Life for Life
The sergeant picked up a piece of wood and was about to throw it on
the fire, when a shout in the direction of the trail arrested his
attention. He dropped the stick, stared in amazement, his heart beating
fast. At first he thought he must have been mistaken, but when the
shout was repeated he answered with a whoop that echoed through the
forest’s silent reaches. Ere long he heard the sound of someone plowing
his way through the snow, straight toward him. In a few minutes Rolfe
appeared, his face very white, except one cheek which was streaked with
blood, and his clothes torn. For an instant he stared first at the
sergeant and then at Marion, who had risen to a sitting position. Then
overcome by weakness and excitement, he dropped upon the snow near the
fire. His hands clawed the air, as if warding off some invisible foe.
His eyes were big with terror. North stepped to his side and laid a
firm hand upon his shoulder.
“Come, buck up, old man,” he ordered. “You’re all right.”
That touch and the friendly word of cheer brought Rolfe to his senses.
The wild expression left his eyes, and his uplifted hands dropped.
“Lord, it was awful!” he moaned. “It was hell let loose.”
Then he looked over at Marion.
“Excuse me, Miss Brisbane,” he apologized. “But I am hardly myself
after what I have just gone through. I am mighty glad, though, to find
you and the sergeant safe. How in the world did you escape? I was sure
that you were buried down there in the valley.”
“We do not know how we escaped,” Marion replied, while a tremor shook
her body. “The Lord must have been with us, I guess. But we got off
better than you did. Something has happened to you. There is blood upon
your face.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, I assure you, Miss Brisbane. Something hit me a
glancing blow, a broken limb of a tree, I think, as I was struggling
out of the clutch of that monster. I was only a few steps behind you,
and how I got clear I have no idea. It was a terrible fight, and I was
nearly smothered. Then the first thing I knew I was wedged up against
a tree till I thought every bone in my body was being crushed. I lost
consciousness and when I came to everything was still, and I was lying
at the foot of a big fir with snow all around me. I was sure that you
two were gone and that I alone was saved.”
“Why did you shout if you thought we were lost?” North asked.
“I hardly know why, except that I was half crazy and just whooped.
I guess I was just like an infant crying in the night, and with no
language but a cry. I must have done it unconsciously.”
“It was mighty lucky you did, Rolfe, for I never thought of looking for
you up there. But I don’t think you can help us out any. We’re in a bad
fix, with not a scrap of food.”
“I know it,” the constable replied. “One of us will have to foot it, I
guess, to The Gap for grub. There’s nothing here. We might get a few
rabbits or ptarmigan. Now, if I had my rifle, I might get a moose, for
they’re quite thick down there in the valley along that wild meadow.
But what can one do with a revolver, for that’s all I have left.”
“Same here,” North replied. “I was afraid I had lost mine but it’s all
right. Now, look, something’s got to be done at once if we’re going to
have any breakfast. You stay here with Marion and keep the fire going.
I’m anxious to see what pranks that snow-slide has cut up where it
stopped. I have heard men tell queer stories about such things, but
always believed they were lying. I hope to goodness they weren’t.”
“Will you be gone long, John?” Marion anxiously asked. “Don’t run any
risk.”
“There is no danger,” North assured. “It should not take me many
minutes. I hope to get something for breakfast.”
The sergeant made his way to the great scar caused by the snow-slide,
and found easy walking here. It did not take him long to descend the
steep hill, the big moon making the night almost as bright as day. He
was astonished at the havoc which had been wrought by the descending
monster. Large trees had been snapped like pipe stems before the
terrific impact of thousands of tons of snow and ice, and hurled in a
confused and gigantic mass down into the valley. He followed the course
until he came to the level where the avalanche had been stayed. When he
could proceed no farther on the clean-swept way, he plunged into the
snow to the right and began to circle the heaped-up mass. He kept a
sharp lookout, hoping to find some portion of the camping outfit. But
nothing could he see. Dogs, food, sleds and provisions had evidently
been buried far out of sight.
After he had gone some distance, surprised at the width of the slide,
he decided to return. The snow was deep and the travelling difficult.
There was nothing that he could see except snow and tangled masses
of trees. He stopped and looked keenly in every direction, but not
a sign of bird or animal could he see. He knew that farther away he
might come across something, but he had not the strength to battle for
any distance through such deep snow. Sergeant North was not easily
discouraged, but a hopeless feeling now smote his heart. What was he
to do? How could he or Rolfe ever reach The Gap without snow-shoes?
