Chapter 8
The Blizzard

The Lord shoved me right into something that was going to play a big part in my future almost immediately. But I didn’t realize the significance in my life until I looked back on it years later.

That same day when I’d gotten up early to walk and pray and talk with God, about the middle of the afternoon huge clouds started to roll in from the North, coming toward the Sierras. By evening the cold, icy, blustery winds had begun to blow.

The next morning, just after dawn—which seemed later than usual on account of the dark clouds—it started to snow, very lightly to begin with. Even at noon there was no more than a fine layer of dust on things and it still wasn’t collecting on the roads or where people walked.

But it kept falling, and by the middle of the afternoon the flakes were bigger and whiter, and an inch had collected. People were bundling up and starting to pack in extra firewood and oats and corn for their livestock.

Pa built a huge fire in the house that night, and it was warm and cozy. Every now and then he’d get up and go and peer out the window into the blackness. Sometimes he wouldn’t say anything. Sometimes he’d come back into the room muttering. Once he just said, “I don’t know, Almeda,” and then he shook his head. “It looks like it could be a bad one!”

When I woke up the next morning, Pa was already downstairs in the parlor, standing still, staring out the same window into the morning gray. I walked to his side, he put his arm around me, and we both just looked and looked, neither of us saying a word. Everywhere was white—nothing but white. You could hardly tell there was supposed to be a town out there. It was just hills and mounds and bumps of white. It had to be over a foot deep, and still the sky was filled with the down-fluttering flakes.

“Ain’t never seen it like this,” Pa finally said. “Never this much so low down. Must be taller than a man’s head up in the foothills! I hope Alkali got back to the cabin.”

“Where is he, Pa?” I asked.

“He set out yesterday morning for Dolan’s place, up to the high flat on Relief Hill above Missouri Canyon. He was aiming to get himself a mule. Dolan was in town last week and had several he wanted to get rid of. But Dolan’s ranch’ll be plumb snowed in for weeks now.” He stopped and sighed deeply. “Alkali, Alkali . . . I hope you made it back in time, you old buzzard!”

The day wore on slowly. School was cancelled. Most of the places in town didn’t open. If they had, nobody would have come anyway. Almeda went to her office, but only for part of the day. I could tell she was worried about Pa, he was acting real fidgety. Somehow he just had a sense that things were going wrong out there in that snow. He just kept staring out the window.

It stopped snowing about noon. A few footprints and horse tracks cut through the thick white blanket, but not too many. After lunch Pa put on his heavy winter coat and started to climb into his boots.

“You’re not going out?” Almeda said.

“Can’t stand sitting around here any longer, Almeda. I’m going over to Rafferty’s, maybe the Gold Nugget. I gotta find out if anybody’s heard anything.” He made for the door.

“Can I come, Pa?” asked Tad.

“I need you to stay and protect the womenfolk, son,” said Pa. The gleam in his eye said he hadn’t forgotten about Marcus Weber, who was pounding and working away out in the stable, but that he wasn’t going to mention him.

“Zack, you come with me. Might be that I’ll need you,” he added.

Zack was in his boots and after him in a flash, leaving the rest of us sitting there wondering what Pa figured doing out in the middle of the blizzard.

Eventually we found out.

A couple of hours later Zack burst through the door.

“Pa said to get a couple of horses saddled up right away,” he panted. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll get Marcus to help you,” said Almeda, starting toward the back door. “What is it, Zack?”

“There’s been an avalanche down on the west side of Washington Ridge. I guess the snow gathered so fast up on a ledge overlooking the little ravine that the powder couldn’t hold together. Two or three cabins down in the wash was plumb buried. All the men are heading out there to try to dig the folks out.”

“Who is it—any women or children?” asked Mrs. Parrish.

“No, ma’am. Just some old miners that camp out up there.”

“What about Mr. Jones?” I asked. “Is he in danger too?”

“Don’t know,” said Zack. “Nobody’s seen him.”

“Let’s go see to the horses,” said Almeda.

“Come to think of it, we’ll need three, cause Pa said to tell Mr. Weber to come too.” The two of them closed the door behind them.

About ten or fifteen minutes later, Pa came in the front door almost exactly as Zack and Almeda returned from the stable.

“Horses ready, Zack?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t know when we’ll be back, Almeda. Marcus coming?”

“He’s in the stable.”

“Good. Pray we’ll find those fellas! There’s a lot of snow up there—must be a good thousand feet higher’n we are here in Miracle. Come on, Zack.”

They made for the back door where their horses waited.

“Oh, Almeda,” Pa said, turning back at the door. “Hitch up a wagon—one with the highest axle to get through the snow—with two of whatever horses are left. The workhorses would be best in this weather. I ain’t sure what we’ll find, but if we need a wagon for hauling some gear up there, I want it ready.”

“It will be,” she replied. “Drum . . . be careful!” she added, gripping his hand.

Pa nodded seriously, then he and Zack were gone. Almost the minute they left it started snowing again.