THE END OF THE SEARCH
The two men made a hurried breakfast in the cold dawn, and soon afterward
they were struggling through thick timber when the light suddenly grew
clearer. Carroll remarked upon the fact and Vane's face hardened.
"We're either coming to a swamp, or the track the fire has swept is close
in front," he explained.
A thicket lay before them, but they smashed savagely through the midst of
it, the undergrowth snapping and crackling about their limbs. Then there
was a network of tangled branches to be crossed, and afterward, reaching
slightly clearer ground, they broke into a run. Three or four minutes
later they stopped, breathless and ragged, with their rent boots scarcely
clinging to their feet, and gazed eagerly about.
The living forest rose behind them, an almost unbroken wall, but ahead
the trees ran up in detached and blackened spires. Their branches had
vanished; every cluster of somber-green needles and delicate spray had
gone; the great rampicks looked like shafts of charcoal. About their feet
lay crumbling masses of calcined wood, which grew more numerous where
there were open spaces farther on, and then the bare, black columns ran
on again, up the valley and the steep hill benches on either hand. It was
a weird scene of desolation; impressive to the point of being appalling
in its suggestiveness of wide-spread ruin.
For the space of a minute the men gazed at it; and then Vane, stretching
out his hand, pointed to a snow-sheeted hill.
"That's the peak Hartley mentioned," he said in a voice which was
strangely incisive. "Give me the ax!"
He took it from his comrade and striding forward attacked the nearest
rampick. Twice the keen blade sank noiselessly overhead, scattering a
black dust in the frosty air, and then there was a clear, ringing thud.
After that, Vane smote on with a determined methodical swiftness, until
Carroll grabbed his shoulder.
"Look out!" he cried. "It's going!"
Vane stepped back a few paces; the trunk reeled and rushed downward;
there was a deafening crash, and they were enveloped in a cloud of gritty
dust. Through the midst of it they dimly saw two more great trunks
collapse; and then somewhere up the valley a series of thundering shocks,
which both knew were not echoes, broke out. The sound jarred on Carroll's
nerves, as the thud of the felled rampick had not done. Vane picked up
one of the chips.
"We have found Hartley's spruce."
Carroll did not answer for a minute. After all, when defeat must be
faced, there was very little to be said, though his companion's
expression troubled him. Its grim stolidity was portentous.
"I suppose," he suggested hopefully, "nothing could be done with it?"
Vane pointed to the butt of the tree, which showed a space of clear wood
surrounded by a blackened rim.
"You can't make marketable pulp of charcoal, and the price would have to
run pretty high before it would pay for ripping most of the log away to
get at the residue.
"But there may be some unburned spruce farther on."
"It's possible. I'm going to find out."
This was a logical determination; but, in spite of his recent suggestion,
Carroll realized that he would have abandoned the search there and then,
had the choice been left to him, in which he did not think he was
singular. After all they had undergone and the risk they had run in
leaving Vancouver, the shock of the disappointment was severe. He could
have faced a failure to locate the spruce, with some degree of
philosophical calm; but to find it at last, useless, was very much worse.
He did not, however, expect his companion to turn back yet; before he
desisted, Vane would search for and examine every unburned tree. What was
more, Carroll would have to accompany him. He noticed that Vane was
waiting for him to speak, and he decided that this was a situation which
he would better endeavor to treat lightly.
"I think I'll have a smoke," he said. "I'm afraid any remarks I could
make wouldn't do justice to the occasion. Language has its limits."
He sat down on the charred log and took out his pipe.
"A brûlée's not a nice place to wander about in when there's any wind,"
he proceeded; "and I've an idea there's some coming, though it's still
enough now."
Shut in, as they were, in the deep hollow with the towering snows above
them, it was impressively still; and, in conjunction with the sight of
the black desolation, the deep silence reacted on Carroll's nerves. He
longed to escape from it, to make a noise; though this, if done
unguardedly, might bring more of the rampicks thundering down. He could
hear tiny flakes of charcoal falling from them and, though the fire had
long gone out, a faint and curious crackling, as if the dead embers were
stirring. He wondered if it were some effect of the frost; it struck him
as disturbing and weird.
