Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1916-05-10

to meet the first battalion in this
great army. 1t hurried, for the sky
was black and the wind struck hard.
Soon gale was blowing. 1t seemed
to be trying to push them back. 1t
rushed straight upon them off the lev
ell plains and Whistled in the leather
Of the harness and the timbers Of the
wagon. The men on the front seat
quickly turned their heads when the
first missiles of icy snow struck them.
Leaves and wisps of grass were flying
in the wind. There were strange
noises before and above them.
The dusk had thickened. They did
not see the great, white, rushing,
swirling, diluted avalanche until it fell
upon them. 1t checked team and wag-
on with jolt, for the air had sud-
denly thickened. 1t was as if the
skies had fallen. Away northward
great banks Of wet air, a league deep
at least and belize thousand miles
wide, had frozen suddenly. Their
moisture had gone hurtling toward the
earth. 1t struck the current Of an
arctic hurricane. This had hardened
the soft snow and whipped and churn-
ed it into pin points of ice. These
were massed thickly by the pressure
Of the blast. There were probably
thousands of them in a cubic inch OF
air. The men on the front seat COW
cred their faces with mittened hands.
One shouted to the other but was un-
heard. They could see only the tails
of the horses. The driver gave up
trying to steer them. Mike bowed his
head, his ears feeling for shelter. His
hands were so cold that he could no
longer feel the box to which he chung
He felt sense of being smothered by
the singing sky dust.
The wagon began to jump. The
horses had lost the road and were
crossing a plowed field. Suddenly
they quickened their pace. A big jolt
broke the hold of Mikes numb hands
and pitched him out of the wagon. He
picked himself up and shouted. His
voice sounded to his own ears like
that of man calling from distance
The wagon had gone out of sight, but
he could family hear the rattle of it's
wheels. He ran toward it, eager as
the Splinter in race. That little
straw Of sound was his only hope Of
safety. When he stopped to get his
breath he could no longer hear it..
The storm had so darkened' the air
} that he could not see the wheel tracks
even if he were near them. Then
} Mike knew that somewhere in the
darkness of that night his life was
likely to end. He had heard that a
man lost in a Minnesota blizzard had
as good a chance of living as at the
bottom of the sea.
He was chilled to the bone. The
ice dust in the fling of seventy-mile
| VIII 1o1 ,,l
the skin off one side Of his face. He
! could hear their smite as they struck
his cheeks and forehead. Sheaths of
ice kept forming over his eyes. But
Mike didn't give up. He knew that
he must keep moving or that his
blood would turn to ice, like water
in frozen pipe. So he pulled down
his cap, turned the side of his head
to the wind, and hurried on. Slowly
the push of the storm faced him about
until he was going with it. Often he
had to stop to get his breath. The
effort of breathing sored his nose. He
had hard work to stop enough of the
speeding, snow-filled air to satisfy
him.
Signs Of a Habitation.
Hour after hour he labored in the
noisy, flying dungeon of the blizzard,
seeing nothing. Now and then he
would brush the ice and SNOW from
his eyes and then imagine for a mo-
ment that he saw lights ahead. 1t
was when he was wading in a drift
that he decided that he would
lie down and rest for just
minute. The strangest of all emo
tons, self-fear, came on him. He
trembled and ran few steps, as if
he hoped thereby to get away from it.
He grew angry. He called himself a
vile name, but the thought of rest
kept stealing back upon him. Often
it begged and pleaded for a moments
stop, but Mike drove it away as one
would drive a thieving dog from his
pantry. Suddenly he looked ahead
and 10! there the sun was shining on
green fields, and it was still sum-
mer day, and there was his home,
and his mother and father on the
. doorstep. They saw him coming and
were waving their hands. What a
long sleep he would have in that lit
tie bedroom upstairs! Then the iced
darkness fell roaring over the scene.
His breast bumped against some
thing in his path and awoke him. He
was still travelling in the storm. What
was it that his mitten touched? It
gave as he touched it. He felt it over
carefully. It was stove wood, corded
breast high. There must be house;
but where? Ten feet would be as
bad as mile if he went wrong. How
could he find the house? He called
again and again. but got no answer.