When the boys clung to the tree in the direct path of the avalanche,
their action was the instinctive effort toward self-preservation, for
they did not really hope it would save them. The mass of snow that was
advancing upon them appeared to be carrying everything before it, and
they fully expected, in the moment they had for thought, to be added to
that accumulation of débris.
The great bulk, coming down with such terrifying velocity, reached them
and piled over them, but not with the resistless force they were braced
to meet. The main body of the avalanche passed with a roar just beyond,
and plunged into the cañon below. The boys had paused in the edge of
the torrent, where its velocity was slight as compared with that of the
center. They crawled out of the snow that covered them and looked at
each other with wide eyes.
“I can’t think of anything that could be worse than an avalanche,”
said Raymond as he looked down at the smooth path left by the cataclysm.
“That was an awful moment,” said Sidney, “just before it struck us.”
“I know I was never so badly scared before. Do you suppose they are
always as thick as they have been to-day?”
“I don’t think so. I think when there is a storm that the snow drifting
in places is the weight that starts the slide.”
“Well, I shan’t be easy a minute now,” said Raymond, “till we’re at the
top, and that looks a long way off yet.”
“I guess we’d better not fool away any time,” said Sidney, “and we’ve
got no trail to start with.”
The avalanche had descended diagonally across the course of the trail,
and had swept away a long reach of it, leaving only a smooth stretch of
snow, with rocks sticking up here and there. The portion of the trail
that was left intact was visible away up on the mountain, and the boys
started for it, across the expanse of trackless snow. They were obliged
to go very carefully to prevent slipping and sliding down the smooth
incline. Their progress, therefore, seemed to them distressingly
slow, but they plodded on persistently in their great desire to reach
the summit. Both were filled with a dread of being caught in another
avalanche, an encounter that might not result so fortunately as the
first one had done.
At last the boys reached the unbroken trail across the path of the
avalanche. While the road there had not been disturbed by the slide,
the storms that were increasing with the increase of height had
nearly buried it in snow. Sometimes for many yards it was entirely
obliterated, and there the progress of the travelers was still more
painful and slow. In such places they struggled through the soft snow,
at times sinking to the waist before striking the hard old snow beneath.
It was only by the utmost care and the closest attention that the boys
were able to keep the course of the trail. Frequently they lost it for
a time, and then had to stop and hunt carefully to find it again. They
were in constant terror lest they drop into some unsuspected gulch,
or slip over the concealed edge of a ravine. It was a heart-breaking
struggle and a slow one, and as they toiled upward the difficulties
increased.
Snow-squalls continued to sweep down from the summits and along the
slopes, swirling about the laboring boys and blinding them with the
fine particles. At such times they were obliged to stand still and wait
for the fury of the gust to pass. Then they reached the glacier, which,
early in the day, they had seen above them. The trail went up to the
terminal moraine of the glacier and disappeared, but the boys assumed
that it passed over the mass of broken rocks to the ice. So they
climbed over the débris and up to the surface of the glacier, which at
that point was not very high. They proceeded cautiously over the ice,
until suddenly they came to the edge of a crevice. So unexpectedly,
indeed, that Raymond nearly plunged into it, and was only saved by
Sidney, who grasped him and threw him back on the ice.
“Well,” said Raymond with a long breath, as he rose to his feet; “that
might be as bad as an avalanche.”
“If you went down into it,” said Sidney, “you would probably not have a
very soft fall. We must have missed the road. I don’t believe it comes
up over a place like this.”
“No, it can’t. We’ll have to go back and hunt for it. Jiminy! If we
went over that ice-field we’d run across polar bears next time.”
“I’ve had enough bear for this trip,” declared Sidney, as they turned
back on their tracks. “It’s a shame to lose this time, and we’ve got to
hustle to reach the top before night.”
“I don’t believe we can do it, Sid; I’m about played out now.”
“We’ve simply got to do it. Let me carry your blankets for a while,
Ray.”
“Not much! I’ll carry them myself.”
The boys, on arriving again at the moraine, after some search found
that the trail turned to the right, but was covered with fresh snow,
which was the cause of their missing it. It followed along the side
of the glacier for a distance, and then over the ridge into a smaller
ravine that was not filled with ice.
While the next ravine was not the bed of a glacier, it contained very
much more snow. At the height to which the boys had reached by that
time the storms during the day had been more frequent and more severe,
consequently there was a great deal of fresh snow, which made traveling
very much more difficult.
At first the trail climbed along well up on the left side of the
ravine, and in that exposed position it was not filled uniformly with
soft snow. In places the snow had failed to lodge, or had been swept
away by eddying gusts, and those places came with sufficient frequency
to mark the road for the travelers.
