hands an' feet ache with cold, an' I 'm drawin' th' blanket closer, when there 's a puff of wind so cold it cuts into my back like a knife. It passes quick, but it don't fool me. I know what 's behind it. I reach for th' robe an' has it 'most unfastened when there 's a roar an' I 'm 'most unseated by th' wind before I can get set. I did n't know then that it's goin' to blow that hard for three days, an' it's just as well. It's full of ice—li'l slivers that are sharp as needles an' cut an' sting till they make th' skin raw. I let loose of th' robe an' tie my bandanna around my face, so my nose an' mouth is covered. My throat burns already almost to my lungs. Good Lord, but it is cold! My hands are stiff when I go back for th' robe, an' it's all I can do to keep it from blowin' away from me. It takes me a long time to get it over th' blanket, an' my hands are 'most froze when it's fastened. That was a good robe, but it did n't make much difference that day. Th' cold cuts through it an' into my back as if it was n't there. My feet are gettin' worse all th' time, an' it ain't long before I ain't