"We'll work right round the brûlée," Vane decided. "Then I suppose we'd
better head back for Vancouver, though we'll look at that cedar as we
go down. Something might be made of it--I'm not sure we've thrown our
time away."
"You'd never be sure of that. It isn't in you."
Vane disregarded this. A new, constructive policy was already springing
up out of the wreck of his previous plans.
"There's a good mill site on the inlet, but as it's a long way from the
railroad we'll have to determine whether it would be cheaper to tow the
logs down or split them up on the spot. I'll talk it over with Drayton;
he'll no doubt be useful, and there's no reason why he shouldn't earn
his share."
"Do you consider that the arrangement you made with Hartley applies to
the cedar?" Carroll asked.
"Of course. I don't know that the other parties could insist on the
original terms--we can discuss that later; but, though it may be
modified, the arrangement stands."
His companion considered the matter dispassionately, as an abstract
proposition. Here was a man, who in return for certain information
respecting the whereabouts of a marketable commodity had undertaken to
find and share it with his informant. The commodity had proved to be
valueless, but during the search for it he had incidentally discovered
something else. Was he under any obligation to share the latter with his
informant's heirs?
Carroll decided that the question could be answered only in the negative;
but he had no intention of disputing his comrade's point of view. In the
first place, this would probably make Vane only more determined or would
ruffle his temper; and, in the second place, Carroll was neither a
covetous man nor an ambitious one, which, perhaps, was fortunate for him.
Ambition, the mother of steadfast industry and heroic effort, has also a
less reputable progeny.
Vane, as his partner realized, was ambitious; but in place of aspiring
after wealth or social prominence, his was a different aim: to rend the
hidden minerals from the hills, to turn forests into dressed lumber, to
make something grow. Money is often, though not always, made that way;
but, while Vane affected no contempt for it, in his case its acquisition
was undoubtedly not the end. Fortunately, he was not altogether singular
in this respect.
When he next spoke, however, there was no hint of altruistic sentiment in
his curt inquiry:
"Are you going to sit there until you freeze?"
Carroll got up and they spent the remainder of the day plodding through
the brûlée, with the result that when darkness fell Vane had abandoned
all idea of working the spruce. The next morning they set out for the
inlet, and one afternoon during the journey they came upon several fallen
logs lying athwart each other with their branches spread in an almost
impenetrable tangle. Vane proceeded to walk along one log, which was
tilted up several yards above the ground, balancing himself carefully
upon the rounded surface, and Carroll followed cautiously. Suddenly there
was a sharp snapping, and Vane plunged headlong into the tangle beneath,
while Carroll stood still and laughed. It was not an uncommon accident.
Vane, however, did not reappear; nor was there any movement among the
half-rotten boughs and withered sprays, and Carroll, moving forward
hastily, looked down into the hole. He was disagreeably surprised to see
his comrade lying, rather white in face, upon his side.
"I'm afraid you'll have to chop me out," came up hoarsely. "Get to work.
I can't move my leg."
Moving farther along the log, Carroll dropped to the ground, which was
less encumbered there, and spent the next quarter of an hour hewing a
passage to his comrade. Then as he stood beside him, hot and panting,
Vane looked up.
"It's my lower leg; the left," he explained. "Bone's broken; I
felt it snap."
Carroll turned from him for a moment in consternation. Looking out
between the branches, he could see the lonely hills tower, pitilessly
white, against the blue of the frosty sky, and the rigid firs running
back as far as his vision reached upon their lower slopes. There was no
touch of life in all the picture; everything was silent and absolutely
motionless, and its desolation came near to appalling him. When he looked
around again, Vane smiled wryly.
"If this had happened farther north, it would have been the end of me,"
he said. "As it is, it's awkward."
The word struck Carroll as singularly inexpressive, but he made an effort
to gather his courage when his companion broke off with a groan of pain.
"It's lucky we helped that doctor when he set Pete's leg at Bryant's
mill," he declared cheerily. "Can you wait a few minutes?"
Vane's face was beaded with damp now, but he tried to smile.
"It strikes me," he answered, "I'll have to wait a mighty long time."
