She jest feels that way." In the morning the icicles dripped from the roof, and although the snow did not appreciably melt, it shrank into itself and became pock-marked on the surface.
Radway was down looking at the road.
"She's holdin' her own," said he, "but there ain't any use putting more water on her.

She ain't freezing a mite.

We'll plow her out." So they finished the job, and plowed her out, leaving exposed the wet, marshy surface of the creek-bottom, on which at night a thin crust formed.

Across the marsh the old tramped road held up the horses, and the plow swept clear a little wider swath.
"She'll freeze a little to-night," said Radway hopefully.

"You sprinkler boys get at her and wet her down." Until two o'clock in the morning the four teams and the six men creaked back and forth spilling hardly-gathered water--weird, unearthly, in the flickering light of their torches.