IN THE WILDERNESS
A bitter wind was blowing when Wyllard stood outside the little tent the
morning after he had made a landing on the ice. He was to leeward of the
straining canvas which partly sheltered him, but the raw cold struck
through him to the bone, and he was stiff and sore from his exertions
during the previous day. His joints ached unpleasantly, and his clothing
had not quite dried upon him. He was conscious of a strong desire to
crawl back into the tent and go to sleep again, but that was one it
would clearly not be wise to indulge in, since they were, he believed,
still some distance off the beach, and the ice might begin to break up
at any moment. It stretched away before him, seamed by fissures and
serrated ridges here and there, for a few hundred yards, and then was
lost in the snow. As he gazed at it he shrank from the prospect of the
journey through the frozen desolation.
With a shiver he crawled back into the tent where his two companions
were crouching beside the cooking-lamp. The feeble light of its
sputtering blue flame touched their faces, which were graver than usual,
but Charly looked up as he came in.
"Wind's dropping," announced Wyllard curtly. "We'll start as soon as you
have made breakfast. We must try to reach the beach to-night."
Charly made no answer, though the dusky-skinned Siwash grunted, and in a
few more minutes they silently commenced their meal, which was promptly
finished. They struck the tent, and packed it with their sleeping-bags
and provisions upon the sled, and then, taking up the traces, set out
across the ice. The light had grown clearer now, and the snow was
thinning, but it still whirled about them, and lay piled in drawn-out
wreaths to lee of every hummock or ragged ridge. They floundered
knee-deep, and in the softer places the weight upon the traces grew
unpleasantly heavy. That, however, was not a thing any of them felt the
least desire to complain of, and it was indeed a matter of regret to
them that they were not harnessed to a heavier burden. There was a
snow-wrapped desolation in front of them, and they had lost a number of
small comforts and part of their provisions in making a landing. Whether
the provisions could be replaced they did not know.
The small supply of food was an excellent reason for pushing on as fast
as possible, and they stumbled and floundered forward until late in the
afternoon. The ice became more rugged and broken as they proceeded. The
snow had ceased, but the drifts which stretched across their path were
plentiful, and they were in the midst of one when it seemed to Wyllard,
who was leading, that they were sinking much deeper than usual. The snow
was over the tops of his long boots, the sled seemed very heavy, and he
could hear his comrades floundering savagely. There was a cry behind
him, and he was jerked suddenly backwards for a pace or two until he
flung himself down at full length in the snow. After that he was drawn
back no further, but the strain upon the trace became almost
insupportable, and there was still a furious scuffling behind him.
In a moment or two, however, the strain slackened, and looking round, he
saw Charly waist-deep in the snow. Charly struggled out with difficulty,
holding on by the trace, but the sled had vanished, and it was with
grave misgivings that Wyllard scrambled to his feet. They hauled with
all their might, and after a tense effort, that left them gasping,
dragged the sled back into sight. Part of its load, however, had been
left behind in the yawning hole.
Charly went back a pace or two cautiously until he once more sank to the
waist, and they had some trouble in dragging him clear. Then he sat down
on the sled, and Wyllard stood still looking at the holes in the snow.
"Did you feel anything under you?" he asked at length in a jarring
voice.
"I didn't," said Charly simply. "It was only the trace saved me from
dropping through altogether, but if I'd gone a little further I'd have
been in the water. Kind of snow bridge over a crevice. We broke it up,
and the sled fell through."
Wyllard turned and flung the tent, their sleeping-bags, and the few
packages which had not fallen out of the sled, after which he hastily
opened one or two of them. His companions looked at them with
apprehension in their eyes until he spoke again.
"The provisions may last a week or so, if we cut down rations," he said.
He could not remember afterwards whether anybody suggested it, and he
believed that the same idea occurred to all of them at once, but in
another moment or two they set about undoing the traces from the sled,
and making them secure about their bodies. For half an hour they made
perilous attempt after attempt to recover the lost provisions, and
failed. The snow broke through continuously beneath the foremost man,
but it did not break away altogether, and they could not tell what lay
beneath it when they had drawn him out of the hole. When it became
evident that the attempt was useless, sitting on the sled, they held a
brief council.