It would take days to go and return with food, but if overtaken by
a storm, the journey would be impossible. Marion could not make the
journey, he was well aware, for if a strong man accustomed to the
trails would find the task an Herculean one, what could a frail woman
do? There was Hugo’s cabin to which they might return. But that, too,
was a long way back, and they would be but little better off when they
got there, as far as food was concerned.
He thought, too, of the valuable time he was losing. Bill, the Slugger,
would reach The Gap and escape to the mountains far beyond the strong
arm of the law. What would his commanding officer think of him? He knew
the stern code of the Force and what was expected of every member, and
here he was tricked by circumstances over which he had no control.
He was about to retrace his steps when a slight noise just ahead
arrested his attention. He whipped his revolver from its holster, and
peered forward, keenly alert. For a few seconds he could see nothing.
Then he noticed a slight movement in the snow near a mass of tangled
trees. Cautiously advancing, he ere long saw something which thrilled
his whole being. It was a moose, entrapped in the very forefront of
the avalanche, and feebly threshing its great antlers in its death
struggle. Drawing nearer, North saw that the animal’s hinder parts were
caught and crushed beneath a heavy tree while the rest of its body
was free. He knew now that what he had been told was no fiction, that
moose, bear, deer, and lesser animals were sometimes overwhelmed as
they sped before the terror of the mountains. This animal had evidently
been caught off guard near where the snow-slide had stopped. That the
brute had made a desperate fight was most apparent, and as North stood
watching its now feeble efforts a feeling of pity welled up in his
heart for this unfortunate creature. But what was death to one was life
to others, so drawing forth his sheath-knife, he at once put the animal
out of misery.
This sudden and unexpected incident filled North with renewed hope.
There before him was food to last for several days. And the skin, which
could be cut into long strips, what possibilities lay in that! He did
not attempt to remove the tree from the body, knowing how useless that
would be. But after the moose had bled freely, with his sharp knife
he laid back a portion of the skin and cut off several slices of the
warm, quivering flesh. This took him but a few minutes, and he then
made his way back to his companions, his heart overflowing with joy and
thankfulness.
This unexpected help in time of extremity seemed to Marion nothing else
than providential.
“I was always interested in that story of Elijah in the wilderness,”
she remarked as she watched the sergeant broiling the meat over
several hot coals. “Although I never really doubted that the Lord sent
those ravens to feed him, yet in some way it always appeared to me like
a fairy tale. But now I know that He does care, and will supply our
needs.”
“I guess you’re right, Miss Brisbane,” Rolfe agreed, as he squatted
before the fire. “From the way we have been helped it does look
reasonable. Now, if ravens, or some other birds would come along and
leave us a little salt to season that meat, and a few loaves of bread,
it would add a great finishing touch to the whole affair.”
“You are too moderate in your wish,” Marion smilingly replied. “Why
don’t you wish for a roast turkey, with all the fixings, and a big
plum-pudding while you are about it?”
“Yes, and oranges, pears, cigars, and such things,” North retorted.
“That’s the trouble with you, Tom, you’re never satisfied. Anyway,
there’s nothing but this meat for breakfast without any fixings, so
you’ve got to make the most of it.”
An hour later the three of them started to bring in a supply of moose
meat. Marion, who was now fully recovered, was determined to go, too,
and she enjoyed the tramp. When she saw the huge mass of snow and
tangled trees she gave a cry of amazement. But when she beheld the body
of the moose, her face became very pale.
“Isn’t it terrible!” she gasped. “I thought I was accustomed to
horrible sights, seeing so many in the hospitals, but this is somehow
different. How that poor animal must have struggled to free itself.
Nature can be so gentle and beautiful at times, and again so stern and
merciless.”
“I hate it all,” North replied as he drew forth his knife, and set to
work upon the moose. “Nature, as you call it, is always upsetting one’s
plans. Look what a mess it has got us into here.”
“Master Tennyson said,” Rolfe reminded,
“‘I curse not nature, no, nor death,
For nothing is that errs from law.’”
“Poetry again!” the sergeant growled. “I thought you were completely
cured. Well, I guess Master Tennyson would have done some cursing if he
had lived in a country such as this. Here, hold back this leg while I
strip off the hide.”
Marion watched the men until their task was completed. They then
returned to their camping-place, carrying with them the skin of the
moose, and large pieces of meat. The fire was replenished, and the
three sat down to rest.
