Kitabı oku: «Blake's Burden», sayfa 14
He asked them a few questions about their journey, and by and by Harding took the piece of gum from its case.
"I guess you have seen nothing like this round here?"
"No," said Robertson, who examined it carefully. "I have made it my business to study the natural products o' the district, and it's my opinion ye'll find no gum of this kind in the northern timber belt."
"I expect you're right. Leaving furs out, if the country's rich in anything, it's probably minerals."
"There's copper and some silver, but I've seen no ore that would pay for working when ye consider the transport."
"I don't suppose you're anxious to encourage prospecting," Benson suggested.
Robertson smiled. "If there was a rich strike, we would no object. We're here to trade, and supplying miners is no quite so chancy as dealing in furs; but to have a crowd from the settlements disturbing our preserves and going away after finding nothing of value would not suit us. Still I'm thinking, it's no likely; the distance and the winter will keep them out."
"Did you ever see signs of oil?"
"No here; there's petroleum three hundred miles south, but no enough, in my opinion, to pay for driving wells. Onyway, the two prospecting parties that once came up didna come back again."
He left them presently, and when they heard him moving about an adjoining room, Harding said, "We'll stay here for a time and then look for that petroleum on our way to the settlements."
Blake, who agreed, thought this determination was characteristic of his comrade. Harding's project had failed, but instead of being crushed by disappointment, he was already considering another. While they talked about it Robertson returned, and shortly afterwards they went to sleep.
CHAFFER XXV
THE BACK TRAIL
Blake and his friends spent three weeks at the Hudson's Bay post, and throughout the first fortnight an icy wind hurled the snow against the quivering building. It was dangerous to venture as far as a neighbouring bluff where fuel had been cut, and one evening Benson and the agent, who were hauling cordwood home, narrowly escaped from death in the suddenly freshening storm. None of the half-breeds could reach the factory and Robertson confessed to some anxiety about them; there was little that could be done, and they spent the dreary days lounging about the red-hot stove, and listening to the roar of the gale. In the long evenings Robertson told them grim stories of the North.
Then there came a week of still, clear weather with intense frost, and when several of the trappers arrived Robertson suggested that his guests had better accompany a man who was going some distance south with a dog team. He could, however, only spare them a scanty supply of food, and they knew that a long forced march lay before them when they had left their guide.
Day was breaking when the dogs were harnessed to the sledge, and Harding and his companions, shivering in their furs, felt a strong reluctance to leave the factory. It was a rude place and very lonely, but they had enjoyed warmth and food there, and their physical nature shrank from the toil and bitter cold. None of them wished to linger in the North, and Harding least of all, but it was daunting to contemplate the distance that lay between them and the settlements. Strong effort and stern endurance would be required of them before they rested beside a hearth again.
There was no wind, the smoke went straight up and then, spreading out, hung above the roof in a motionless cloud; the snow had a strange ghostly glimmer in the creeping light, and the cold bit to the bone. It was with a pang they bade their host farewell, and followed the half-breed, who ran down the slope from the door after his team. Robertson was going back to sit, warm and well-fed, by his stove, but they could not tell what hardships awaited them.
Their depression, however, vanished after a time. The snow was good for travelling, the dogs trotted fast, and the half-breed grunted approval of their speed as he pointed to landmarks that proved it when they stopped at noon. After that they held on until dark, and made camp among a few junipers in the shelter of a rock. All had gone well the first day, Harding's leg no longer troubled him, and there was comfort in travelling light with their packs upon the sledge. The journey began to look less formidable, and gathering close round the fire they ate their supper cheerfully while the dogs fought over the scraps of frozen fish. Harding, however, had some misgivings about their ability to keep the pace up; he thought that in a day or two it would tell on the white men.
Nothing disturbed their sleep, which was sound, for the cold has less effect on the man who is fresh and properly fed. Breakfast was quickly dispatched, and after a short struggle with the dogs they set out again. It was another good day, and they travelled fast, over a rolling tableland on which the snow smoothed out the inequalities among the rocks. Bright sunshine streamed down on them, the sledge ran easily up the slopes and down the hollows, and looking back when they nooned Harding noticed the straightness of their course. Picked out in delicate shades of blue against the unbroken white surface surrounding it, the sledge trail ran back with scarcely a waver to the crest of a rise two miles away. This was not how they had journeyed north, with the icy wind in their faces, laboriously struggling round broken ridges and through tangled woods. Harding was a sanguine man, but experience warned him to prepare for much less favourable conditions. It was not often the wilderness showed a smiling face.