So, usually, while the boys were floundering through a deep deposit of
fresh snow, they were able to see, ahead of them, the trail where it
passed over the old hard snow of former years. In that way they were
enabled to keep the general direction of the road, though they were
sometimes off it, in deeper snow than ever. At such times when they
left the trail, they frequently plunged down into soft snow that was
above their waists, and were obliged to make a desperate effort to get
back on the hard foundation.
Such traveling would have been sufficiently difficult if the boys
had been unencumbered, and with the packs they were carrying it was
extremely exhausting. Once or twice, when Raymond stepped off into
loose snow, he was obliged to wait for Sidney’s help before he could
get back. Sometimes, when the boys sank down in that way, they would
loosen their blanket rolls, and throw them up, thus being enabled to
crawl out without help.
All that occupied much time, besides taking the strength of the
struggling boys, and the sun sank behind the western peaks and they
were still not out of that cañon. Then, too, as they constantly climbed
to higher elevations, and the trail approached the upper end of the
ravine, it was less exposed to the wind and was more evenly covered
with snow. So, finally, the boys labored through deep snow without any
intervals of good road, and could only with difficulty keep the trail
at all.
For what seemed to the boys hours they toiled on and up, without
conversation, except when one of them briefly requested aid from the
other. All their breath was needed for the work they were doing, with
none left for talk. Sidney was a little taller than his brother, and
in deep snow that gave him great advantage. Then, being older, he was
more solid and more closely knit, consequently he possessed greater
endurance. So it was generally his lot to pull Raymond out of holes.
When they missed the road and got up on the glacier by mistake, Raymond
had thought he was not equal to much more, but with pure nerve he kept
to the work, and for a long time said nothing more about being tired.
At first the fear of another avalanche had been an incentive to keep
forging ahead. As they ascended, however, and neared the summit of the
range, they gradually rose level with, or above, the overhanging cliffs
from which snow-slides were likely to start, and were relieved of that
fear.
But there may be a limit to the endurance of even a gritty boy, and
Raymond began to feel that he was really at the end of his rope. The
day had been extremely arduous, and it had been preceded by many days
of hard work, with barely a sufficiency of food. The boy finally
stopped, standing in the deep snow, and gazed up at the summit above
them.
The snow-squalls had ceased and the clouds had cleared away. The sun,
which was out of sight behind the western peaks, still shone on the
crests, and turned all their white covering to a glorious rosy pink.
That beauty was lost on Raymond, however, for all he could think of was
the distance that remained. It was not far,--indeed, it seemed very
near,--but every step was through deep snow, and all vestige of a trail
had disappeared.
“Sid!” called Raymond to his brother, who was a few steps ahead, and
his voice hardly carried the short distance.
Sidney stopped and looked back.
“I don’t believe I can go any farther, Sid.”
“But we can’t stop here, Ray.”
“I know; I suppose if I stop it will be for good. You go on without me,
Sid. You can make it alone, and there is no use in both of us failing.”
Sidney returned to his brother, and was alarmed by the pallor of the
boy’s face.
“Give me your blankets, Ray,” he said; “I ought to have taken them
before.”
“You can’t carry mine and your own too.”
“Oh, yes, I can, easily.” And Sidney detached the blanket roll from the
shoulder of the unresisting boy. “Now, see, Ray, it’s only a little
bit farther; don’t you think you can get up without anything to carry?”
“I’ll try; maybe I can.”
Raymond took one or two struggling, uncertain steps in the deep snow
and stopped again.
“Here, Ray,” said Sidney, when he saw how exhausted his brother was;
“take hold of the end of this blanket roll and pull just as hard as you
want to. That will help you along.”
Raymond did as directed, taking hold of the roll which was slung over
Sidney’s shoulder, and again they started. They took two or three steps
when Sidney felt the weight released from his shoulder. He looked back
and saw that Raymond had sunk down in the snow.
“Ray!” he said, but there was no response.
He stooped and raised Raymond’s head. The boy’s face was very white and
his eyes were closed.
“Ray! Ray!” called Sidney beseechingly, but Raymond did not hear, and
when Sidney released his head it dropped forward on his chest.
Sidney stood up and looked about him in a panic. The setting sun
still illumined the summit that was so short a distance above him.
But everywhere between was deep snow and no trail. If there were only
a trail, Sidney thought, he would take Raymond on his back and carry
him to the top. It would be like a labor of Hercules, but he believed
he could do it. Without a trail, however, and with deep snow to walk
through, such a thing was plainly impossible.
He looked down on Raymond, who lay in the snow just as he had dropped,
and realized that if he did not do something promptly the fainting boy
would become so cold that nothing could revive him. And yet, what could
he do? They had gone far above the timber-line, and there was not a
shrub or tree in sight, nothing to make a fire for warmth. And there
was, apparently, no refuge from the snow that covered all the rocks,
the snow that was likely to freeze them both. That, then, would be the
end of their desperate attempt to reach home, and their mother, who was
waiting in New York, and their father in a Russian prison, would never
know what had become of them.