Part 6 (2/2)
”Where are we?” I asked.
”I'm here. Haven't the remotest idea where you be,” replied Mr. Jones.
”You are a philosopher,” I said, groping my way through the storm toward his voice.
”I believe I was a big fool for tryin' to get home such a night as this; but now that we've set about it, we'd better get there. That's right. Scramble in and take the reins. Here's my mittens.”
”What are you going to do?”
”I'm going to 'light and smell out the road. This is equal to any blizzard I've read of out West.”
”How far have we to go now?”
”Half a mile, as nigh as I can make out;” and we jogged on again.
”Are you sure you are not hurt?” Mousie asked me.
”Sure; it was like tumbling into a feather bed.”
”Stop a bit,” cried Mr. Jones. ”There's a turn in the road here. Let me go on a little and lay out your course.”
”Oh, I wish we had stayed anywhere under shelter,” said my wife.
”Courage,” I cried. ”When we get home, we'll laugh over this.”
”Now,” shouted Mr. Jones, ”veer gradually off to the left toward my voice--all right;” and we jogged on again, stopping from time to time to let our invisible guide explore the road.
Once more he cried, ”Stop a minute.”
The wind roared and shrieked around us, and it was growing colder. With a chill of fear I thought, ”Could John Jones have mistaken the road?”
and I remembered how four people and a pair of horses had been frozen within a few yards of a house in a Western snow-storm.
”Are you cold, children?” I asked.
”Yes, I'm freezing,” sobbed Winnie. ”I don't like the country one bit.”
”This is different from the Eden of which we have been dreaming,” I thought grimly. Then I shouted, ”How much farther, Mr. Jones?”
The howling of the wind was my only answer. I shouted again. The increasing violence of the tempest was the only response.
”Robert,” cried my wife, ”I don't hear Mr. Jones's voice.”
”He has only gone on a little to explore,” I replied, although my teeth chattered with cold and fear.
”Halloo--oo!” I shouted. The answering shriek of the wind in the trees overhead chilled my very heart.
”What has become of Mr. Jones?” asked my wife, and there was almost anguish in her tone, while Winnie and Bobsey were actually crying aloud.
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