The Brookings register. [volume] (Brookings, Brookings County, S.D.) 1903-1971, 1917-08-16
CHAPTER TX.
Out Of the Blizzard.

il was dawn when the baby snuggled
close to Joan's warm breast and
awakened her with It's cry Of hunger.
She opened her eyes, brushed back the
thick hair from her face, and could see
where the ShadoWy form Of her father
was lying at the other side Of the tent.
lie was very quiet, and she was
pleased that he was still sleeping, She
knew that the day before he had been
very near to exhaustion, and 50 for
half an hour longer She lay quiet,
cooling softly to the baby Joan. Then
she arose cautiously, tucked the baby
IN the warm blankets and furs, put on
her heavier garments. and went out
side.
BY this time it was broad day, and
she breathed a sigh of relief when she
saw that the storm had passed. 1t was
bitterly cold. 1t seemed to her thai
she had never known it TO be SO cold
In all her life. The fire was COM
pletely 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 charred sticks where the hre
had been. There was not q spark left.
In returning to the tent she stopped
for a moment beside Kazan, and pat
ted his shaggy head.
aDnnr UolF 80 ohn oaIl OT utah
had given you one Of the bearskins! !"
She threw back the tent-flap and
entered. For the first time she saw
her fathers face In the highland out
side, Kazan heard the terrible moan
ing cry that broke from her lips. No
one could have looked at Pierre Raids
sons face once-and not have under
stood.
After that one agOnizing cry Joan
flung herself upon her fathers breast,
sobbing SO softly that ever Kazan's
sharp ears heard so sound. She re-
NAMED there In her grief until every
vital energy of womanhood and moth
erhood in her girlish body was reused
to action by the wailing cry Of baby
Joan. Then she sprang to her feet
and raj out through the tent opening.
Kazan tugged at the end Of his chain
to meet her, but she saw nothing Of
him now. The terror of the wilderness
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. The waillng cries from
the tent pierced her like knife-thrusts.
And then, all at once, there came to
her what old Pierre had said the night
befOre-his words about the river, the
airholes, the home forty miles away.
you couldn't lose yourself, joan" He
had guessed what might happen.
She bundled the baby deep in the
furs and returned to the fir bed. Her
one thought now was that they must
have fire. She made a little pile of
birch bark, covered it with half-burned
bits of wood. and went into the tent
for the matches. Pierre RadisSon car
ried them in a waterproof box in a
pocket of his bearskin coat. She
sobbed as she kneeled beside him
again, and obtained the box. AS the
fire fiared up she added other bits Of
wood, and then some of the larger
pieces that Pierre had dragged into
camp. The fire gave her courage.
Forty miles-and the river led to their
home! She must make that. with the
baby and Wolf. 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 snow for tea. She was
not hungry, but she recalled how her
father had made her eat four or five
times a day, so she forced herself to
make a breakfast Of a biscuit, a shred
Of meat and as much hot tea as she
could drink.
tt BE CONTINUED