Janet Hardy in Hollywood. Wheeler Ruthe S.
the wave of heat from the heater diminished noticeably.
With the motor barely turning over, outside noises were audible and Janet could hear the rush of the wind. Particles of the fine, dry snow were being driven against the window beside her.
It was at least fifteen minutes later when Jim, Ed and the driver returned, red-faced and breathless from their exertions. The boys dropped into the front seats while the driver opened the throttle and sent the big machine lumbering ahead.
The bus plunged into the drift, the chains on the rear wheels biting deep into the snow. Once they swung sharply and Janet gasped, but they swung back and with the engine taxed to the limit finally pulled through the drift.
Janet saw Jim look around and she thought she detected grave concern in his eyes. Then he turned away and she was too far away to speak to him without alarming the others.
The bus labored up a long grade, breasted the top of the hill, and then started down. It would be in the valley that trouble would come, for the snow would be heavily drifted.
The big machine rocked down the slope, jolting its occupants around and bruising one or two of them. Janet heard Miss Bruder cry out sharply and turned around, but the teacher motioned that she was all right.
Then the speed of the bus slackened, the wheels spun futilely, and their forward motion ceased. Almost instantly they were in reverse, but the bus slipped to one side and in spite of the full power of the motor, the wheels churned through the dry snow.
The driver eased up on the throttle, looked significantly at Jim and Ed, and with them at his heels plunged into the storm again. Fortunately, he had tied several shovels to the bus before leaving Youde’s and they were not without implements to dig themselves out.
Janet could hear them working, first at the front and then at the rear and Helen, now thoroughly wide awake, looked at her in alarm.
“It’s getting colder in here,” she said.
“The engine’s barely turning over; there isn’t much heat coming out.”
“I know, but I mean the temperature outside must be dropping rapidly, and listen to the wind.”
But Janet preferred not to listen to the wind; it was too mournful, too nerve-wracking. What it whispered alarmed her for they were still some miles from the main road and there were few if any farms near.
The bus driver returned and motioned to the other boys.
“Give us a hand. We don’t want to stay here a minute longer than necessary.”
The rest of the boys piled out of the bus, leaving the girls and Miss Bruder alone.
“I’m nearly frozen,” complained Margie Blake. “At least we might have obtained a good bus driver.”
“I don’t think it’s the driver’s fault,” interposed Janet. “We stayed too long at Youde’s.”
“Then he should have told us the storm was getting worse. My folks will be worried half to death if we are hung up here all night.”
Janet admitted to herself that they would all have cause to worry if they had to stay in the bus all night, for she doubted if the supply of fuel would be sufficient to keep the engine going to operate the heater for that length of time and she dreaded to think of how cold it might get if the heater was off.
Between the gusts of wind that swept around the bus they could hear the steady swing of the shovels biting into the snow. It was eleven o’clock when the driver came inside. His face was almost white from the cold and he beat his hands together as he took the wheel and eased in the clutch.
With the motor roaring heavily Janet felt the power being applied to the wheels ever so gradually to keep them from slipping. The bus seemed cemented into the snow, but motion finally became evident. The wheels churned and they moved backward.
Someone outside was shouting, but the words were unintelligible to all except the driver. He stopped while one of the boys scraped the frost off the window outside for the windshield wiper had frozen.
Then, barely creeping ahead and with the bus in low gear, they moved through the snow, shouted commands keeping the driver in the right path. At last they were through the drift and the boys piled back into the bus, pounding each other on the back and clapping their hands to bring back the circulation.
Miss Bruder called Jim Barron back.
“Just how serious is this, Jim?” she asked.
“Pretty bad. We’re three miles from the main road and there isn’t a farm within two miles. Only thing we can do is to keep going ahead and try to shovel through.”
“How about Little Deer valley?”
“That’s what we’re worrying about. The wind gets a clean sweep there and I’m afraid we may not get through.”
“Can we turn back and stay at Youde’s?”
“Some of the road behind us would be as badly drifted as Little Deer valley,” replied Jim. “I guess the only thing is to grind ahead and trust that the gas holds out.”
For a time they made steady progress, the bus rumbling along smoothly and the heater throwing out a steady blast of warm, dank air. Then they rolled down a gentle slope and onto the flat of Little Deer valley, which was more than half a mile wide.
The driver stopped and went out to wade through the drifts. He came back to report that they might make it although in places the drifts were nearly up to the tops of the fence posts.
“It’s going to mean plenty of shoveling,” he warned them.
“We’ve got to go on,” said Miss Bruder. “If we get stuck at least we’re that much closer to the road. Perhaps we could walk to the main highway.”
Janet saw Jim glance sharply at Miss Bruder. Perhaps she didn’t realize the seriousness of their situation, or perhaps she was masking her thoughts with those words.
The gears ground again, the motor took up its burden, and they lurched ahead, churning through the deepening snow.
The air was colder now. There was no warmth from the heater. Something had gone wrong with the motor or a pipe had frozen. No matter then. Getting through the drifts was uppermost in their minds.
Gradually the straining progress of the bus slowed, finally stopped, the gears clashed, and they lurched backward several hundred feet. Then they plunged ahead again, burrowing deeper into the snow.
“Everybody out to shovel,” said the driver, snapping off the engine to save fuel.
The boys hurried out into the cold and the girls huddled closer to each other. Margie and Cora, thinly clad for such a night, beat their arms almost steadily and stamped their feet in rhythmic cadence.
Janet and Helen, heavily clothed, were still warm although the cold crept through their gloves to some extent.
“I wonder how cold it is?” asked Helen.
“I haven’t any idea, but it feels like it was almost zero. Let’s not think about it.”
“Try not to think about it,” retorted Helen, and Janet admitted that her companion was right. There was nothing to think about except the cold and the snow. Of course there was the class play, but marooned in the middle of Little Deer valley with a howling blizzard raging was no time to think of class plays.
The driver came back and stepped on the starter. The motor was slow in turning over. It must be bitterly cold, thought Janet. Finally the engine started and they plowed ahead a few feet, then finally churned to a stop.
Outside the shovels clanged against the steel sides of the bus as the boys dug into the snow again. It was chilling, numbing work out there and Jim Barron tumbled through the door to stand up in front and beat his arms steadily. When he went out, Ed Rickey came in and the boys alternated.
Margie whimpered in the cold and Janet felt sorry for her.
“My coat’s large. I’ll come up and sit with you and Cora can come back here with Helen,”