Then I retempered my bolt and brought up the grist and chain and fastened the latter between the boards in the middle of the front brace, hitched my team to the chain and set out again, sitting on the bags.
It was, of course, a difficult journey, for my jumper was narrow.

The snow heaped up beneath me and now and then I and my load were rolled off the jumper.

When the drifts were more than leg deep I let down the fence and got around them by going into the fields.

Often I stopped to clear the eyes of the horses--a slow task to be done with the bare hand--or to fling my palms against my shoulders and thus warm myself a little.
It was pitch dark and the horses wading to their bellies and the snow coming faster when we turned into Rattleroad.

I should not have known the turn when we came to it, but a horse knows more than a man in the dark.