Still, the fine weather held and they were deep in the timber when they parted from their guide on a frozen stream which he must follow while they pushed south across a rugged country. He was not a companionable person, and spoke only a few words of barbarous French, but they were sorry to see the last of him when he left them with a friendly farewell. He had brought them speedily a long distance on their way, but they must now trust to the compass and their own resources, while the loads they strapped on were unpleasantly heavy. Before this task was finished dogs and driver had vanished up the white riband of the stream, and they felt lonely as they stood in the bottom of the gorge with steep rocks and dark pines hemming them in. Blake glanced at the high bank with a rueful smile.
"There are advantages in having a good guide, and we hadn't to face a climb like that all the way," he said. "Anyhow, we had better get up."
It cost them some labour and, after reaching the summit they stopped to look for the easiest road. Ahead, as far as they could see, small, ragged pines grew among the rocks, and breaks in the uneven surface hinted at troublesome ravines.
"It looks rough," said Benson. "There's rather a high ridge yonder. It might save trouble to work round its end. What do you think?"
"When I'm not sure," said Harding, "I mean to go straight south."
Benson gave him a sympathetic nod. "One can understand that; you have better reasons for getting back than the rest of us, though I've no particular wish to loiter up here. Break the trail, Blake; due south by compass!"
They plunged deeper into the broken belt, clambering down ravines, crossing frozen lakes and snowy creeks. Indeed, they were thankful when a strip of level surface indicated water, for the toil of getting through the timber was heavy. After two days of travel there was a yellow sunset, and the snow gleamed in the lurid light with an ominous brilliance, while as they made their fire a moaning wind got up. These things presaged a change in the weather, and they were rather silent over the evening meal. They missed the half-breed and the snarling dogs, while it looked as if the good fortune that had so far attended them was coming to an end.
Next morning there was a low, brooding sky, and at noon snow began to fall, but they kept on until evening over very rough ground and then held a council round the fire.
"The situation requires some thought," Blake remarked. "First of all, our provisions won't carry us through the timber belt. Now the shortest course to the prairie, where the going will be easier, is due south, but after we get there we'll have a long march to the settlements. I'd partly counted on our killing a caribou or perhaps a moose, but so far we've seen no tracks."
"There must be some smaller beasts that the Indians eat," Benson suggested.
"None of us knows where to look for them, and we haven't much time to spare for hunting."
"That's so," Harding agreed. "What's your plan?"
"I'm in favour of heading south-west. It may mean an extra hundred miles, or more, but it would bring us nearer the Stony village, and afterwards the logging camp on the edge of the timber, where we might get supplies."
"It's understood that the Indians are often half starved in winter," Benson observed. "For all that, they might have had good luck, and anyhow we couldn't cross the prairie with an empty grub-sack. My vote's for striking off to the west."
Harding concurred, though as his leg had threatened further trouble during the last day or two, he would have preferred the shorter route. Then Blake asked him: "What about the petroleum?"
"We can't stop to look for it unless we can lay in a good stock of food, and I don't suppose we could do much prospecting with the snow upon the ground." He paused a moment with a thoughtful air. "When we reach the settlement I must go home, but if the dollars can be raised, I'll be back as soon as the thaw comes to try for the oil. Clarke's an unusually smart man, and there's no doubt he's on the trail."
"We'll raise enough money somehow," Benson told him, and Blake signified his agreement with a nod. Then they dropped into casual talk which lasted until they went to sleep.
When dawn came it was snowing hard, and for a week they made poor progress with a bitter gale driving the flakes in their faces, while rations were cut down as the distance covered daily steadily lessened. Harding's leg was getting sore, but he did not mean to speak of this unless it was necessary. They were, however, approaching the neighbourhood of the Indian village and Blake began to speculate upon the probability of their finding its inhabitants at home. He understood that the Stonies wandered about, and realized with uneasiness that it would be singularly unfortunate if they were away on a hunting trip.