“We must get to The Gap as soon as possible,” the sergeant began. “And
to do so, we need snow-shoes. Tom, you get to work and cut up that skin
into long strips as narrow as you can. I am going to look for some
suitable wood. We shall have to manufacture our own outfit.”
“What! make snow-shoes?” the constable asked in surprise.
“Certainly. They will be clumsy affairs, I admit, but they will serve
our purpose. Haven’t I told you how I made a pair years ago when my
dogs made a meal of the sinews?”
“But you had the frames left, sergeant.”
“That’s true. But as I haven’t frames now, I am going to make them.
I wish to goodness I had an axe. It is difficult to do anything with
nothing but a knife. Anyway, it can’t be helped, so I must make the
best of it.”
The sergeant was gone for over half an hour, and when he returned he
was carrying with him a bundle of stout withes, consisting of alders
and birch limbs. These he threw down near the fire and held his hands
close to the genial heat. He looked at Marion, who was sitting upon
the fir boughs, holding one end of a strip of the moose hide which
the constable was carefully slicing. She was interested in her work,
glad to be of some use. North thought that he never saw her look more
beautiful, and when she lifted her head and saw the expression of
admiration in the sergeant’s eyes, her cheeks took on a richer hue.
“This life certainly agrees with you,” he remarked. “You don’t seem to
mind the cold.”
“Not while I have something to do,” was the reply. “I am glad to be
able to help a little.”
North lost no time, but began at once making the frames for the
snow-shoes. He worked with feverish haste, for every minute was
precious. When Marion was not busy helping with the cutting of the
skin, she sat watching him as he peeled the sticks, bent each into the
proper shape, fastened the two ends together, set in the cross-bars,
and lashed them securely to the frame. The weaving of the web was a
more difficult task, but the sergeant showed Marion how it should be
done, and she proved an apt pupil.
“You are to weave your own,” he informed her, “while Tom and I do ours.
Let us see who will be done first.”
Then the friendly rivalry began, which was only interrupted as they
rested, prepared, and ate some more broiled moose meat. This simple
repast ended, they continued their work. Marion was the first to
finish, and triumphantly she held up her snow-shoes for inspection.
They were but poor clumsy affairs, yet they were to serve as means of
deliverance.
Although contending with many difficulties, there was never one word
of complaint uttered. The cold was intense, which even the fire could
not overcome. Huddled as close as possible to the heat, their faces
would be hot while their backs were chilled. No blankets had they to
wrap about their bodies. Fir boughs were their only protection, and
an abundance of these the men banked up around Marion, and then made
a shelter for themselves on the opposite side of the fire. That night
while the sergeant worked constructing a little rude toboggan out of a
number of sticks and a portion of the frozen moose skin, Rolfe repeated
numerous poems, to which Marion listened with much interest. Piece
after piece he recited, grave, stirring and gay.
“Poetry has always been my reserve power,” he explained. “When I get
downhearted, or in a tight place, a noble poem stirs me like martial
music. There are two, especially, which have never failed me yet. The
first is Newbolt’s ‘Play up, play up, and play the game.’ The other
is Henley’s masterpiece, ‘The Captain.’ No doubt you know it, Miss
Brisbane, but just listen to these words:
“‘Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods there be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Beneath the bludgeonings of fate,
My head is bloody, but unbowed.’”
“Now, wouldn’t that stir the most discouraged? Doesn’t it arouse one,
make him stand up, face defeat, fight, and win? That is what it has
done to me over and over again. Now, just listen to this last verse:
“‘It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the Captain of my soul.’”
Upon Rolfe’s face was an expression of great determination as he ended,
and his glowing eyes were looking straight before him. To him the words
were wonderfully real and effective. Marion, too, felt their spell, and
even the heart of the matter-of-fact sergeant experienced a strange
thrill.
“Tom, I never appreciated your poetry before,” the latter candidly
confessed. “To me it was all doggerel, but I see it in a different
light now. I am really glad to see that you have broken out again after
your unusually long silence.”
The constable’s face beamed with pleasure, and he gave a sigh of relief.
“Good for you, sergeant!” he replied. “Now you can understand why
General Wolfe recited Gray’s ‘Elegy in a Country Churchyard’ as he
moved up the river to attack Quebec. We have often argued about that,
and you always contended it was all nonsense. I am glad that you see
light at last.”