The Grammar School Boys Snowbound

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"But I gotter have blankets," whined Dutcher. "I can't freeze, either."

"I'll tell you what you do, Hen," Dick went on. "There are seven
overcoats in the crowd. They'll keep you warm enough."

"But there's snow on the coats, or where the snow has melted its water,"
objected Hen. "I'll tell you what you do. You fellows are going to sit
up and you can wait for the coats to dry. Let me have a set of blankets,
and some other fellow take the coats when they're dry."

"Well, of all the nerve!" gasped Tom Reade.

"Hen," spoke Dave sternly, "if you can't wait for the coats to dry, then
you can sit up in a chair by the fire and throw on another log or two
every time you wake up with a chill!"

Finding that he couldn't have his own selfish way, Hen, with much
grumbling, arranged the coats on two chairs not far from the fire. When
he considered the coats dry enough he crawled into his chosen bunk,
grumbling at the coarse tick filled only with dried leaves, and was
covered by Dick and Greg. Then the other fellows, after replenishing the
fire, sat down to spin stories.

"You tell the first yarn, Dick," proposed Tom.

"Too bad," replied Dick, with a shake of the head. "All I can think of
is what the man on the clubhouse steps said."

"And what was that?" demanded Tom Reade, leaning forward.

"I can't tell you, just yet," replied Prescott.

"Go on! Yes, you can."

"No; it's a secret."

"What did the man on the clubhouse steps say?" insisted Dan, jumping up,
seizing the crowbar and poising it over Dick's head.

"Put down the curling iron, Danny," laughed Prescott. "What the man on
the clubhouse steps said is a secret, and I'm not going to tell you,
just yet, anyway. Some day I'll tell you."

So Harry Hazelton started the ball rolling with a story. When it was
finished Greg rose and went to the window at the rear of the cabin.

"I can't see any lights in the shack," he called back. "I guess Fits
must have turned in."

"I wish we had something better than glass windows between that
scoundrel and ourselves," muttered Hazelton. "After we're asleep all
Fits would have to do would be to smash a light of glass and jump right
in here on us. Chances are that we'd all go on sleeping soundly, too,
while he gathered up the tools and then he'd have us by the hair when we
did wake up."

"Well, then," proposed Darrin quietly, "we'll fasten the shutters."

"Quit your kidding," begged Dan.

"I'm not kidding."

"But you talk of closing the shutters. There aren't any--worse luck for
us."

"Aren't there?" challenged Dave. "Say, didn't you fellows know that the
cabin windows have shutters?"

"Have they?" asked Dick, jumping up.

"Surest thing going," Dave answered. "Come along and I'll show you."

He went over to one of the windows, which was set to run sidewise in top
and bottom grooves. On account of the snow and the cold the window stuck
a bit, but at last Dave had it open. Then he reached out and tried to
pull the outside shutter along in its own grooves.

"Stuck with a bit of ice," Dave reported. "Harry, just bring the
kettle."

Darrin then poured some of the boiling water upon the sill, where the
shutter stuck. At his next effort the shutter moved. Dave closed it and
pegged it so securely that no trick from the outside could loosen that
shutter.

This was done in turn to all the other windows. Feeling secure now, the
Grammar School boys found themselves drowsy. Between them they fixed up
the fire. Then blankets were spread in six bunks, after which the tired
youngsters undressed and crawled in under the bedding.

Silence and slumber reigned in that cosy log cabin in the center of the
forest that was in the grip of one of the biggest blizzards in years.

CHAPTER XI

SIX BOYS AND ANOTHER IN COLD STORAGE

When the chatter had ceased and the fellows were all dropping off to
sleep, the interior of the tight old log cabin was still aglow from the
light of the fire. That light was so bright that, one after another, the
boys turned over, their faces to the wall.

And then no sound was heard, save the weird howling of the wind outside,
with an occasional sputter as a stray gust of snow swept down the broad
chimney to the roaring fire. Every Grammar School boy, as he dropped off
to sleep, knew that a big blizzard was still in progress.