At length, after laboriously climbing the rough but gently rising slope of a long divide all one blustering day, they camped on a high tableland, and lay awake, too cold to sleep, beside a sulky, greenwood fire. In the morning it was difficult to get upon their feet, but as the light grew clearer, the prospect they looked down upon seized their attention. The hill summits were wrapped in leaden cloud, but a valley opened up below. It was wider and deeper than any they had met with since leaving the factory, the bottom looked unusually level, and it ran roughly south.
They gazed at it in silence for a time; and then Harding said, "I've a notion that this is the valley where Blake fell sick, and it's going to straighten out things for us if I'm right."
"That's so," Benson agreed. "We would be sure of striking the Stony village, and we could afterwards follow the low ground right down to the river. With the muskegs frozen solid, it ought to make an easy road."
Blake was conscious of keen satisfaction, but there was still a doubt.
"We'll know more about it after another march," he said.
No snow fell that morning, and as their packs were ominously light they made good speed across the hill benches and down a ravine where they scrambled among the boulders of a frozen creek. It was a grey day without the rise in temperature that often accompanies cloudiness, and the light was strangely dim. Rocks and pines melted into one another at a short distance, and leaden haze obscured the lower valley. Blake was, however, becoming sure it was the one they had travelled up and, dispensing with the usual noon halt, they pushed on as fast as possible. All were anxious to set their doubts at rest, for there was now a prospect of obtaining food and shelter in a few days, but they recognized no landmarks, and with the approach of evening the frost grew very keen. The haze drew in closer, the scattered pines they passed wailed drearily in a rising wind, and the men were tired, but they could see no suitable camping place and held on, looking for thicker timber.
It was getting dark when a belt of trees stretched across the valley, and they were thinking of stopping, when Benson, who led the way, cried out.
"What is it?" Harding asked.
Benson hesitated. "Well," he said, "the thing doesn't seem probable, but I believe I saw a light. Anyway, it's gone."
They stopped, gazing eagerly into the gloom. A light meant that there were men not far off, and after the grim desolation they had travelled through all were conscious of a longing for human society. Besides, the strangers would, no doubt, have something to eat and might be cooking a plentiful supper. There was, however, nothing to be seen until Blake moved a few yards to one side. Then he turned to Benson with a cheerful laugh.
"You were right; I can see a glimmer about a mile ahead. I wonder who the fellows are, though that's not important."
They set off as fast as they could go, though travelling among the fallen branches and slanting trees was difficult in the dark. Now and then they lost their beacon, but the brightening glow shone out again and when it was visible Blake watched it with surprise. It was low, and he thought hardly large enough for a fire, besides which it had a curious irregular flicker. Drawing nearer, they dipped into a hollow where they could only distinguish a faint brightness beyond the rising ground ahead which they eagerly ascended. Reaching the summit, they saw the light plainly, but it was very small, and there were no figures outlined against it. Benson shouted, and all three felt a shock of disappointment when he got no answer.
He ran as fast as his snowshoes would let him, smashing through brush, floundering over snowy stones, with Blake and Harding stumbling, short of breath, behind; and then stopped with a hoarse cry close to the light. There was nobody about, and the blaze sprang up mysteriously from the frozen ground.
"A blower of natural gas," said Harding in an excited tone. "In a sense, we've had our run for nothing, but this may be worth a good deal more than your supper."
"If I had the option, I'd trade all the natural gas in Canada for a thick, red moose steak, and a warm place to sleep in," Benson savagely rejoined. "Anyhow, it will help us to light our fire, and we have a bit of whitefish and a few hard bannocks left."
Blake shared his comrade's disappointment. He was tired and hungry, and felt irritated by Harding's satisfaction. For all that, he chopped wood and made camp, and their frugal supper was half eaten before he turned to the American.
"Now," he said, "you may as well tell us what you think about this gas."
"First of all," Harding answered good-humouredly, "it indicates that there's oil somewhere about; the two generally go together. Anyhow, if there were only gas, it would be worth exploiting so long as we found enough of it, but judging by the pressure there's not much here."
"What would you do with gas in this wilderness?"
