But the play never happens. Instead, only a few hours later, a tremendous blizzard arrives. The town is buried in ten feet of snow. It would be nice to think Josefa sent this. Adios, señors.

The situation becomes dire. Food is running out and the miners dig through the snow to the store only to find that the shelves are empty. Dan Waller holds a meeting in his hotel room. It’s larger than the room Edwin and Old Spudge share, and redolent of pipe smoke and a recently emptied chamber pot.

The women gather together on the rumpled bed. Edwin stands by the window, looking out at the white undulation of the yard, the air filled with whirling snowflakes. The curtain is red and velvet and cold to the touch.

Dan tells them to pack up and quickly. He’s a big man with a thick mustache. He plays the heroes, but without his make-up, he looks more like a no-nonsense barkeep. “No one here has food to spare for us,” he says. “So we should get as far as we can before nightfall.” The wind and snow are so thick, Edwin thinks they’ll be traveling blind. Cold, hungry, and blind.

Grass Valley, their destination, is forty miles away. It’s good they left the wagons and sets there. Otherwise, they would have had to abandon them here.

The three women ride their horses, wrapped in coats and blankets. The four men lead, forcing the path. The road out of Downieville begins with a steep climb. The men must stamp the soft snow down with their boots, through drifts as high as their waists. Edwin’s breath is shallow and painful, the air so cold it rattles like nails in his lungs. He keeps his eyes down, blocking the wind and snow as much as he can with his hat brim.

Their progress is agonizingly slow. Edwin imagines days passing, the sun moving unseen overhead, the moon waxing and waning, the seasons turning on their wheel while on the ground below, Edwin takes one step and waits and then takes another. He wonders if he might freeze mid-step. He wonders if his hands might actually be warmer if he took off his gloves, curled his icy fingers together. He tries it and they aren’t. He warms them under the saddle blanket of his horse while he walks beside. Surely he would be warmer if they could only walk faster. The wind dies down, which is a great mercy.

But now the daunting horizon of mountains is visible ahead.