"I wonder if I'll sleep a wink, for thinking of Mr. Fits, and what he may
try to do to us in the night," thought Dan Dalzell, while his lids fell
heavily. "If I do sleep, it will be to wake every little while with a
start. Well, so much the better. If I wake often I'm likely to hear the
scoundrel if he starts anything around here--when he--thinks--we're--so
drowsy that we're dead to the world--and--_gullup_!"

That last exclamation was a snore. Dan was conscious of waking once,
though at what time he did not know. He noted that the fire seemed to
have burned very low, and that it was almost wholly dark within the
cabin. Then he dozed. When he awoke once more he could see no glow
whatever from the fire. The lantern that had been left lighted had
flickered out. Dan felt oppressed by a sense of something awesome.

"What on earth can the time be?" Dan wondered, now quite wide awake and
just slightly uneasy. As he peered about through the dark he made out
what looked very much like a narrow ray of daylight through a crack in
one of the closed shutters.

"It can't be morning," muttered Dan. "And yet--why is the fire out? We
left a bully one going."

Dan had thrown his jacket on to the bunk before retiring. Now, he sat
up, reaching for the jacket.

"Gracious but it's cold!" gasped Dan, as the chill struck him.

"Shut up!" growled Dave Darrin's drowsy voice. "Don't wake everybody."

"What's the matter?" chimed in Dick Prescott sleepily.

"It's--it's cold," chattered Dan, as he sank back under the blankets.
Here he quickly warmed. And he had gotten what he had looked for, a
battered old dollar watch and a box of matches.

"Keep under the clothes and you'll be all right," returned Dick
soothingly. "But, my! With that fire out some of the fellows are going
to have a cold time getting up and building one in the morning."

Dan's teeth chattered for a minute or two. Then he sat up once more,
striking a match and holding up his watch. Dalzell stared incredulously
at the hands and the dial before he tossed the extinguished match to the
floor and sank back once more under the blankets.

"S-s-say, do you fellows know what time it is?" shivered Dan.

"What time?" called Dick and Dave softly.

"It's half past nine."

"Nonsense," ridiculed Dave. "It was after ten when we went to bed."

"It's after half past nine--in the morning," retorted Dan impressively.

"Glory, but I believe you're right," ejaculated Prescott. "I can see
just a tiny crack of daylight over by one of the shutters."

"It's morning, all right," Dan insisted. "And the fire's out. Wake up,
fellows! Who's going to start a new fire?"

"I will," volunteered Tom Reade. "Great Scott! No; I won't, either," he
ejaculated, after having thrust his legs out of his bunk preparatory to
jumping up. "Oh, don't I wish we could carry a million freight carloads
of this cold air back with us! We could make our fortunes selling it to
a cold storage company."

"I guess we'll have to call for two volunteers," laughed Dick, after
having thrust a foot out. "I'll volunteer, for one. Who'll be the
other?"

"Hen Dutcher!" came with wonderful unanimity from the others.

"Not on your life I won't!" retorted Hen with vigor. "I won't freeze
myself for any gang of fellows, and that's flat. I'm going to dress by a
warm fire when I dress."

"Well," said Dan ruefully, "as I woke all the others up, I guess it's up
to me to volunteer. Say when you're ready, Dick."

"Now!" answered Prescott.

"Please don't be so sudden," pleaded Dan. "Give a fellow just a bit of
warning. Count three; no, make it ten."

So Dick counted. At ten both he and Dan leaped from their bunks. They
were sorry, the instant their feet struck the floor, which seemed at
least twenty degrees colder than ice. Both shook and shivered as they
pulled on their underclothes, shoes which they did not stop to lace,
then shirts, trousers, vests and jackets.

