FATHER LUCIEN'S ADVENTURE
The snow was firm and the rivers were frozen hard when Thirlwell left
the mine with two _Metis_ trappers to examine an outcropping reef that
one of the half-breeds had told him about. He was not very hopeful, but
agreed with Scott, who thought it might be worth while to look at the
reef, since the specimens the _Metis_ had brought showed traces of
silver and lead. Then Father Lucien had gone to visit some of his people
who had camped for their winter trapping far up in the bush, the shack
was lonely, and the frost hindered the work at the mine.
Winter is not a good time for prospecting, but travel is often easier
then, for the hand-sledges run smoothly on the snow that covers fallen
trunks and underbrush and levels the hollows. The muskegs are frozen and
one can make fast marches along the rivers and across the lakes.
Thirlwell had no tent, but it is not a great hardship for a well-fed
man, wrapped in furs, to sleep beside a big fire behind a bank of snow,
and he had no misadventures as he pushed into the wilds. The ore proved
to be worthless, and soon after he started back he met an Indian who
said he had seen Father Lucien going south with a dog-team two days
before, and had found the trail of another white man near the spot where
he and his friends had camped.
The clear, cold weather broke when Thirlwell began his homeward march.
The sky was low and leaden, and a biting wind blew from the south. It
drove the snow-dust into the men's smarting faces and froze their breath
on their furs. Their hands stiffened on the sledge-traces and their feet
got numb. The cold got worse when snow began to fall and when they
camped one night Thirlwell noted that they had used more food than he
thought. The transport of provisions is perhaps the main difficulty of a
winter journey in the bush, for men who brave the arctic cold must be
generously fed. Thirlwell, however, expected to reach the mine before
their stores ran out, and set off at daybreak next morning in heavy,
driving snow.
At dusk he camped in a clump of dry willows by a river. The snow had
stopped, but a bitter wind blew down the valley and the cold was
intense. When he had eaten a meal Thirlwell sat with his back to a snow
bank and a big fire in front, holding up a moccasin to the blaze. This
was necessary because moccasins absorb moisture during a long day's
march, and the man who puts them on while damp risks getting frozen
feet.
He was lighting his pipe when the _Metis_ he had sent out for wood came
back with an armful of branches and said he had seen a light up the
river. Thirlwell put on his half-dried moccasins and reluctantly left
the camp. He had met nobody but an Indian on the trail and was curious
to know who was camping in those solitudes. Besides, it was possible
that he might be able to get some supplies.
As he pushed through the willows the savage wind pierced him to the
bone. The dry branches rattled and the pines upon the ridge above wailed
drearily. The sky was clear and the frozen river, running back, white
and level, through the dusky forest, glittered in the light of a half
moon. This was all that Thirlwell saw for a few minutes, and then a
twinkling light in the distance fixed his attention. It flickered, got
brighter, and faded, and he knew it was a fire.
After a time he and the _Metis_ left the river and climbed the steep
bank. The fire had vanished, but the pungent smell of burning wood came
down the biting wind, and by and by trails of smoke drifted past the
scattered pines. Then as they struggled through a brake of wild-fruit
canes a blaze leaped up among the the rocks and he saw an indistinct
figure crouching beside a fire. The figure got up awkwardly and a few
moments later Father Lucien gave Thirlwell his hand. The light touched
his thin frost-browned face, which was marked by lines that pain had
drawn.
"It's lucky you came, but, if you don't mind, we'll sit down," he said.
"If you're alone, you had better come back to our camp," Thirlwell
replied. "Where's your truck and the dogs?"
Father Lucien indicated the torn blue blanket that hung from his
shoulder. "All gone except this! But it's a long story and I can't
walk."
"Then you have nothing to eat?" said Thirlwell sharply.
"Half a small bannock; I ate the rest this morning. The worst was I had
only melted snow to drink."
Thirlwell made a sympathetic gesture, for men who camp in the frozen
woods consume large quantities of nearly boiling tea. Then he turned to
the half-breed and sent him back for his companion and the sledge.
"We'll haul you down the river as soon as they come," he said. "By good
luck, we camped in perhaps the only place from which we could have seen
your fire."
"Ah," said Father Lucien with a quiet smile, "I do not know if it was
luck alone that made you choose the spot."
They sat down in the hollow among the rocks, and the missionary shivered
although the fire snapped and threw out clouds of smoke close by.
Thirlwell gave him his tobacco pouch.
"In the meantime, you can eat your bannock and then take a smoke. I'm
curious to learn how you lost your outfit and the dogs."
Father Lucien ate the morsel of hard cake, and afterwards looked up.
"Perhaps I had better tell you before your men arrive. Well, I traveled
about with my people as they moved their traps, and one night when very
tired I slept in damp moccasins. The fire got low and next morning my
foot was slightly frozen. We were forced to make long marches for some
days, and I found the frost-bite had gone deeper than I thought. You
can, no doubt, guess what happened."
Thirlwell nodded. A frozen foot sometimes galls into a sore that will
not heal while the temperature is low.
"Well," said Father Lucien, "some time after we pitched camp, a man came
in with a dog-team that belonged to the Hudson's Bay. He was not going
farther but offered to lend me the dogs, if I would leave them with some
friends of his who were trapping to the south."
"But can you drive dogs?" Thirlwell asked, knowing that skill is
required to manage the snarling, fighting teams.
