The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder Read Free Book Online

gathered in Harthorn 's store in town. The trains, which had been stopped by the blizzard, were running again, and men had come in to town from their claims to buy some groceries and hear the news.
    Royal and Almanzo Wilder had come from their homesteads, Almanzo driving his own fine team of matched Morgans, the best team in all that country.
    Mr. Boast was there, standing in the middle of the little crowd and setting it laughing when he laughed. Pa had walked in with his gun on his arm, but he had not seen so much as a jackrabbit, and now he was waiting while Mr. Harthorn weighed the piece of salt pork that he had had to buy instead.
    No one heard a footstep, but Pa felt that someone was behind him and he turned to see who it was.
    Then suddenly Mr. Boast stopped talking. All the others looked to see what Mr. Boast saw, and they stood up quickly from the cracker boxes and the plow.
    Almanzo slid down from the counter. Nobody said anything.
    It was only an Indian, but somehow the sight of him kept them all quiet. He stood there and looked at them, at Pa, at Mr. Boast, at Royal Wilder and each of the other men, and finally at Almanzo.
    He was a very old Indian. His brown face was carved in deep wrinkles and shriveled on the bones, but he stood tall and straight. His arms were folded under a gray blanket, holding it wrapped around him.
    His head was shaved to a scalp-lock and an eagle's feather stood up from it. His eyes were bright and sharp. Behind him the sun was shining on the dusty street and an Indian pony stood there waiting.
    “Heap big snow come,” this Indian said.
    The blanket slid on his shoulder and one naked brown arm came out. It moved in a wide sweep, to north, to west, to east, and gathered them all together and swirled.
    “Heap big snow, big wind,” he said.
    “How long?” Pa asked him.
    “Many moons,” the Indian said. He held up four fingers, then three fingers. Seven fingers, seven months; blizzards for seven months.
    The y all looked at him and did not say anything.
    “You white men,” he said. “I tell-um you.”
    He showed seven fingers again. “B i g snow.” Again, seven fingers. “B i g snow.” Again seven fingers. “Heap big snow, many moons.”
    Then he tapped his breast with his forefinger.
    “Old! Old! I have seen!” he said proudly.
    He walked out of the store to his waiting pony and rode away toward the west.
    “Well, I'll be jiggered,” Mr. Boast said.
    “What was that about seven big snows?” Almanzo asked. Pa told him. The Indian meant that every sev-enth winter was a hard winter and that at the end of three times seven years came the hardest winter of all.
    He had come to tell the white men that this coming winter was a twenty-first winter, that there would be seven months of blizzards.
    “You suppose the old geezer knows what he's talking about?” Royal wanted to know. No one could answer that.
    “Just on the chance,” Royal said, “I say we move in to town for the winter. My feed store beats a claim shanty all hollow for wintering in. We can stay back there till spring. How'd it suit you, Manzo?”
    “Suits me,” said Almanzo.
    “How do you feel about moving in to town, Boast?”
    Pa asked.
    Mr. Boast slowly shook his head. "Don't see how we could. We've got too much stock cattle and horses, and chickens. There's no place in town to keep them even if I could afford to pay rent. We're fixed pretty well for the winter on the claim. I guess Ellie and I better stay with it."
    Everyone was sober. Pa paid for his groceries and set out, walking quickly toward home. Now and then he looked back at the northwest sky. It was clear and the sun was shining.
    Ma was taking bread from the oven when Pa came in. Carrie and Grace had run to meet him; then came in with him. Mary went on quietly sewing but Laura jumped up.
    “Is anything wrong, Charles?” Ma asked, tipping the good-smelling loaves from the pan onto a clean white cloth. “You're home early.”
    “Nothing's