THE BACK TRAIL
Blake and his friends spent three weeks at the Hudson 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
neighboring bluff, where fuel had been cut; Benson and the agent, who
were hauling cordwood home, narrowly escaped from death one evening 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, spare them only a scanty supply of
food, and they knew that a long forced march lay before them when they
left their guide.
Day was breaking when the dogs were harnessed to the sled, 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 the bitter cold. None of them wished to linger in
the North--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, 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 that 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 while. The snow was good
for traveling, 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 traveling light with their packs on the sled. The journey
began to look less formidable. Gathering close round the fire, they
prepared their supper cheerfully, while the dogs fought over scraps of
frozen fish. Harding, however, had misgivings about their ability to
keep up the pace; he thought that in a day or two it would tell on the
white men.
They slept soundly, for the cold has less effect on the man who is
fresh and properly fed. Breakfast was quickly despatched, and after a
short struggle with the dogs they set out again. It was another good
day, and they traveled fast, over a rolling tableland on which the snow
smoothed out the, inequalities among the rocks. Bright sunshine
streamed down on them, the sled ran easily up the slopes and down the
hollows, and the men found no difficulty in keeping the pace. 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 sled 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
favorable 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 he 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," he said. "We haven't
had to face a climb like that all the way. But we'd better get up."
It cost them some labor, and when they reached 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," Harding replied, "I mean to go straight south."
Benson gave him an understanding nod.
"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, and it looked as if
the good fortune that had so far attended them were coming to an end.
The 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 they held a council round the fire.
"The situation requires some thought," Blake said. "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 animals 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 favor of heading southwest. It may mean an extra hundred
miles, or more, but it would bring us nearer the Stony village, and
afterward 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 reminded him. "For all that, they might have had good luck;
and, anyway, we couldn't cross the prairie with an empty grubsack. My
vote's for striking off to the west."
Harding concurred, though his leg had threatened further trouble during
the last day or two, and he would have preferred the shorter route.
"What about the petroleum?" Blake asked.
"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 on
the ground," Harding paused with a thoughtful air. "When we reach the
settlement I must go home, but if the money 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 declared.
Harding smiled.
"Yes, we'll raise the money somehow," he agreed. "It has been my
experience that when you want a thing badly enough, there's always some
way to get it."
He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and stood up, stretching and
yawning.
"Right now I want sleep," he said.
When dawn came the next morning, it was snowing hard, and for a week
they made poor progress, with a bitter gale driving the flakes in their
faces. Each day the distance covered steadily lessened, and rations
were cut down accordingly. Harding's leg was getting sore, but he did
not mean to speak of it unless it became necessary. They were,
however, approaching the neighborhood 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 he realized with uneasiness that it would be singularly unfortunate
if they were away on a hunting trip.
At last, after spending all of one blustering day laboriously climbing
the rough but gently rising slope of a long divide, 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 up on their
feet, but as the light grew clearer, the prospect ahead of them 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 come
across 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 spoke.
"I've an idea that this is the valley where Blake fell sick, and it's
going to straighten things out for us if I'm right."
"That's so," Benson agreed, "We would be sure of striking the Stony
village, and we could afterward 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 gray 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 becoming sure, however, that it was the one they had traveled 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, and the scattered pines they
passed wailed drearily in a rising wind. The men were tired, but they
could see no suitable camping place, and they pushed on, looking for
thicker timber.
It was getting dark when a belt of trees stretched across the valley,
and they decided to stop there. Benson, leading the way, suddenly
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 through which they
had traveled all were conscious of a longing for human society.
Besides, the strangers would no doubt have something to eat--they might
even 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?"
They set off as fast as they could go, though traveling among the
fallen branches and the 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, hardly large enough, he thought, for a fire, and it had a curious
irregular flicker. Drawing nearer, they dipped into a hollow where
they could distinguish only a faint brightness beyond the rising ground
ahead. They eagerly ascended that, and 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 no answer came to them.
He ran as fast as his snowshoes would let him, smashing through brush,
floundering over snowy stories, with Blake and Harding stumbling, short
of breath, behind; and then he stopped with a hoarse cry. He stood
beside the light; there was nobody about; the blaze sprang up
mysteriously from the frozen ground.
"A blower of natural gas!" Harding exclaimed excitedly. "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 said
savagely. "Anyway, 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 he 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 optimistic American.
"Now," he said, "maybe you will tell us why you were so cheerful about
this gas."
"First of all," Harding answered good-humoredly, "it indicates that
there's oil somewhere about--the two generally go together. Anyway, 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, you'd find minerals that would pay for
working. Men with money in Montreal and New York are looking for
openings like this; 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 commented. "Take care
your optimism doesn't ruin you."
"I wonder," Harding went on, "whether Clarke knows about this gas? 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 he 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 burned trees in a country where
we saw no signs of Indians."
"If this blower has been burning long, the Stonies must know of it,"
Blake said. "Isn't it curious that no news of it has reached the
settlements?"
"I'm not sure. 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 reservations, and I guess they'd rather have the
whole country to themselves for trapping and fishing. Then, Clarke may
have persuaded them to say nothing."
"It's possible," Blake agreed thoughtfully. "We'll push on for their
camp the first thing tomorrow."