Carroll turned and left him. He was afraid to stand still and think, and
action was a relief. It was some time before he returned with several
strips of fabric cut from the tent curtain, and the neatest splints he
could extemporize from slabs of stripped-off bark; and the next half-hour
was a trying one to both of them. Sometimes Vane assisted him with
suggestions--once he reviled his clumsiness--and sometimes he lay silent
with his face awry and his lips tight silent; but at length it was done
and Carroll stood up, breathing hard.
"I'll fasten you on to a couple of skids and pull you out. Then I'll make
camp here."
He managed it with difficulty, pitched the tent above Vane, whom he
covered with their blankets, and made a fire outside.
"Are you comfortable now?" he inquired.
Vane looked up at him with a somewhat ghastly smile.
"I suppose I'm about as comfortable as could be expected. Anyhow, I've
got to get used to the thing. Six weeks is the shortest limit, isn't it?"
Carroll confessed that he did not know, and presently Vane spoke again.
"It's lucky that the winters aren't often very cold near the coast."
The temperature struck Carroll as low enough, but he made no comment. To
his disgust, he could think of no cheering observation, for there was no
doubt that the situation was serious. They were cut off from the sloop by
leagues of tangled forest which a vigorous man would find it difficult to
traverse, and it would be weeks before Vane could use his leg; no human
assistance could be looked for; and they had only a small quantity of
provisions left. Besides this, it would not be easy to keep the sufferer
warm in rigorous weather.
"I'll get supper. You'll feel better afterward," he said at length.
"Don't be too liberal," Vane warned him.
After the meal, Vane fell into a restless doze, and it was dark when he
opened his eyes again.
"I can't sleep any more, and we may as well talk--there are things to be
arranged. In the first place, as soon as I feel a little easier you'll
have to sail across to Comox and hire some men to pack me out. When
you've sent them off, you can make for Vancouver and get a timber license
and find out how matters are going on."
"That is quite out of the question," Carroll replied firmly. "Nairn can
look after our mining interests--he's a capable man--and if the thing's
too much for him, they can go to smash. Besides, they won't give you a
timber license without full particulars of area and limits, and we've
blazed no boundaries. Anyhow, I'm staying right here."
Vane began to protest, but Carroll raised his hand.
"Argument's not conducive to recovery. You're on your back,
unfortunately, and I'll give way to you as usual as soon as you're on
your feet again, but not before."
"I'd better point out that we'll both be hungry by that time. The
provisions won't last long."
"Then I'll look for a deer as soon as I think you can be left. And now
we'll try to talk of something more amusing."
"Can you see anything humorous in the situation?"
"I can't," Carroll confessed. "Still, there may be something of that
description which I haven't noticed yet. By the way, the last time we
were at Nairn's I happened to cross the room near where you and Miss
Horsfield were sitting, and I heard her ask you to wait for something at
Nanaimo or Comox. It struck me as curious."
"She told me to wait so that she could send me word to come back, if it
should be needful."
"Ah!" ejaculated Carroll. "I won't ask why she was willing to do so--it
concerns you more than me--but I think that as regards your interests in
the Clermont a warning from her would be worth as much as one from Nairn;
that is, if she could be depended on."
"Have you any doubt upon the subject?"
Carroll made a soothing gesture.
"Don't get angry! Perhaps I've talked too much. We have to think of
your leg."
"I'm not likely to forget it," Vane informed him. "But I dare say you're
right in one respect--as an amusing companion you're a dead failure; and
talking isn't as easy as I thought."
He lay silent afterward, and though he had disclaimed any desire for
sleep, worn by the march and pain as he was, his eyes presently closed.
Carroll, however, sat long awake that night, and he afterward confessed
that he felt badly afraid. Deer are by no means numerous in some parts of
the bush--they had not seen one during the journey; and it was a long way
to the sloop.
Once or twice, for no obvious reason, he drew aside the tent flap and
looked out. The sky was cloudless and darkly blue, and a sickle moon
gleamed in it, keen and clear with frost. Below, the hills were washed in
silver, majestic, but utterly cheerless; and lower still the serrated
tops of the rigid firs cut against the dreary whiteness. After each
glimpse of them, Carroll drew his blanket tighter round him with a
shiver. Very shortly, when the little flour and pork was gone and their
few cartridges had been expended, he would be reduced to the condition of
primitive man. Cut off from all other resources, he must then wrest what
means of subsistence he could from the snowy wilderness by brute strength
and cunning and such instruments as he could make with his unassisted
hands, except that an ax of Pennsylvania steel was better than a stone
one. Civilization has its compensations, and Carroll longed for a few
more of them that night.
