The Long Winter (Little House 6)

“Oh, they’ll get the trains through,” Royal said, eating. “But if they didn’t we’d be up against it. How about coal and kerosene and flour and sugar? For that matter, how long would my stock of feed last, if the whole town came piling in here to buy it?”

Almanzo straightened up. “Say!” he exclaimed. “Nobody’s going to get my seed wheat! No matter what happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Royal said. “Whoever heard of storms lasting seven months? They’ll get the trains running again.”

“They better,” said Almanzo, turning the pancakes. He thought of the old Indian, and he looked at his sacks of seed wheat. They were stacked along the end of the room and some were under the bed. The seed wheat did not belong to Royal; it belonged to him. He had raised it in Minnesota. He had plowed and harrowed the ground and sowed the grain. He had cut it and bound it, threshed and sacked it, and hauled it a hundred miles in his wagon.

If storms like this storm delayed the trains so that no more seed came from the East until after sowing time, his crop for next year, his homestead would depend on his having that seed wheat to sow. He would not sell it for any money. It was seed that made crops. You could not sow silver dollars.

“I’m not going to sell so much as a peck of my seed wheat,” he said.

“All right, all right, nobody’s bothering your wheat,” Royal answered. “How about some pancakes?”

“This makes twenty-one,” Almanzo said, putting them on Royal’s plate.

“How many did you eat while I was doing the chores?” Royal asked him.

>

“I didn’t count ’em,” Almanzo grinned. “But gosh, I’m working up an appetite, feeding you.”

“So long as we keep on eating, we don’t have to wash the dishes,” said Royal.

Chapter 11

Pa Goes To Volga

At noon on Tuesday the blizzard ended. Then the wind died down and in the clear sky the sun shone brightly.

“Well, that’s over,” Pa said cheerfully. “Now maybe we’ll have a spell of good weather.”

Ma sighed comfortably. “It’s good to see the sun again.”

“And to hear the stillness,” Mary added.

They could hear again the small sounds of the town. Now and then a store door slammed. Ben and Arthur went by, talking, and Cap Garland came whistling down Second Street. The only usual sound that they did not hear was the train’s whistle.

At supper Pa said that the train was stopped by the snow-filled big cut near Tracy. “But they’ll shovel through it in a couple of days,” he said. “In weather like this, who cares about trains?”

Early next morning he went across the street to Fuller’s store, hurrying back. He told Ma that some of the men were going to take the handcar from the depot and go meet the train at Volga, clearing the track as they went. Mr. Foster had agreed to do Pa’s chores if Pa went along.

“I have been in one place so long, I would like to travel a little,” Pa said.

“Go along, Charles, you might as well,” Ma agreed.

“But can you clear the track so far in one day?”

“We think so,” said Pa. “The cuts are small from here to Volga and it’s only about fifty miles. The worst stretch is east of Volga and the train crews are working at that. If we clear the rest of the way for them, we ought to come back with the regular train day after tomorrow.”

He was putting on an extra pair of woolen socks while he talked. He wound the wide muffler around his neck, crossed it on his chest, and buttoned his overcoat snugly over it. He fastened his ear muffs, put on his warmest mittens, and then with his shovel on his shoulder he went to the depot.

It was almost schooltime but, instead of hurrying to school, Laura and Carrie stood in Second Street watching Pa set out on his trip.

The handcar was standing on the track by the depot and men were climbing onto it as Pa came up.

“All ready, Ingalls! All aboard!” they called. The north wind blowing over the dazzling snow brought every word to Laura and Carrie.

Pa was on the car in a moment. “Let’s go, boys!” he gave the word as he gripped a handbar.