"In due time, I or somebody else would build a town. Fuel's power and if you could get it cheap I expect you'd find minerals that would pay for working. Men with money in Montreal and New York are looking for openings like this, and no place is too remote to build a railroad to if you can ensure freight."
"You're the most sanguine man I ever met," Blake said, grinning. "Take care your optimism doesn't ruin you."
"I wonder," Harding continued, "whether Clarke knows about this gas, and on the whole I think it probable. We can't be very far from the Stony camp, and there's reason to believe he's been prospecting this district. It's oil he's out for."
"How did the thing get lighted?" Benson asked in an indifferent tone.
Harding smiled as he gave him a sharp glance. He had failed in his search for the gum and did not expect his companions to share his enthusiasm over a new plan. They had, however, promised to support him, and that was enough, for he believed he might yet show them the way to prosperity.
"Well," he said, "I guess I can't blame you for not feeling very keen, but that's not the point. I can't answer what you ask, and I believe our forest wardens are now and then puzzled about how bush fires get started. We have crossed big belts of burnt trees in a country where we saw no signs of Indians."
"If this blower has been burning long, the Stonies must have known of it," Blake remarked. "Isn't it curious that no news of it has reached the settlements?"
"I'm not sure," Harding rejoined. "They may venerate the thing, and anyway, they're smart in some respects. They know that where the white men come their people are rounded up on reserves, and I guess they'd sooner have the whole country to themselves for trapping and fishing. Then Clarke may have persuaded them to say nothing."
"It's possible," Blake said thoughtfully. "We'll push on for their camp first thing to-morrow."
CHAPTER XXVI
THE RESCUE
Starting at daybreak, they reached a hillside overlooking the Stony village on the third afternoon. Surrounded by willows and ragged spruces the conical tepees rose in the plain beneath, but Blake, who was leading, stopped abruptly as he caught sight of them. They were white to the apex, where the escaping heat of the fire within generally melted the snow, and no curl of smoke floated across the clearing. The village was ominously silent and had a deserted look.
"I'm very much afraid Clarke's friends are not at home," he said with forced calm. "We'll know more about it in half an hour; that is, if you think it worth while to go down."
The others were silent a moment, struggling with their disappointment. They had made a toilsome journey to reach the village, their food was nearly exhausted, and it would cost them two days to return to the valley which was their best road to the south.
Then Harding said, "Now we're here, we may as well spend another hour over the job. It's possible they haven't packed all their stores along."
His companions suspected that they were wasting time, but they followed him down hill, until Benson, who was a short distance to one side of them, called out. When they joined him he indicated a row of footsteps leading up the slope.
"That fellow hasn't been gone very long; there was snow yesterday," he said. "By the line he took, he must have passed near us. I wonder why he stayed on after the others."
Blake examined the footsteps carefully, and compared them with the impress of his own snowshoes.
"It's obvious that they can't be older than yesterday afternoon," he said. "From their depth and sharpness, I should judge that the fellow was carrying a good load, which probably means that he meant to be some time gone. The stride suggests a white man."
"Clarke," said Harding. "He seems to be up here pretty often, though I can't see how he'd do much prospecting in the winter."
"It's possible," Blake rejoined. "Anyhow, the point doesn't seem to matter, and I'm anxious to find out whether there's anything to eat in the tepees."
They hurried on, and discovered only a few skins in the first tent. Then, separating, they eagerly searched the rest without result, and when they met again were forced to the conclusion that there was no food in the place. It was about three o'clock and a threatening afternoon. The light was dim and a savage wind blew the snow about. They stood with gloomy faces in the shelter of the largest tepee, feeling that luck was hard against them.
"These northern Indians have often to put up with short commons while the snow lies," Benson remarked. "No doubt, they set off for some place where game's more plentiful when they found their grub running out, and as they've all gone the chances are that they won't come back soon. We've had our trouble for nothing, but we may as well camp here. With a big fire going, one could make this tepee warm."
The others felt strongly tempted to agree. The cold had been extreme the last few nights and weary and scantily fed as they were, they craved for shelter. Still they had misgivings and Blake said, "We have wasted too much time already, and there's only a few days' rations in the bag. We have got to get back to the valley and ought to make another three hours' march before we stop."
"Yes," Harding regretfully assented, "I guess that would be wiser."