"Br-r-r-r-r! M-m-m-m--!" was all the sound Dan could make. He was trying
to frame words, but his teeth wouldn't stop long enough. Dick made a
dive for a lot of excelsior that had come around some of their goods the
day before. This he threw into the dead, cold fireplace. Dan, shaking as
though with ague, brought a log and laid it across the excelsior. Dick
brought some more firewood. In a short time they had it well heaped.
Then Dick poured coal oil over the whole, and Dan, with palsied fingers,
made three attempts before he could open his match box and strike a
match. The temperature in the cabin must have been around zero, for it
was twenty below outside that same morning.

At last the lighted match reached the oil soaked excelsior, but before
it could ignite, the cold wind that was roaring down the chimney blew it
out.

Dick was too cold to talk, but he made a dive for his cap, and held it
in place over some of the excelsior, while shaking Dan miserably felt
for another match. This time the tiny flame caught in the excelsior.

"It's a g-g-g-g-go!" chattered Dick.

"M-m-m-me for b-b-b-b-bed!" chattered Dan, racing back to his bunk in
the starting light of the fire and diving in under the blankets.

But Dick Prescott stuck at his post. He saw the excelsior blaze briskly.
Then the flames licked at the oil over the logs. Thirty seconds after
that, and the cabin interior was fairly well lighted by the increasing
blaze. Dick wouldn't go back to his bunk, but stood with his back as
close as he dared to the fire. Yet the cold air was all around him, and,
while his back baked the rest of his body was so cold that his teeth
continued to play against each other in six eight time.

"Why don't you get back into bed?" called Tom Reade lazily from his
warmth under blankets. But Dick stuck it out. When the first logs were a
seething mass of ruddy fire Dick, now chattering less, brought more
short logs and piled them on in place. The wind, that day, would take
all the wood that was fed to the fire. Gradually Dick stopped
chattering. At last he even felt comfortable.

"You fellows can get up now just as well as not," he announced.

Dan was the first to try it.

"Something like," he announced. That brought Dave Darrin out. One by one
the other fellows followed--all except Hen.

"You don't catch me out of my bunk until breakfast is ready," announced
young Dutcher.

Dick wheeled impatiently, at this hint, but Dave Darrin whispered in his
ear:

"Let it go at that, Dick. But after breakfast we'll make him wash all
the dishes--every one--and spend the rest of the forenoon slicking up
around the place. If he refuses--well, we'll know how to bring him to
time."

So Hen was ignored for the time being. Dan and Greg busied themselves in
the first breakfast preparations. Dick and Dave, presently, went over to
one of the windows, forcing it back and tugging at the shutter, which
proved to be frozen in place.

"Bring some hot water, Dan, the minute you get it," urged Dick. This was
soon ready and a small amount of it was poured around the sill,
loosening the shutter, which was shoved back.

"Glory! Look at the storm!" cried Dick. There was a rush after the glass
window had been closed.

Never had a prettier snow scene been exposed to view. The snow was still
swirling down, while what had fallen was up level with the window.

"It's a good four feet deep, already!" cried Dave.

"And looks as though it would go on snowing for a week," added Tom Reade
joyously.

"Fellows," announced Dick, "we're surely snowbound. That's something
that we've often dreamed about. Say, wouldn't it be queer if we had a
long spell of this sort of thing, and couldn't--simply couldn't--get
back to Central Grammar by the time school opens again after the
holidays?"

"If the food holds out it'll be fun," assented Tom Reade.

Soon another shutter was opened, admitting more daylight. When they got
around to the rear window, and got it open, Dick pointed to the shack in
the rear.

"Well, we know that Mr. Fits hasn't been out to-day," Prescott laughed.
"Just look at his door. The drifts have piled against it, higher than
the door itself."

