I therefore cowered upon the mare's back until she was
quiet again. "Woa! Quiet, my lass!" I heard my father saying, and it
seemed his Missy was more frightened than mine.
My fear was now quite gone, and I felt much inclined to laugh at the
fun of the misadventure. I had as yet no idea of how serious a thing
it might be. Still I had sense enough to see that something must be
done--but what? I saw no way of getting out of the hole except by
trampling down the snow upon the back of my poor mare, and that I
could not think of; while I doubted much whether my father even could
tell in what direction to turn for help or shelter.
[Illustration]
Finding our way home, even if we got free, seemed out of the question.
Again my mare began plunging violently, and this time I found myself
thrown against some hard substance. I thrust my hand through the snow,
and felt what I thought the stones of one of the dry walls common to
the country. I might clear away enough of the snow to climb upon that;
but then what next--it was so dark?
"Ranald!" cried my father; "how do you get on?"
"Much the same, father," I answered.
"I'm out of the wreath," he returned. "We've come through on the other
side. You are better where you are I suspect, however. The snow is
warmer than the air. It is beginning to blow. Pull your feet out and
get right upon the mare's back.
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