Setting off at once, they wearily struggled up the hill, and it had been dark some time when they made camp in a hollow at the foot of a great rock. It kept off the wind and the spruces which grew close about it further sheltered them, but Blake told his companions to throw up a snow bank while he cut wood.
"I'm afraid we're going to have an unusually bad night, and we may as well take precautions," he said.
His forecast proved correct, for soon after they had finished supper a cloud of snow swept past the hollow and the spruces roared among the rocks above. Then there was a crash and the top of a shattered tree plunged down between the men and fell on the edge of the fire, scattering a shower of sparks.
"Another foot would have made a difference to two of us," said Harding coolly. "However, it's fallen where it was wanted; help me heave the thing on."
It crackled fiercely as the flame licked about it, and sitting between the snowbank and the fire, the men kept fairly warm, but a white haze drove past their shelter and eddying in now and then covered them with snow. In an hour the drifts were level with the top of the bank, but this was a protection, and they were thankful they had found such a camping place, since death would have been the consequence of being caught in the open. The blizzard gathered strength, but though they heard the crash of broken trees through the roar of the wind no more logs fell, and by and by they went to sleep, secure in the shelter of the rock.
When day broke it was long past the usual hour, and the cloud of driving flakes obscured even the spruces a few yards away. The hollow at the foot of the crag was shadowy, and the snow had piled up several feet above the bank, and lapped over at one end. Still, with wood enough, they could keep warm, and had their supplies been larger they would have been content to rest. As things were, however, they were confronted with perhaps the gravest peril that threatens the traveller in the North – they might be detained by bad weather until their food ran out. None of them spoke of this, but by tacit agreement they made a very sparing breakfast and ate nothing at noon. When night came and the storm still raged, their hearts were very heavy.
It lasted three days, and on the fourth morning it seemed scarcely possible to face the somewhat lighter wind and break a trail through the fresh snow. They, however, dare risk no further delay, and strapping on their packs struggled up the range. At nightfall they were high among the rocks, and it was piercingly cold, but they got a few hours' sleep in a clump of junipers and struck the valley late next day. Finding shelter, they made camp and after dividing a small bannock between them sat talking gloomily. Their fire had been lighted to lee of a cluster of willows and burned sulkily because the wood was green. Pungent smoke curled about them, and they shivered in the draughts.
"How far do you make it to the logging camp?" Benson asked. "I'm taking it for granted that the lumber gang's still there."
"A hundred and sixty miles," said Blake.
"And we have food enough for two days; say forty miles."
"About that; it depends upon the snow."
Benson made no answer, and Harding was silent a while, sitting very still with knitted brows. Then he said, "I can't see any way out. Can you?"
"Well," said Blake quietly, "we'll go on as long as we are able. Though I haven't had a rosy time, I've faith in my luck."
Conversation languished after this, but they had a small cake of tobacco left, and sat smoking and hiding their fears while the wind moaned among the willows and thin snow blew past. The camp was exposed and hungry and dejected, as they were, they felt the stinging cold. After an hour of moody silence, Harding suddenly leaned forward, with a lifted hand.
"What's that?" he said sharply. "Didn't you hear it?"
For a few moments the others only heard the rustle of the willows and the swishing sound of driven snow; then a faint patter caught their ears, and a crack followed like the snapping of a whip.
"A dog team!" cried Benson, and springing to his feet set up a loud shout.
It was answered in English and while they stood, shaken by excitement and intense relief, several low shadowy shapes emerged from the gloom; then a tall figure appeared, and after it two more. Somebody shouted harsh orders in uncouth French; the dogs sped towards the fire and stopped. Then their driver, hurrying after them, began to loose the traces, while another man walked up to Blake.
"We saw your fire and thought we'd make for it," he said. "I see your cooking outfit's still lying round."
"It's at your service," Blake told him. "I'm sorry we can't offer you much supper, though there's a bit of a bannock and some flour."
"We'll soon fix that," said the other. "Guess you're up against it, but our grub's holding out." He turned to the driver. "Come and tend to the cooking when you're through, Emile."
Though the order was given good-humouredly, there was a hint of authority in his voice, and the man he spoke to quickened his movements. Then another came up, and while the dogs snapped at each other, and rolled in the snow, the half-breed driver unloaded a heavy provision bag and filled Harding's frying pan.