Snow scenes, however, do not feed any one. So the boys turned back to
the kitchen preparations. What if the bacon and eggs didn't look quite
neat enough to suit a real housekeeper? The mess tasted good. So did the
fried potatoes, made out of the left overs from last night's boiled
ones. Coffee, bread and butter and "store pie." No wonder the
youngsters, when they were through with breakfast, and in a cabin now
warm from one end to the other, felt, as Dick expressed it:

"Say, we're at peace with the whole world, aren't we?" he asked.

"Yes," agreed Dan solemnly. "Mr. Fits is snowed in tight."

"We're even at peace with Hen Dutcher, the miserable shirk," rumbled Tom
Reade.

"That reminds me," said Dick, turning. "Hen, it's up to you to wash all
the dishes, and to do it tidily, too."

"I won't," retorted Hen defiantly. "I'm no servant to you fellows."

"Hen," observed Dick, with a light in his eyes that meant business,
"it's past the time now for you to tell us what you'll do and what you
won't do. We didn't invite you here, and you didn't pay any share of the
expenses that we have been under. Accident made you our guest; we didn't
really want you here at all. The same accident that makes it necessary
for you to stay here for the present has kept away the rest of your
crowd--Fred Ripley and his pals. While you stay here you'll do your full
share of the work. If you don't, you'll soon wish you had. Now, your
first job is to wash and dry the dishes. After that you'll tidy up the
cabin. I'll show you what's needed in that line. Get to work!"

Hen had grown meeker during this address, for he saw that the other
fellows approved all that their leader was saying.

"All right," he muttered; "I'll do it, but it ain't a square deal. I'm
your guest and I ought not to work."

CHAPTER XII

BLIZZARD TOIL AND A MYSTERY

"Our old college chum, Mr. Fits, isn't stirring yet," reported Greg
Holmes, after looking out through the rear window that offered the best
view of the cook shack at the rear.

"Too bad," muttered Tom Reade, turning away from a front window where he
was watching only the steady fall of the flakes. "If he were a neighbor
worth having he'd come out and offer to shovel the paths."

"I wonder how cold it is outdoors?" pondered Hazelton aloud.

"Somewhere below zero, certainly," rejoined Tom. "Suppose we call that
definite enough?"

"I'd like to get out into this storm," hinted Dave.

"So would I," nodded Dick with energy. "It would be fine to be out in
the grandest storm that we've ever seen! Down in Gridley I suppose the
folks have the sidewalks cleaned off."

"Don't you believe it," objected Dan Dalzell. "Not in this storm. Horses
couldn't get through it to drag a plow, and it would take an army of men
to shovel the snow away, for the wind will blow the snow back as fast
as a fellow gets a few bushelfuls moved."

"Let's try it and see!" proposed Dick, jumping up and going for his
overshoes.

"Mean it?" demanded Dave joyously.

"Surely I do."

"Then I'm with you." Dave ran to where his outdoor apparel lay. "Going
with us, Tom?"

"It's a bad example to set some of these small boys," gaped Tom with his
most venerable air, "but I'm afraid I can't stay inside while you
fellows are enjoying yourselves."

Greg, too, hurried to get on his arctic overshoes and his overcoat. Then
he pulled his toboggan cap well down over his ears and neck and donned
his mittens.

"There are only two snow shovels," announced Dick. "What are the rest of
you going to use?"

"Here's the fire shovel," answered Greg, producing it. "That will be
good enough for me."

"Get the door open, Dave," called Dick.

Darrin unbarred the door, trying to swing it open. Tom Reade sprang to
his aid, for the bottom of the door was frozen to the sill.

"Bring the hot water, Hen," called Reade.

"Get it yourself," grumbled Hen. But when Tom turned, and Hen saw his
face, the latter made haste to bring the tea-kettle.

[Illustration: Dick Plied His Shovel Vigorously.]

"I'd better pour the water," proposed Tom, taking the kettle. "Dick, you
and Dave begin to yank on the door as soon as you see the hot stream
trickling on below."

Reade made economical use of the water, yet it took considerable pouring
to loosen up the door at the sill.

"Better go slow with that water," warned Dutcher. "It's the last there
is in the place."