On rising the next morning, he found the frost keener, and he spent that
day and a number of those that followed in growing anxiety, which was
only temporarily lessened when he once succeeded in killing a deer. There
was almost a dearth of animal life in the lonely valley. Sometimes, at
first, Vane was feverish; often he was irritable; and the recollection of
the three or four weeks he spent with him afterward haunted Carroll like
a nightmare. At last, when he had spent several days in vain search for a
deer and the provisions were almost exhausted, he and his companion held
a council of emergency.
"There's no use in arguing," Vane declared. "You'll rig me a shelter of
green boughs outside the tent and close to the fire. I can move from the
waist upward and, if it's necessary, drag myself with my hands. Then you
can chop enough cord-wood to last a while, cook my share of the eatables,
and leave me while you go down to the sloop. There's half a bag of flour
on board her, and a few other things I'd be uncommonly glad to have."
Carroll expostulated; but it was evident that his companion was right,
and the next morning he started for the inlet, taking with him the
smallest possible portion of their provisions. So long as he had enough
to keep him from fainting on the way, it was all he required, because he
could renew his stores on board the sloop. The weather broke during the
march; driving snow followed him down the valley, and by and by gave
place to bitter rain. The withered underbrush was saturated, the soil was
soddened with melting snow, and after the first scanty meal or two the
man dare risk no delay. He felt himself flagging from insufficient food,
and it was obvious that he must reach the sloop before he broke down. He
had tobacco, but that failed to stay the gnawing pangs, and before the
march was done he was on the verge of exhaustion, forcing himself onward,
drenched and grim of face, scarcely able to keep upon his bleeding feet.
It was falling dusk and blowing fresh when he limped down the beach and
with a last effort launched the light dingy and pulled off to the sloop.
She rode rather deep in the water, but that did not trouble him. Most
wooden craft leak more or less, and it was a considerable time since he
had pumped her out. Clambering wearily on board, he made the dingy fast;
and then stood still a moment or two, looking about him with his hand on
the cabin slide. Thin flakes of snow drifted past him; the firs were
rustling eerily ashore, and ragged wisps of cloud drove by low down
above their tops. Little frothy ripples flecked the darkening water with
streaks of white and splashed angrily against the bows of the craft. The
prospect was oppressively dreary, and the worn-out man was glad that he
was at last in shelter and could snatch a few hours' rest.
Thrusting back the slide, he stepped below and lighted the lamp. The
brightening glow showed him that the boat's starboard side was wet high
up, and though there was a good deal of water in her, this puzzled him
until an explanation suggested itself. They had moored the craft
carefully, but he supposed she must have dragged her anchor or kedge and
swung in near enough the shore to ground toward low tide. Then as the
tide left her she would fall over on her starboard bilge, because they
had lashed the heavy boom down on that side, and the water in her would
cover the depressed portion of her interior. This reasoning was probably
correct; but he did not foresee the result until, after lighting the
stove and putting on the kettle, he opened the provision locker, which
was to starboard. Then he saw with a shock of dismay that the stock of
food they had counted on was ruined. The periodically-submerged flour-bag
had rotted and burst, and most of its contents had run out into the water
as the boat righted with the rising tide; the prepared cereals, purchased
to save cooking, had turned to moldy pulp; and the few other stores were
in much the same condition. There were only two sound cans of beef and a
few ounces of unspoiled tea in a canister.
Carroll's courage failed him as he realized it, but he felt that he must
eat and sleep before he could grapple with the situation. He would allow
himself a scanty meal and a few hours' rest. While the kettle boiled, he
crawled out and shortened in the cable and plied the pump. Then he went
below and feasted on preserved beef and tea, gaging the size of each
slice with anxious care, until he reluctantly laid the can aside. After
that, he filled his pipe and stretching his aching limbs out on the port
locker, which was comparatively dry, soon sank into heavy sleep.