"Not well, but I have driven dogs, and was anxious to reach the mine
before my foot got worse. I thought I might find somebody at the
Indians' camp who would go on with me. For a day or two we made good
progress, though I had trouble to harness the leader in the morning; he
was a stubborn, bad tempered animal, and missed his master's firm
control. Then, one evening, we came to a creek. The stream had kept the
channel open here and there, and I thought the ice thin, but it was
open, rocky country round about, and I saw a clump of pines in the
distance where we could camp. It got dark as we followed the creek and
clouds drifted over the moon, but I wanted to find shelter and pushed
on. Once or twice the ice cracked ominously, but it held until we came
to a spot where the stream got narrower between high, rocky banks.
"The leader stopped and growled, at the edge of an open crack. His
instinct warned him of danger, but I knew I could not get up the rough
bank with my lame foot, and drove him past. As I limped by his side with
the whip, I thought I heard the current gurgle under the ice, but we
went on, the dogs snuffing and treading cautiously. Then there was a
soft thud and a splash, the team was jerked back and I saw that the
sledge had vanished. I suppose it had broken through a snow-bridge that
our weight had shaken.
"I scrambled back a yard or two and looked down into the dark gap--I
could not run because of my galled foot. Part of the sledge was covered
by fallen snow, but the fore end rested on something and I leaned down
and seized my blanket. There was a bag of food beneath it that I tried
to reach, but perhaps I shook the sledge, which began to slip down, and
I saw the dogs roll among the traces as they were dragged towards the
hole. The leader clawed desperately at the snow, howling as if he begged
my help, and I felt that I must save him. You have heard a dog howl in
fear or pain?"
"Yes," said Thirlwell, "it makes a strong appeal. But I suppose you
remembered what you risked by leaving the food?"
"I cut the trace," Father Lucien went on. "Another mass of snow fell and
the sledge sank out of sight. I imagine the stream swept it under the
ice, for I could only see the dark water foam. All the food I had except
a bannock in my pocket was lost. I forgot the team for a few moments and
when I looked up they had gone."
He paused and Thirlwell made a sign of sympathy. "A nerve-shaking jar!
But what became of the dogs?"
"I think they were afraid of the ice. If my camp had been made and a
fire lighted, they might have come in for warmth, but I was not their
master, and perhaps they took the back trail to the spot we started
from. Well, as I could not follow, I limped on until I reached the pine
clump, where I slept, and then dragged myself across the divide to this
corner among the rocks. I knew I could go no farther and sat down to
wait--"
Father Lucien's voice was calm and Thirlwell knew his courage had not
failed. The man had often risked death when duty sent him out across the
snowy wilds.
"Anyhow," said Thirlwell, "I'm glad I found you before it was too late.
It's something I and others will long be thankful for."
Father Lucien smiled deprecatingly. "If I had starved, another would
have filled my place. Men fall on the trail, but the work goes forward.
Perhaps I have said too much about my danger, but I did so because of a
curious thing that happened last night. I slept as well as usual for
some hours, and then opened my eyes. I think, however, I was not quite
awake, or else my brain was dull, because I felt no surprise although a
man was in my camp. The fire had burned low and he stood back in the
gloom where I could not see his face, but a dry branch broke into flame
and the light fell on me. The way the man turned his head indicated that
he was looking about the camp, and he must have seen that I had nothing
but my blanket. But he was silent and did not come forward."
"An Indian?" Thirlwell asked.
"No," said Father Lucien. "He was white."
Thirlwell started. "A white man? It looks impossible. But why didn't
you--?"
"I did not speak. You see, I had not heard him come, and imagine now
that I thought I was dreaming and was afraid to wake and find my hope of
help had gone. After a few moments, he stepped back very quietly into
the shadow, and I called out. There was no answer and I got up. It took
a little time--the blanket was round my legs and my foot hurt--and when
I stumbled away from the fire he had vanished and there was no sound in
the bush. Soon afterwards I fell down in the snow, and lay until the
cold roused me to an effort and I crawled back to the fire. By and by I
went to sleep again and did not waken until daybreak."
"Then," said Thirlwell, meaningly, "you could find no tracks."
"I could not," Father Lucien agreed. "That was not strange, because
light snow was falling when I got up and the wind was fresh. Still I
found this; it shows I was not dreaming."
He gave Thirlwell a wooden pipe with a nickel band round the stem.
"Ah!" said Thirlwell, who examined the frozen pipe and scraped out a
little half-burned tobacco with his knife. "Fifty-cents, at a settlement
store! Not the kind of things the Indians buy, and this is not the stuff
they generally smoke. Besides, you would know an Indian, whether he
spoke or not, by his figure and his pose."
Father Lucien said nothing, but looked at him with a quiet smile, and
Thirlwell resumed: "Well, there was a man; a white man. But the thing's
not to be understood. He knew you were starving and stole away! Then
where did he come from? There's no white man except Driscoll between the
Hudson's Bay post and the mine, and you saved Driscoll's life."
"When I last heard of him, Driscoll was trapping about Stony Creek, a
long way to the east."
Thirlwell knitted his brows and lighted his pipe, which he had put near
the fire to thaw, and there was silence until the _Metis_ arrived with
the sledge, when they took the missionary to their camp and gave him
food. After he had eaten they lay down with their feet to the fire and
Thirlwell said: "If the man had seen your fire and come to borrow
something or find out who you were, he would have spoken. There's
nobody I can think of who has not some grounds for wishing you well, but
it looks as if the fellow thought you were asleep and meant to let you
starve."
"It looks like that," Father Lucien agreed with a curious calm. "Perhaps
we shall find out who he was some day, and if not, it does not matter."
Then he drew the blanket across his face and went to sleep.