1920 Cedrus Yearbook

• • •:••1• *.•• 1920 AS LOST SHEEP RETURN TO THE FOLD (Prize Story) HE world was tucked within a nice blanket of white, with here and there tops of bushes and shrubbery which seemed to be playing peek-a-boo with the outside. It was just daybreak of a very cold day, and the air was still and frosty. Just as the sun was peeking its head above the horizon a man emerged from a small tog cabin situated behind a sheltering cliff. Max Jenson was a fur trader of the far Northwest. His face was a well-written page, but through the tanned skin beamed cheer- fulness and honesty. He had roamed this God-forsaken country for nearly thirty years. He knew every path and stopping-place, and more- over, he knew every sign. This morning as he called his dogs around him he told them that they were going to get a rest. The sun had a red glow that looked dangerous, and Max knew too well what that meant. He was not the man to take a chance; he had seen too many men perish in the snow. Max fed his dogs from a carcass of a deer that he had killed not long previous, and then set about to gather fuel. After gathering enough fuel to last for at least a week he began to make preparations on the inside for what he knew was coming. About one o'clock he looked out; to the west he looked with a sort of knowing manner. A cloud was there, not a black one, but white. Not long after this the wind began to howl around the corners of his hut and he called his dogs inside. After a half hour had rolled by the sky was filled with a dusty snow driven by the wind; the window sills were soon banked with it and the hut creaked and moaned in a way that would nearly dishearten a man. But Max seemed to be enjoying himself by keeping the dogs quiet and by filling in holes with sticks and rags to keep out the snow. He was very comfortable in the hut, having a good fireplace and plenty of fuel. He had been at a fur centerjust two days before and so was well stocked with provisions and smoking tobacco. After eight o'clock he sat down in his rocking chair which he had made a good many years before, ana began smoking. All seemed to be going well on earth. But he was not the only one in that part of the country this night. Groping their way about a quarter of a mile from his hut were two other persons. They were "all in" and thought it useless to try any longer, but that instinct to struggle for life could not be overcome. So they struggled on, now and then shouting for help. One of the dogs in Max's hut gave a growl; then sat up. Max listened for a long time and then started, for he heard what seemed to be a human voice calling for help, which was very uncommon. he listened again to make sure he was right. Again he heard the cry. He immediately put on his boots, put his six-shooter in his pocket and dressed in general, pulling his fur cap about him, so all that could be seen were his eyes. 54