Janet Hardy in Hollywood

“Nine forty-five. We’re starting home early.”

Janet nodded, but she was glad they had made the start. It wouldn’t have been pleasant staying at Youde’s if they had been snowed in for the lonely inn had few comforts.

The powerful engine of the bus labored as the big machine topped a grade out of the valley and they swung down into another. For five or six miles it would be one hill after another and Janet wondered if the snow was drifting down in the valleys.

The road was little used and if the wind increased, it might make travel exceedingly difficult. But she dismissed that thought from her mind for the bus had heavy chains on the double wheels at the rear.

The spontaneity which had marked their trip out was missing and conversation soon died away. Everyone was tired and willing to snuggle down into their coats.

Janet must have been dozing for the heavy roar of the bus motor awoke her with a start.

They were backing up. Then they stopped and the driver shifted gears. The bus leaped ahead, the throttle on full and the exhaust barking in the crisp air. Gradually their forward motion ceased and the wheels ground into the snow.

Without a word the bus driver shifted instantly into reverse and they lurched backward. The driver stopped the bus, set the emergency brake, and dodged out into the night.

“What’s the matter?” asked Helen, who was almost hidden in her fur coat and deliciously sleepy.

“I think we’ve hit a drift,” replied Janet.

“We ought to be almost home, though. It seems like we’ve been traveling for ages.”

“I expect we are,” but Janet didn’t feel the optimism that she meant her words to convey.

If the wind had increased they might find themselves in a serious situation.

The bus driver opened the door and stuck his head in.

“One of you fellows come out and give me a hand with the shovels.”

Jim Barron, nearest the door, responded with Ed Rickey at his heels.

After several minutes the bus driver came back inside and slowed the motor down to idling speed and 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.