"I guess we don't want to go back," said Charly. "It's quite likely
we've crossed a good many of these crevices, and the snow's getting
soft. Besides, Dampier will have hauled off and headed for the inlet by
now."
He spoke quietly, though his face was grave. Pausing a moment, he waved
his hand. "It seems to me," he added, "we have got to fetch the inlet
while the provisions last."
"Exactly," agreed Wyllard. "Since the chart shows a river between us and
it, the sooner we start the better. If the thaw holds, the stream will
break up the ice on it."
The Indian, who made no suggestion, grunted what appeared to be
concurrence, and they silently set to work to reload the sled. That
done, they took up the traces and floundered on again into the gathering
dimness and a thin haze of driving snow. Darkness had fallen when they
made camp again, and sat, worn-out and aching in every bone, about the
sputtering lamp inside the little straining tent. The meal they made was
a very frugal one, and they lay down in the darkness after it, for half
their store of oil had been left behind in the crevice. They spoke
seldom, for the second disaster had almost crushed the courage out of
them, and it was clear to all that it would be only by a strenuous
effort that they could reach the inlet before their provisions quite ran
out. They slept, however, and rising in a stinging frost next morning
set out again on the weary march, but it was slow traveling, and at noon
they left the tent and poles behind.
"In another few days," said Wyllard, "we'll leave the sled."
They made the beach that afternoon, though the only sign of it was the
fringe of more ragged ice and the white slope beyond. A thin haze hung
about them heavy with rime, and they could not see more than a quarter
of a mile ahead. When darkness fell they scraped out a hollow beneath
what seemed to be a snow-covered rock, and sat upon their sleeping-bags.
The cooking-lamp gave little heat. Having eaten, they huddled close
together with part of their aching bodies upon the sled, but none of
them slept much that night, for the cold was severe.
The morning broke clear and warmer, and Wyllard, climbing to the summit
of the rock, had a brief glimpse of the serrated summits of a great
white range that rose to the west and south. It, however, faded like a
vision while he watched it, and turning he looked out across the rolling
wilderness that stretched away to the north. Nothing broke its gleaming
monotony, and there was no sign of life anywhere in the vast expanse.
They set out after breakfast, breaking through a thin crust of snow,
which rendered the march almost insuperably difficult, and they had made
a league or two by the approach of night. The snow had grown softer, and
the thawing surface would not bear the sled, which sank in the slush
beneath. Still, they floundered on for a while after darkness fell, and
then lay down in a hollow. A fine rain poured down on them.
Somehow they slept, and, though this was more difficult, got upon their
feet again when morning came, for of all the hard things the wanderer in
rain-swept bush or frozen wilderness must bear, there is none that tests
his powers more than, in the early dawn, the bracing of himself for
another day of effort. Comfortless as the night's lair has been, the
jaded body craves for such faint warmth as it afforded, and further
rest; the brain is dull and heavy, and the aching limbs appear incapable
of supporting the weight on them. Difficulties loom appallingly large in
the faint creeping light, courage fails, and the will grows feeble.
Wyllard and his companions felt all this, but it was clear to them that
they could not dally, with their provisions out, and staggering out of
camp after a very scanty meal they hauled the sled through the slush for
an hour or so. Then they had stopped, gasping, and the Indian slipped
out of the traces.
"We've hauled that thing about far enough," said Charly, who dropped the
traces, too, and slipped away from the sled.
Wyllard stood looking at them for a moment or two with anxious eyes. It
was evident that they could haul the hampering load no further, and he
was troubled by an almost insupportable weariness.
"In that case," he said, "you have to decide what you'll leave behind."
They discussed the subject for some minutes, partly because it furnished
an excuse for sitting upon the sled, though none of them had much doubt
as to the result of the council. It was unthinkable that they should
sacrifice a scrap of the provisions. Then, when each man had lashed a
light load upon his shoulders with a portion of the cut-up traces, they
set out again, and it rained upon them heavily all that day.
