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toward us at the rate of forty miles an hour. It was
a prairie blizzard filling the air with frozen snow and
driving it forward with the fierceness of a gigantic
sandblast. No man or beast can face such an onslaught.
One turns instinctively away from such a force, and
once turned and started there is no such thing as
stopping. One is driven onward, unmercifully beaten
by the frozen snow, until in sheer exhaustion the ill-fated
traveler sinks into the drift. Tired out, he becomes
drowsy, then a numbness sets in, and then a sleep from
which there is no waking. About 70 people, who were
in the path of this never-to-be-forgotten storm, are
known to have perished.
A friend of mine had gone to the lake to fish. He
had built a small shanty on the ice for protection.
The storm coming on, he did not dare to start for home
but very prudently remained within his shelter. His
wife, however, not knowing the dangers of a prairie
blizzard, had ventured out. No sooner had she gone out
of doors than she was caught in the grip of the storm
and was forced onward and onward until she was driven
some seven miles away from home. Then her strength
completely failed her and she sank down into her last
sleep. Her body was not found until spring, when the
drifts of snow began to melt away. It was discovered
later, by tracing her tracks, that she had passed the
box where her husband sat, that fateful night, a prisoner
in the grip of the cruel storm.
When her husband finally reached home he found
the door to his house blown open, his wife gone, and
his little boy three years old standing in the bed, where
he had been alone two days and nights. The little
fellow had cried so long that he could scarcely sob.
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