"Humph!" retorted Tom. "Once we get outside I guess we can dig our way
to the spring."

At last the door yielded and swung open. A mass of snow blew in upon
them. Dick leaped at the white wall beyond and began plying his shovel
vigorously.

"It's light, and can be easily handled," he called back over his
shoulder.

So Dave waited until Dick had made a start of three or four feet. Then
he moved out beside his chum, while Greg, the iron shovel in hand, stood
at hand waiting for the other two to make room enough for him to be able
to help them.

Bump! went the door, for those inside, without coats or exercise, felt
the cold that rushed into the cabin.

"Where to?" called Dave, for the wind carried their voices off in the
howling blast. "To the spring?"

"We'd better," Dick replied, "as we're out of water."

Between the depth of the snow and the fury of the storm the Grammar
School boys quickly discovered that they had taken a huge task upon
themselves. After more than ten minutes of laborious shoveling all three
paused, as by common consent, and looked at the work accomplished. They
had gone barely a dozen feet, and under foot, all the way back to the
cabin door, the snow was still some two feet deep.

The distance from the door to the spring being some ninety feet, it was
plain that more than an hour would be needed for digging the way to the
spring.

"What's the use of all this trouble?" shouted Greg. "We can melt snow,
anyway."

"Snow water doesn't taste very good," objected Dave Darrin.

"Besides, we don't want to admit ourselves stumped by a little snow,"
urged Dick. "Come on, fellows; we can make it if we have grit and
industry enough. Here goes!"

With that Dick Prescott began to shovel harder than ever, so the two
chums added their efforts. Truth to tell, however, ere they had gone
another six feet through the big drifts, their backs were aching. They
could have progressed more rapidly, but for the fact that the wind blew
much of the snow back into the trench they were cutting through the
great banks of white stuff.

"Are we going to make it?" asked Dave dubiously at last.

"We've got to," Dick retorted.

"The other fellows ought to come out and help us," proposed Greg.

"That's not a very bad idea, either," Dick agreed, as he started
shoveling once more. "Greg, go back and tell them what we want."

Prescott and Darrin went on shoveling, manfully, until Tom, Dan and
Harry came wallowing along over what there was of a path and took the
shovels.

After that, with twenty minute shifts, the work went along more rapidly,
though once in a while one of the shovelers had to go back over the
path, digging out where more snow had blown in.

Hen Dutcher was not asked to share in this strenuous work. He had enough
to do in the cabin, and this outdoor performance was no work, anyway,
for a whiner.

"Get the axe and some of the buckets," called Dick finally, as he, at
the head of a shift, reached and located the spring. The water was, of
course, covered with a thick armor of ice. Greg moved into position with
the axe, striking fast and hard. Dave and Tom, with the snow shovels,
moved back over the opened way, keeping it clear in defiance of the
gale. As soon as Greg had the ice chopped away sufficiently, Dick, Dan
and Harry began to carry water. There was a water barrel in the cabin.

"If we had filled this yesterday we wouldn't have had to work so hard
to-day," half grumbled Dan.

"Well, we want to do something, don't we?" retorted Prescott. "What did
we come out into the woods for? Just to sit around indoors and eat and
sleep?"

With the utmost industry it took a long time for the youngsters to fill
the water barrel.

"Now, we've enough for a week, anyway," remarked Dan, as he and Dick
poured the last pailfuls into the barrel.

"Perhaps enough for forty eight hours, though we don't want to be too
sure," replied Prescott. "We want water enough for cleanliness, for
cooking and for drinking. That will be quite a lot, I guess."

The others now came in, for their outdoor exercise had taken up more
than two hours of morning time.

"Wood, next, I suppose," remarked Tom, gazing regretfully at the already
diminished pile of wood.

"No; there's wood enough to last until to-morrow; probably until the
day after," Dave answered.

"But do any of you fellows see the storm stopping?" queried Dick.

