The Valiant RunawaysAtherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
General
The Valiant Runaways
Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
California -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"It is hardly darker by night than by day in the forest, but perhaps it
is well to rest."
"I am one ache, no more," murmured Adan, and went to sleep.
Roldan pillowed his head on his arm and for once followed lead. He
awoke suddenly, his face wet and stinging. White stars were whirling,
the ground was white, the forest was half obliterated.
He shook Adan and dragged him to his feet.
"We must get into the redwoods at once," he said. "We shall be buried
here."
Adan gasped but cinched his saddle; the boys sprang upon the now
tractable mustangs and plunged into the forest below. The brush was
thin, and they pushed their way downward as rapidly as the steep
descent would permit. Sometimes the forest protected them from the
storm, at others the trees grew wide apart and the riders were exposed
to its pitiless rush. In these open spaces they could see nothing,
could only push blindly on, brushing the stinging particles from their
faces, their hands and feet almost numb. The snow in the open was
already as high as the horses' knees. There was no wind, only that
silent sweeping of the heavens. In the depths the high branches of the
redwoods groaned ominously under the stiffening weight, like giants in
pain.
The forest thinned. The snow had its will of the earth. There was no
refuge under the larger trees that still stood, like outposts, here and
there; the branches were too high above. Once Adan suggested through
his stiff lips and unruly teeth that they turn back and take refuge in
some dense grove above; but Roldan shook his head peremptorily. He had
heard of the fearful storms of the Sierras; they lasted for days, and
the snow stood its ground for weeks. Their only hope was the valley.
But they descended only to rise again: in the white darkness of the
storm they dared not attempt to skirt the base of the peaks; they must
keep straight on, to the west, for there lay the valley.
Occasionally, where a grove of trees stood close and the snow lay
shallow, the boys got off and wrestled, rousing the blood in their legs
and arms; then urged their mustangs to greater speed. But the poor
brutes were very weary, and the blood in their veins was almost torpid.
Once they stood still and shook, whinnying pitifully. A huge grizzly,
so powdered as to be hardly distinguishable from the drifts about him,
floundered along to the right. The boys crossed themselves and awaited
their fate, with the apathy of numb and despairing brains; but the
monster was evidently aiming for the warmth of his home, and took no
notice of the meal in four courses standing in the middle of the path.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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