binding snow.
The dog went past it, and howled
dismally when his master paused.
Rushing into the hut, Blake secured
a long rope, one end of which he tied
to the leg of bench near the door,
Paying out the coil he dashed sturdjly
forward.