"No," Dave and Tom both admitted.

"Then, as there's no telling how long this good old blizzard will last,
we'll do well to stack all the wood we can carry into this cabin."

"Why not take a little rest first?" urged Dan. "I'll do my share of the
work, all the time, but I'll admit that I'm tired just now."

"We can divide into two shifts, then," suggested Dick. "As I don't feel
very tired, I'll get into the first shift. Tom, do you feel plenty
strong?"

"Strong?" sniffed young Reade. "Humph! I'm ready, right now, to meet and
vanquish the biggest Bermuda onion that you can produce."

Dave had already started for the door. These three leaders of boydom in
Gridley began to ply their shovels vigorously, starting from a point in
the path already made to the spring. Working through drifts, in some
instances more than six feet deep, it was slow work. After twenty
minutes they went back to the cabin, Greg, Harry and Dan coming out to
take up the work.

Hen Dutcher was still toiling hard, for he had concluded that industry
was the only way to save himself unpleasant happenings.

"How soon are you fellows going to knock off and begin to think about
dinner?" demanded Hen.

"When we get good enough appetites, I suppose," laughed Dick.

"Appetites?" sniffed Dutcher. "Huh! I could eat one side of a beef
critter, right now."

"Go out in the snow and help one of the fellows, then," advised Tom
dryly. "After that you'll be able to eat the whole critter."

"But when are you going to eat?" insisted Hen. "It's noon now."

"We'll eat in another hour, I guess, if that suits the crowd," replied
Dick.

"I'm ready to eat right now," coaxed Dutcher.

"But you don't belong to the crowd," retorted Dave Darrin grimly.
"Unless you want to put up with bread you'll have to wait until the
crowd is ready."

"Potatoes will be the first thing ready for dinner, Hen," observed
Prescott mildly. "As you're not doing anything outdoors, you might get
busy peeling a big pan of potatoes."

"See here," flared Dutcher, "I told you before that I'm no servant,
and----"

But Dick had risen, for the clock informed him that it was time to
relieve the shift out in the deep snow.

"Suit yourself, Hen," replied Prescott. "If you don't peel the
potatoes, and some one else has to do it, then you won't eat any hot
dinner to-day. That's flat."

"Isn't Dick Prescott just a mean bully?" growled Hen to himself, as the
"relief" stepped outdoors to resume work.

"See that Hen keeps busy peeling and washing potatoes," Dick advised
Greg in passing.

Then the three rested shovelers took up the task. The path was now
approaching the cook shack at the rear of the cabin.

"Queer, isn't it," inquired Dave, "that we don't see a blessed thing of
Mr. Fits to-day, and that there's no smoke going up his chimney."

"Perhaps he has left these parts," suggested Tom, rather hopefully.

"How could he?" Dave wanted to know.

"Maybe he went last night."

"I doubt if he could get away, even last night, at the hour when we
turned him adrift," Darrin contended. "A man might have gone a quarter
of a mile, but he couldn't go a whole mile."

"He hasn't been out to-day, at any rate," declared Dick. "There isn't a
trace of a track anywhere near the shack."

"Let's dig up to that window and look in," suggested Dave.

This was done. A few minutes later the three boys stood at the window,
glancing in at all they could see of the small interior. Beyond the
stove and chairs there appeared to be nothing to see.

"Well, our dear friend Fits isn't on the premises--that's certain,"
remarked Dave Darrin.

Which conclusion might be true, or, again, might not.

CHAPTER XIII

A VISITOR BY THE AIR ROUTE

When the boys awoke next morning the fire was still burning, though
there was not enough of it left to prevent a thin layer of ice forming
over the surface of the water in the barrel. Tom Reade slipped from his
bunk, drawing on shoes and trousers, and quickly placed a few more logs
over the embers. A few minutes after that it was warm enough for the
rest to slip out of their bunks and dress hurriedly--all except Hen
Dutcher.

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