Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1916-01-06
CHAPTER VII

OUT OF THE BLIZZARD
IT was dawn when the baby snuggled
i close to Joan's warn breast and
awakened her with It's cry Of hunger. She
opened her eyes, brushed back the thick
hair from her face, ana could see whore
the shadowy form of her father was
lying at the other side Of the tent He
was very qulet, ana she was pleased that
he was still sleeping. She knew that the
day before he had been very near to
exhaustion, and SO for half an hour
longer she lay quiet, oooinE softly 10 the
baby Joan. Then she arose cautiously,
tucked the baby in the warm blankets
and furs, put on her heavier garments,
and went outside,
BY this time It was broad day, and she
breathed sigh OF relief when she saw
that the storm had passed. It was BIT
terly cold. It seemed to her that she had
never known It to be so cold in all her
life. The fire was completely out.
Kazan was huddled In a round ball, his
nose tucked under his body. He raised
his head. shivering, as Joan came out.
With her heavily moccasined foot Joan
scattered the ashes and oharred sticks
where the FIRE had been. There was not
spark left In returning TO the tent
she stopped for a moment beside Kazan,
and patted his shaggy head.
Poor Wolfr she said 'T wish had
given you one of the bearskins |"
She threw back the tent-fiap and en-
tered. For the first time she saw her
fathers face In the Highland, outside.
Kazan heard the terrible moaning cry
that broke from her lips. No one could
have looked at Pierre Radisson's face
once-and not have understood.
After that one agonizing cry, Joan
flung herself upon her fathers breast,
sobbing so softly that even Kazan's sharp
ears heard no sound. She remained there
in her grief until every vital energy of
womanhood and motherhood In her girlish
body was reused to action by the wailing
cry of baby Joan. Then she sprang to
her feet and ran out through the tent
opening. Kazan tugged at tho end of his
chain to meet her, but she saw nothing
of him now. The terror of the wilder
ness is greater than that of DEATH and in
an instant 1t HAD fallen upon Joan. 1t was
not because of fear for herself. 1t was
the baby.
And then, all at once. there came to her
what old Pierre had said the night be-
fore-his words about tho river, the air
holes. the home 40 miles away. You
couldn't lose yourself, JOAN" He had
guessed what might happen.
She bundled tho baby deep in tho furs
and returned to the flre-bed. Her one
thought now was that they must have fire.
She made a little pile Of blrch-bark. COW
cred II with half-burned bits of wood.
and went into tho tent for tho matches.
Pierre Radisson carried them in water
proof box in q pocket OF his bearskin coat.
She sobbed as she knecled beside him
again. and obtained tho box. AS the fro
fiared UP she added other bits of wood,
and then some of the larger pieces that
Pierre had dragged into camp. Tho fl:e
gave her courage. Forty miles-and the
river led to their homel
For the first time she turned to him and
spoke his name as she put her hand on his
head. After that she gave him a chunk
of meat, which she thawed out over the
fire, and melted the snow for tea She
was not hungry. but she recalled how her
father had made her eat Nur or five times
a day, 80 she forced herself to make n
breakfast of a biscuit a shred of meat
and as much hot tea as she cot drin.:.
Tho terrible hour she dreaded followed
that She wrapped blankets closely about
her fathers body and tied them with
babiche cord. After that she piled all
the furs and blanket that remained on
the sledge close to the fire and snuggled
baby Joan deep down in them. Pulling
down the tent was task. The ropes
were stifr and frozen. and when she had
finished one of her hands was bleeding.
She piled the tent on the sledse. and then,
half covering her face. turned and looked
back.
CONTINUED TOMORROW