Track's End: Being the Narrative of Judson Pitcher's Strange Winter Spent There as Told by Himself and Edited by Hayden Carruth Including an Accurate Account of His Numerous Adventures, and the Facts Concerning His Several Surprising Escapes from Death Now First Printed in FullCarruth, Hayden
General
Track's End: Being the Narrative of Judson Pitcher's Strange Winter Spent There as Told by Himself and Edited by Hayden Carruth Including an Accurate Account of His Numerous Adventures, and the Facts Concerning His Several Surprising Escapes from Death Now First Printed in Full
Carruth, Hayden
Adventure stories; Dakota Territory -- Fiction; Winter -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
At last the stable fire began to die down. The current of air from the
northeast had become stronger, and the column of smoke was swaying
more and more to the southwest. Just as daylight began to appear in
the east the last remaining timber of the stable fell, and, though
there was a great cloud of sparks and still much heat, I saw that
unless a strong east wind should spring up there was no longer danger
that the town would be consumed. By this time I was cold and stiff, my
face scorched by the fire, and my clothes frozen with the water from
the pailfuls I had carried. I went into the hotel.
Kaiser was so glad to see me that he reared up and put his forepaws on
my shoulders. I was patting and praising him, when suddenly the
question, What caused the fire? flashed into my mind. There had been
no trace of Pike. From the windmill tower I had been unable to see any
trail leading from the way he would come. There was no explanation
except that it must have been caused by the same thing that had made
me so much other trouble. Till it was broad daylight I paced up and
down the office floor, unable to stop. For two days I thought of
little else, and brooded on it till I was half sick.
It seems to me as I look back at it that every time I got fairly
desperate through lonesomeness or pure fright I went and dug a snow
tunnel. I was as bad as a mole for tunnels; and I meant to tell about
my system before this; but so many things keep popping into my mind,
what with my memory and with the old hotel register and the letters to
my mother lying spread out before me, that I have not once got around
to mention any of them except the first, which connected the hotel and
the bank, directly across the street. I was so taken up with this that
soon after New-Year's I decided to build some others.
I was keeping up at that time five fires (or smokes) besides the one
in the hotel, to wit: one in the harness shop and one in Joyce's, both
at the north end of the street and opposite each other; one in the
bank; one in Townsend's store at the south end of the street on the
west side, and one in the depot out across the square in front of the
south end of the street. There was a chance for a good tunnel to all
of these except to the depot; here the northwest wind had swept across
the square and the ground in some places was almost bare.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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