Snow-Blind

Snow-Blind

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Snow-Blind, by Katharine Newlin
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Title: Snow-Blind
Author: Katharine Newlin Burt
Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7520] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on May 13,
2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English

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SNOW-BLIND ***

Produced by Ketaki Chhabra and Wendy Crockett from the book.

SNOW-BLIND
BY
KATHARINE NEWLIN BURT
AUTHOR OF THE BRANDING IRON, Etc.

CHAPTER I
Under a noon sun the vast, flat country, buried deep in snow, lay like a
paper hoop rimmed by the dark primeval forest; its surface shone with
an unbearable brightness as of sun-struck glass, every crystal gleaming
and quivering with intense cold light. To the north a single blunt, low
mountain-head broke the evenness of the horizon line.
Hugh Garth seemed to leap through paper like a tiny active clown as he
dropped down into the small space shoveled clear in front of his hidden
cabin door. The roof was weighted with drift, so that a curling mass
like the edge of a wind-crowded wave about to break hung low over the
eaves. Long icicles as thick as a man's arm stretched from roof to
ground in a row of twisted columns. Under this overhanging cornice of
snow near the door there was a sudden icy purple darkness.
As Hugh plunged down into it, his face lost a certain rapt brightness
and shadowed deeply. He let slip the load of fresh pelts from his back,
drew his feet from the skis which he stuck up on their ends in the snow,
and removed the fur cap from his head and the huge dark spectacles
from his eyes. Then, crouching, he went in at the low, ill-hung door. It
stuck to its sill, and he cursed it; all his movements expressed the anger
of frustration. He slammed the door behind him.

Buried in drifts, the cabin was dim even at this bright hour of noon. The
stove glowed in a corner with a subdued redness, its bulging cheeks
and round mouth dully scarlet. The low room was pleasant to look at,
for it had the beauty of brown bark and the salmon tints of old rough
boards, and its furniture, wrought painstakingly by an unskillful hand,
had the charm of all handwork even when unskilled. Some of the chairs
were rudely carved, one great throne especially, awkward, pretentious,
and carefully ornate.
There was, too, a solid table in the center of the floor; and on it a
woman was setting heavy earthenware plates nicked and discolored.
She was heavy and discolored herself, but like the stove, she too
seemed to have a dull glow. She was no longer young, but she might
still have encouraged her youthfulness to linger pleasantly; she was not
in the least degree beautiful, but she might have fostered a charm that
lurked somewhere about her small, compact body and in her square,
dark face. Her hair of a sandy brown was stretched back brutally so that
her bright, devoted eyes--gray and honest eyes, very deep-set beneath
their brows--lacked the usual softness and mystery of women's eyes.
Her lips were tight set; her chin held out with an air of dogged effort
which seemed to possess no relation to her mechanical occupation, yet
to have a strong habitual relation to her state of mind. She seemed, in
fact, under a shell of self-control, to conceal an inner light, like a dimly
burning dark-lantern. Her expression was dumb. She moved about like
a deaf-mute. Indeed, her stillness and stony self-repression were
extraordinary.
A youth rose from a chair near the stove and greeted Hugh as he
entered.
"Hullo," he said. "How many did you get?"
It was the eager questioning of a modest, affectionate boy who curbs
his natural effervescence of greeting like a well-trained dog. The tone
was astonishingly young,