THE DESERTED TEPEES
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
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," Blake 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."
Harding and Benson 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.
"Now that we're here, we may as well spend another hour over the job,"
Harding decided. "It's possible they haven't packed all their food
along."
His companions suspected that they were wasting time, but they followed
him down the 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 gone
some time. 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 replied. "But I'm anxious to find out whether
there's anything to eat in the tepees."
They hurried on, and when they reached the village they discovered only
a few skins in the first tent. Then, separating, they eagerly searched
the others without result, and when they met again they 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. The three men stood with gloomy faces in the
shelter of the largest tepee, feeling that luck was hard against them.
"These northern Indians often have to put up with short rations 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."
Blake and Harding felt strongly tempted to agree. The cold had been
extreme the last few nights, and, weary and scantily fed as they were,
they craved shelter. Still they had misgivings.
"We have wasted too much time already," Blake said with an effort; "and
there's only a few days' rations in the bag. We have got to get back
to the valley, and we ought to make another three hours' march, before
we stop."
"Yes," Harding slowly 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. The rock 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," Harding said
coolly. "However, it's fallen where it was wanted; help me heave the
thing on."
It crackled fiercely as the flame licked about it. 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 that they had found such
a camping place, for 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 after a while 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 traveler
in the North--the possibility of being 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. However, they dare risk no further delay. Strapping
on their packs, they 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 the
next day. Finding shelter, they made camp, and after dividing a small
bannock between them they sat talking gloomily. Their fire had been
lighted to lee of a cluster of willows, and it 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 on the snow."
Benson made no answer, and Harding was silent a while, sitting very
still with knitted brows.
"I can't see any way out," he said at last. "Can you?"
"Well," Blake answered quietly, "we'll go on as long as we are able.
Though I haven't had a rosy time, I have faith in my luck."
Conversation languished after this. The men had a small cake of
tobacco left, and they 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 they heard only the rustle of the willows and the
swishing sound of driven snow; then a faint patter caught their ears,
and a crack like the snapping of a whip.
"A dog team!" cried Benson.
Springing to his feet, he 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 toward the fire and stopped. 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 explained. "I see
your cooking outfit's still lying round."
"It's at your service," Blake responded. "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," the man declared. "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-humoredly, there was a hint of
authority in his voice, and the man to whom he spoke quickened his
movements. Then another man 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 men 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're wondering who we are?" he asked genially.
"Oh, no," Blake smiled. "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, 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
reservation 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 to make adventurous sled journeys across
the winter snow. Their patrols search the lonely North from Hudson Bay
to the Mackenzie, living in the open in arctic weather; and the
peaceful progress of western Canada is due largely to their unrelaxing
vigilance, Blake gave them a short account of their journey and
explained his party's present straits.
"Well," said the Sergeant, "I figure that we have provisions 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 half-breed?" Benson asked. "Your chiefs at
Regina don't allow you hired packers."
"They surely don't. He's a Hudson Bay man, working his passage. Going
back to his friends somewhere about Lake Winnipeg, and decided 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 Assiniboin;
and it wouldn't beat us if they spoke Hebrew or Greek. There's a
trooper in my detachment who knows both."
Benson did not doubt this. He 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, he 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 sled 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," admitted Lane good-humoredly. "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."
Emile announced 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 rations in the
arctic frost. Afterward 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
could believe 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 Emile 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
from pure white light to evanescent blue and rose. 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 splendor, then faded and receded, dying out
with unearthly glimmering far back in the lonely North.
"That's pretty fine," Lane commented mildly.
Blake smiled, but made no answer. He and his comrades were getting
drowsy, and although a stinging wind swept the camp and the green wood
burned badly, they were filled with a serene content. The keen bodily
craving was satisfied; they had eaten and could sleep; and it looked as
if their troubles were over. The dogs were obviously fit for travel,
for they were still engaged in a vigorous quarrel over some caribou
bones; the toil of the journey would be lightened by carrying their
loads on the sled; and the party was strong enough to assist any member
of it whose strength might give way. There was no reason to apprehend
any difficulty in reaching the settlements; and in their relief at the
unexpected rescue their thoughts went no farther. After the hunger and
the nervous strain they had borne, they were blissfully satisfied with
their present ease. There would be time enough to consider the future.
Sergeant Lane got up and shook the snow from his blanket.
"I've seen a better fire, boys, but I've camped with none at all on as
cold a night," he said. "So far as I can figure, we have grub enough;
but now that there are three more of us we don't want to lose time.
You'll be ready to pull out by seven in the morning."
They lay down in the most comfortable places they could find, and slept
soundly, although once during the night Harding was awakened by a dog
that crept up to him for warmth.