On the fourth day they struck a blinding snow-storm, while ascending the
dreary plateau that henceforward for six hundred miles was to be their
roadbed. The horses, after floundering through the drift, gave out
completely on reaching the next station, and the prospects ahead, to
all but the experienced eye, looked doubtful. A few passengers advised
taking to sledges, others a postponement of the journey until the
weather changed. Yuba Bill alone was for pressing forward as they were.
"Two miles more and we're on the high grade, whar the wind is strong
enough to blow you through the windy, and jist peart enough to pack away
over them cliffs every inch of snow that falls. I'll jist skirmish round
in and out o' them drifts on these four wheels whar ye can't drag one
o' them flat-bottomed dry-goods boxes through a drift." Bill had a
California whip's contempt for a sledge. But he was warmly seconded by
Thatcher, who had the next best thing to experience, the instinct
that taught him to read character, and take advantage of another
man's experience.
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