During the four following days they were buffeted by a furious wind, but
the temperature had risen, and the snow was melting fast, and splashing
knee-deep through slush and water they made progress. While he stumbled
along with the pack-straps galling his shoulders, Wyllard was conscious
of little beyond the unceasing pain in his joints and the leaden
heaviness of his limbs. The recollection of that march haunted him like
a horrible nightmare long afterwards, when each sensation and incident
emerged from the haze of numbing misery. He remembered that he stormed
at Charly, who lagged behind now and then in a fit of languid dejection,
and that once he fell heavily, and was sensible of a half-conscious
regret that he was still capable of going on, when the Indian dragged
him to his feet again. They rarely spoke to one another, and noticed
nothing beyond the strip of white waste, through which uncovered brown
patches commenced to break, immediately in front of them, except when
they crossed some low elevation and looked down upon the stretch of dull
gray water not far away on one hand. The breeze had swept the ice away,
and that was reassuring, because it meant that Dampier would be at the
inlet when they reached it, though now and then a horrible fear that
their strength would fail them or that their provisions would run out
first, crept in.
Their faces had grown gaunt and haggard, and each scanty meal had been
cut down to the smallest portion which would keep life and power of
movement within them. Still, though the weight of it hampered him almost
intolerably, Wyllard clung to the one rifle that they had saved from the
disaster at the landing and a dozen cartridges. This was a folly about
which he and Charly once had virulent words.
At last they came to a river which flowed across their path, and lay
down beside it, feeling that the end was not far away. Except in the
eddies and shallows, the ice had broken up, and the stream swirled by in
raging flood, thick with heavy masses which it had brought down from its
higher reaches. The ice crashed upon the gleaming spurs that here and
there projected from the half-thawed fringe, and smashed with a harsh
crackling among the boulders, and there was no doubt as to what would
befall the stoutest swimmer who might attempt the passage. So far as
Wyllard afterwards remembered, none of them said anything when they lay
down among the wet stones, but with the first of the daylight they
started up stream. The river was not a large one, and it seemed just
possible that they might find a means of crossing higher up, though they
afterwards admitted that this was a great deal more than they expected.
The ground rose sharply, and the stream flowed out of a deep ravine
which they followed. The rocks were of volcanic origin, and some of them
had crumbled into heaps of ragged débris. The slope of the ravine
became a talus along which it was almost impossible to scramble, and
they were forced back upon the boulders and the half-thawed ice in the
slacker pools.
They made progress, notwithstanding all the obstacles in their way, and
when evening drew near found a little clearer space between rock and
river. The Indian had wrenched his knee, and when they stopped to make
camp among the rocks it was some little time before he overtook them. He
said that he had found the tracks of some animal which he believed had
gone up the ravine. What the beast was he did not know, but he was sure
that it was, at least, large enough to eat, and that appeared to be of
the most importance then. He would not, however, take the rifle. Nothing
could compel him to drag himself another rod that night, he said, and
the others, who had noticed how he limped, accepted his decision. With
an expressionless face he sat down among the stones, and Charly decided
that it was Wyllard's part to pick the trail.
"You could beat me every time at trailing or shooting when we went
ashore on the American side, and I'm not sorry to let it go at that
now," he said.
Wyllard smiled grimly. "And I've carried this rifle a week on top of my
other load. You can't shoot when you're dead played out."
They called in the Indian and gave the rifle to him. He gravely pointed
to Wyllard.
Charly grinned for the first time in several days.
"Well," he remarked, "in this case I guess I've no objections to let it
be as he suggests."
Wyllard resignedly took up the rifle and strode wearily out of camp.
There was, he knew, scarcely an hour's daylight left, and already the
dimness seemed a little more marked down in the hollow. He, however,
found the place where the Indian had seen the animal's track, and as
there was a wall of rock on one side, up which he believed the beast
could not scramble, he pushed on up stream beside the ice. There was
nothing to guide him, but he was a little surprised to feel that his
perceptions, which had been dull and dazed for the last few days, were
growing clearer. He noticed the different sounds the river made, and
picked out the sharp crackle of ice among the stones, though he had
hitherto been conscious only of a hoarse, pulsating roar. The rocks also
took distinctive shapes instead of looming in blurred masses before his
heavy eyes, and he found himself gazing with strained attention into
each strip of deeper shadow. Still, though he walked cautiously, there
was no sign of any life in the ravine. He was horribly weary, and now
and then he set his lips as he stumbled noisily among the stones, but he
pushed on beside the water while the deep hollow grew dimmer and more
shadowy.