America 1883: The Western Homeland

Chapter 85 The temperature in Montana is steadily decreasing in winter.

The first snowfall in Montana’s Bozeman Valley in 1883 came unexpectedly and swiftly, yet stubbornly refused to leave, catching the new immigrants off guard and forcing them to confront the cruelty of Montana’s harsh winter.

Just as people were still in shock, the wind outside suddenly picked up, and a blizzard began.

The sky darkened almost instantly, and large snowflakes, carried by the wind, flew sideways, relentlessly striking the simple wooden house's exterior walls with a crackling sound.

The roof rafters creaked and groaned under the pressure of the wind and snow, as if they would collapse under the weight at any moment.

The door trembled incessantly as it was pushed by the wind, and a biting chill seeped in through the cracks.

Outside, everything was already a blur of darkness; just a few steps away, the outline of the tool shed disappeared into the swirling snow.

Between heaven and earth, only the roar of the wind and snow and the rampaging snowflakes remained.

Looking out the window, all I could see was a vast expanse of white. Snowflakes were exploding wildly on the windowpane and piling up thick snow ridges around the window frame, almost sealing off the entire world.

Inside, the flames in the fireplace roared, greedily licking the air and turning the pile of firewood beside them into light and heat. People huddled tightly in front of the fireplace, drawing on the meager warmth as if it were a life-giving fountain, every nerve taut from the howling wind and the groaning of the cabin.

This violent feast lasted for a day and a night.

Early in the morning, when Tom struggled to push open the door that seemed to be welded shut, an extremely cold draft instantly rushed into his lungs, making him shiver.

He instinctively shrank his neck, thinking to himself: This awful weather, it must be minus ten degrees Celsius!

The group filed out, fully armed: thick leather jackets, trousers, and boots covered their entire bodies, rough leather gloves were on their hands, and leather hats that covered their ears were on their heads, with only their wary eyes showing.

"Good heavens! This snow..." Chef Jonah pushed his leather hat, which had almost slipped down to his nose, up with all his might and looked around.

Underfoot, at least ten inches (about 25 centimeters) of snow, like a huge white shroud, completely covered the entire grassland, smoothing out all familiar outlines.

"Jonathan, you've never seen this much snow in October before, have you?"

Tom's breath instantly condensed.

Jonah tightened his grip on the cold shovel, his rough knuckles turning white. "Tom, October isn't even over yet! Go ask those old bones in town, has anyone ever seen a blizzard come this early, and so fiercely?"

He spat, and his spittle landed on the snow, instantly blooming into a frost flower with ice crystals around its edges.

Cowboy Ennis, standing to the side, nodded emphatically, his brow furrowed beneath his leather hat. "That's right, this winter is strangely cold, and the temperature is strangely low!"

The words of these two people, who had lived in Montana, carried an undeniable weight, pressing heavily on everyone's hearts.

"However," Ennis changed the subject, casting his gaze at the undulating hills in the distance, "if this awful weather could calm down a bit, the livestock might have a chance to survive. The public pastures on the high slopes are windy, and the snow is thin, so if you're lucky, you might be able to find some turf for the cattle and horses to graze on."

As an experienced herdsman, he knew the importance of every glimmer of hope.

As they talked, they vigorously swung shovels and brooms to clear and pile up the snow in front of the door and windows.

As the smoke from breakfast rises, a narrow snow path, barely leading to the livestock shed, has been carved out of the frigid air.

The biting wind still chilled to the bone, seeping into every nook and cranny of my clothes and taking away the last bit of warmth.

But at this moment, the wind has at least subsided, no longer the devastating gale of last night, so at least the hard work of cleaning up won't be buried immediately.

Mother Margaret clearly had a plan.

On the breakfast table, the steaming hot stew of salted meat, beans, and carrots exuded a strong aroma, accompanied by hard, dark bread.

"Ennis," James looked at the cowboy, "who will help you take the livestock up the mountain during the day?"

Ennis's gaze swept over Cooper and Zach, finally settling on Cooper.

"Cooper, come with me."

Rancher James nodded, his voice low: "Go early and come back early. Also, keep the hay in the shed."

A simple sentence reveals a hidden worry about the harsh reality that is about to unfold.

However, fate was far more ruthless than they had imagined.

For the next two weeks, the weather not only did not improve, but worsened!

The temperature plummeted like a falling stone.

The blizzard, like a wild beast out of control, raged and roared repeatedly across the wasteland.

The livestock were kept tightly confined in the shed, unable to move an inch.

Fortunately, Tom had planned ahead and had a sufficient supply of hay, which became the last straw that kept him alive.

Time crawled laboriously until November.

Finally, a day without howling winds arrived.

Although the air was still bitterly cold, and every breath felt like swallowing ice crystals, the oppression of being trapped on the ranch for more than half a month was swelling up like fermenting dough.

Mother Margaret broke the silence: "Shall we go for a walk in town?"

The suggestion instantly ignited a long-suppressed spark in everyone's eyes.

Go outside! I need to get some fresh air! Even if it's just to see a different view.

Ultimately, a bottle of fine whiskey "bribed" the cook, Jonah, making him willingly, or rather, reluctantly, stay and watch the house.

Elsa and cowboy Ennis were also left behind; he had to look after the valuable livestock.

The remaining people squeezed onto the heavy horse-drawn carriages, their wheels creaking as they trudged through the thick snow toward the town.

Although the bitter cold still reigned supreme and the shadow of the blizzard had not yet faded, surprisingly, a few figures could be seen hurrying along the streets of the town, adding a faint touch of life to this desolate white world.

And when they pushed open the heavy, frost-covered wooden door of the Deep Valley Bar.

A wave of heat, a mixture of cheap tobacco, alcohol, sweat, and the burnt smell of an oven, hit me!

The deafening roar instantly engulfed them.

Under the dim oil lamp, shadows swayed, and the sounds of drinking games, laughter, and rude curses mingled together, creating a boiling atmosphere full of primal vitality!

The scene outside the door, cold and desolate, seemed to be swallowed up by the next blizzard at any moment, creating a stark contrast between heaven and hell.

Tom also met Dan's beautiful woman.

I stood right behind the bar.

The fireplace cast a warm yellow glow on the oak bar, outlining her full, undulating figure.

A crisply starched white shirt, with delicate lace trim on the collar and cuffs, stands out against the rugged backdrop of sweat, tobacco, and alcohol, looking as clean as a provocation.

Her shirt was neatly cinched by a dark brown suede bodysuit, which was perfectly tailored to fit her voluptuous waist and full bust. The bodysuit was embroidered with intricate vine patterns in dark gold thread, the stitches of which were fine and occasionally shimmered under the oil lamp.

She held a heavy tin wine jug firmly, and with a slight dip of her wrist, the liquid was poured precisely into the glass without spilling a drop.

Her hair was a rich ebony color, her eyes were a deep lake-blue-green, her nose was straight, and her lips were a clear, full, and healthy deep rose color. At this moment, a faint smile was playing on her lips.

Make eye contact with Margaret!