My total direction--after I should have turned off the
correction line--lay to the southeast; into the very
teeth of the wind. I had to make it by laps though, first
south, then east, then south again, with the exception
of six or seven miles across the wild land west of Bell's
corner; there, as nearly as I could hold the direction,
I should have to strike a true line southeast.
I timed my horses; I could not possibly urge them on
to-day. They took about nine minutes to the mile, and I
knew I should have to give them many a walk. That meant
at best a drive of eight hours. It would be dark before
I reached town. I did not mind that, for I knew there
would be many a night drive ahead, and I felt sure that
that half-mile on the southern correction line, one mile
from town, would have been gone over on Saturday by quite
a number of teams. The snow settles down considerably,
too, in thirty hours, especially under the pressure of
wind. If a trail had been made over the drift, I was
confident my horses would find it without fail. So I
dismissed all anxiety on my own score.
But all the more did the thought of my wife worry me.
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