“We are in for a heavy fall,” said Dave, and he was right. The snow continued all night and all of the next day, and still there was no let-up to the storm. They remained in the temporary camp, watching the fall anxiously. “Dave, I really believe we are going to be snowed in!” cried Henry, as he walked outside, to get a good look at the sky. “It doesn’t seem to brighten up a bit!” “Just what I am thinking,” answered his cousin. “It is certainly coming down as thickly as ever.” All were now watching the snowfall, and they went to bed with anxious hearts. Dave woke up just at dawn. The snow had stopped, but there was more overhead, as he could easily see. “If only this storm had kept off a few days longer,” sighed Joseph Morris. Three days of fair traveling would have brought the expedition to the vicinity of the trading post. Breakfast was had, and all were wondering if they could make any headway in such a depth of snow when the flakes began to come down again. The whole landscape was blotted out in a sea of whirling flakes. “That settles it; we remain here,” grumbled Dave. The nearer he drew to the trading post the more anxious he became to learn the whole truth of the situation there. The men of the expedition made themselves as comfortable as possible, and not to be caught without provisions, some went out on a short hunt. They managed to bring down a few birds, but that was all—not worth the powder and shot, as Barringford declared. Dave was greatly interested in the sick man, who dozed away the greater portion of the time. Once or twice the youth tried to engage the man in conversation, but the effort was a failure. “I’ll have to wait till he feels more like himself,” said Dave to Henry. “One thing is certain, he is not used to a life in the open or used to roughing it in any way.” “It is queer how he came among the Indians, Dave. He will most likely have quite a story to tell—if he is ever able to tell it.” “Oh, I think he will recover, don’t you?” “Yes, physically, but——” And Henry shrugged his shoulders. “You think it will affect him here?” And Dave tapped his forehead. “Perhaps. Don’t you remember Dick Barsbee? He went crazy from the Indian tortures he endured.” “Yes, I remember that.” Dave shook his head. “I hope the man comes around all right. I must say there is something about him that interests me a great deal.” “Does his face look familiar to you?” “It certainly does,—but I can’t trace the likeness to save myself.” “It’s the same way with me, and Sam Barringford says the same. Now what can it mean?” “We may find out when we learn who the man is.” The snow continued all of that day and far into the night. Then the wind arose, sweeping great drifts of white across the landscape. The expedition was under the shelter of a cliff and some trees, and was snowed in beyond a doubt. “Snowbound!” cried Sam Barringford, grimly. “Here we be an’ here we are likely to stay fer some time to come.”