For three days, the blizzard raged. Jack Dryden slumped in his rocking chair, a flask of whiskey close to hand. Hunkering in a corner, Clem Holmes made himself as small as possible. He wished he were at home in his claim shanty.

Whacky Jack steadily became drunker. The whiskey made him belligerent. Leaping to his feet, he shouted at his companion and threatened him. Clem, a peace-loving man, took the abuse in stride. However, when his nemesis swung a spade at his head, he sprang to his feet.

It did not take must effort to overwhelm the drunkard. He grabbed the spade handle in his fists and forced Whacky Jacky against the far wall.

"Enough!" Clem shouted, pressing the wooden shaft against Jack's throat. "I've endured enough!"

Whacky Jacky's bloodshot eyes flew wide open. His throat gurgled, and he slumped against the wall. Clem released the spade and threw it against the far wall. He had never threatened anyone in his life. The drunkard slid against the wall and slumped on the floor. Clem squatted and took his pulse. Relieved Jack Dryden was alive, he calmly sat in the rocker.

After a few hours, Jacky awoke. He stared at Clem, dumbfounded. No one had ever threatened him. He had never felt so overwhelmed.

"When the blizzard is over," the pioneer stated, "I will return to my wife and family. We will never mention my enforced visit, nor will we communicate with each other. As far as you're concerned, I do not know you. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Jack muttered. He did not say another word.

Clem made coffee and offered his companion a mug. Whacky Jacky wrapped both hands around the warm cup and sipped.

Finally, late in the afternoon, the wind slackened. Then, the little prairie shanty grew silent. Another hour passed. Then, Clem opened the front door. A wall of snow greeted him. Hastily, he grabbed the spade and began to dig.

The tunnel opened up, and a bright blue sky greeted Clement Holmes. He stood on the white prairie and surveyed his surroundings. A black stove pipe indicated the claim shanty's position. All around him, snow covered everything. In the distance, he noticed the roofs of the small pioneer town.

Turing in a full circle, Clem tried to locate his claim. The snowbound prairie deceived him. Jack Dryden's head appeared in the tunnel. Then, the old frontiersman stood beside him.

"I expect you are bound for home," Jacky solemnly remarked.

"Yep," Clem answered with one word.

Silently, the two men stood side-by-side. Moment by awkward moment slid past. Clem shuffled his feet, wanting to speak but lost for words. The time they shared would become a memory best forgotten.

"I expect I'll winter here, then move on," Dryden finally spoke. "I'm not fit to lead a settled life."

"My family's aiming to stick it out," Clem responded. "I ain't never farmed the land, but I aim to try. If it doesn't work out, I'll take a place in town."

"Good luck to you," Jack remarked, extending his hand.

Clement Holmes looked down upon Dryden's palm. He hesitated to shake it, then grasped it firmly. They shook—not as friends nor as enemies. Upon the blizzard's end, they parted and would never meet again. The thought pleased Clem.

After feeding the stock in the barn, Clem finally said farewell to his unwanted companion. He set his footsteps toward home and walked onward in a steady march.