"Don't spare it," said the first comer. "I guess these folks are hungry; fix up your best menoo."
Sitting down by the fire, shapeless in his whitened coat, with his bronzed face half hidden by his big fur cap, he had nevertheless a soldierly look.
"You'll be wondering who we are?" he said.
"No," Blake answered, smiling. "I can make a guess; there's a stamp on you I recognize. You're from Regina."
"You've hit it first time. I'm Sergeant Lane, R.N.W.M.P. This" – he indicated his companion – "is Private Walthew. We've been up on a special patrol to Copper Lake and left two of the boys there to make some inquiries about the Indians. Now we're on the back trail."
He looked as if he expected the others to return his confidence and Blake had no hesitation about doing so. He knew the high reputation of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, which is a force of well-mounted and carefully chosen frontier cavalry. Its business is to keep order on a vast stretch of plain, to watch over adventurous settlers who push out ahead of the advancing farming community, and to keep a keen eye on the reserve Indians. Men from widely different walks of life serve in its ranks, and the private history of each squadron is rich in romance, but one and all are called upon to scour the windy plains in the saddle in the fierce summer heat and make adventurous sledge journeys across the winter snow. Their patrols search the lonely North from Hudson's Bay to the Mackenzie, living in the open in Arctic weather, and the peaceful progress of Western Canada is largely due to their unrelaxing vigilance. Blake accordingly gave a short account of his journey and explained his present straits.
"Well," said the Sergeant, "I figure we have stores enough to see us down to the settlements all right, and we'll be glad of your company. The stronger the party, the smoother the trail, and after what you've told me, I guess you can march."
"Where did you find the breed?" Benson asked. "Your chiefs at Regina don't allow you hired packers."
"They surely don't. He's a Hudson's Bay man, working his passage. Going back to his friends somewhere about Lake Winnipeg, and allowed he'd come south with us and take the cars to Selkirk. I was glad to get him; I'm not smart at driving dogs."
"We found it hard to understand the few Indians we met," said Harding. "The farther north you go, the worse it must be. How will the fellows you left up yonder get on?"
The Sergeant laughed. "When we want a thing done, we can find a man in the force fit for the job. One of the boys I took up can talk to them in Cree or Assiniboine, and it wouldn't beat us if they spoke Hebrew or Greek. There's a trooper in my detachment who knows both."
Benson, who did not doubt this, turned to Private Walthew, whose face, upon which the firelight fell, suggested intelligence and refinement.
"What do you specialize in?"
"Farriery," answered the young man, who might have added that extravagance had cut short his career as veterinary surgeon in the old country.
"Knows a horse all over, outside and in," Sergeant Lane interposed. "I allow that's why they sent him when I asked for a good dog driver, though in a general way our bosses aren't given to joking. Walthew will tell you there's a difference between physicking a horse and harnessing a sledge team."
"It's marked," Walthew agreed with a chuckle. "When I first tried to put the traces on I thought they'd eat me. Even now I have some trouble, and I'll venture to remind my superior that he'd be short of some of his fingers if they didn't serve us out good thick mittens."
"That's right," said Lane good-humouredly. "I'm sure no good at dogs. If you're going to drive them, you want to speak Karalit or French. Plain English cussin's no blame use."
By and by Emile said that supper was ready, and the police watched their new acquaintances devour it with sympathetic understanding, for they had more than once covered long distances on very short commons in the Arctic frost. Afterwards they lighted their pipes, and Emile, being tactfully encouraged, told them in broken English stories of the barrens. These were so strange and gruesome that it was only because they had learned something of the wilds that Harding and his friends believed him. Had they been less experienced, they would have denied that flesh and blood could bear the things the half-breed calmly talked about. While he spoke there broke out behind the camp a sudden radiance which leaped from the horizon far up the sky. It had in it the scintillation of the diamond, for the flickering brilliance changed to evanescent blue and rose from pure white light. Spreading in a vast, irregular arc, it hung like a curtain, wavering to and fro and casting off luminous spears that stabbed the dark. For a time it blazed in transcendental splendour, then faded and receded, dying out with Unearthly glimmering far back in the lonely North.
