A HOT TRAIL
The cold Northland dawn had broken when Stane was roused from his sleep
by the voice of his companion.
"M'sieu! m'sieu! It ees time to eat!"
Stane rubbed his eyes and looked round. Then he stood upright and
stretched himself, every stiff muscle crying out against the process.
He looked at the waiting breakfast and then at Bènard. One glance at
the drawn face of the latter told him that he had not slept, but he
refrained from comment on the fact, knowing well what thoughts must
have made sleep impossible for him.
"Have you seen anything yet, Jean?" he asked as he seated himself
again.
"Not yet, m'sieu," answered the trapper. "But eef Chief George did not
lie we cannot miss Chigmok--an zee oders."
"But if he lied?" asked Stane with a sudden accession of anxiety.
"Then we shall haf to range an' find zee trail. But I do not tink he
lie. He too mooch afraid! Eat, m'sieu, den we can watch zee lak' for
zee comin' of Chigmok."
Stane ate his breakfast quickly, and when he had finished, accompanied
Bènard a little way up the trail, which running along the base of the
cliff by which they had camped, made a sudden turn between the rocks
and unexpectedly opened out on a wide view.
Before him lay the snow-covered lake of the Little Moose, a narrow lake
perhaps fifteen miles long. On one side ran a range of high rocky
hills, a spur of which formed his own vantage place, and on the other
side were lower hills covered with bush and trees almost to their
crests. From the height where he stood he had an almost bird's-eye view
of the lake, and he examined it carefully. Nothing moved on its virgin
surface of snow. It was as blank as Modred's shield. He examined the
shore at the foot of the wood-covered hills carefully. Creek by creek,
bay by bay, his eye searched the shore-line for any sign of life. He
found none, nowhere was there any sign of life; any thin column of
smoke betokening the presence of man. He looked at the other shore of
the lake, though without any expectation of finding that which he
sought. It was bleak and barren, and precipitous in places, where the
hills seemed to rise directly from the lake's edge. Nothing moved
there, and a single glance told him that the land trail on that side
was an impossibility. He looked at his companion.
"Dey haf not yet arrive," said Bènard, answering his unspoken question.
"Dey camp in zee woods for zee night."
"If Chief George lied----"
"I say again I tink he not lie. We must haf zee patience, m'sieu. Dere
is noding else dat we can do. We are here an' we must watch."
The minutes passed slowly, and to keep themselves from freezing the two
men were forced to do sentry-go on the somewhat narrow platform where
they stood, occasionally varying the line of their short march by
turning down the trail towards their camp, a variation which for
perhaps a couple of minutes hid the lake from view. Every time they so
turned, when the lake came in sight again, Stane looked down its length
with expectation in his eyes, and every time he was disappointed. An
hour passed and still they watched without any sign of their quarry to
cheer them. Then Jean Bènard spoke.
"We tire ourselves for noding, m'sieu. We walk, walk, walk togeder, an'
when Chigmok come we too tired to follow heem. It ees better dat we
watch in turn."
Stane admitted the wisdom of this, and since he felt that it was
impossible for himself to sit still, and suspected that his companion
was sadly in need of rest, he elected to keep the first watch.
"Very well, Jean, do you go and rest first; but tell me before you go
where the party we are looking for should strike the lake."
"Ah, I forgot to tell you dat, m'sieu." He pointed towards the southern
shore of the lake, where a small tree-covered island stood about half a
mile from the shore. "You see zee island, m'sieu. Just opposite dere
ees a creek. Zee regular trail comes out to zee lak' just dere, an' it
ees dere dat you may look for zee comin' of Chigmok."
Stane looked at the island and marked the position of the creek, then
an idea struck him. "Would it not be better, Bènard, if we removed our
camp to the island? We could then surprise Chigmok when he came."
"Non, m'sieu! I tink of dat las' night; but I remember dat we must
build a fire, an' zee smoke it tell zee tale; whilst zee odour it ees
perceived afar. Den zee dogs, dey give tongue when oder dogs appear,
an' where are we? Anoder ting, s'pose Chigmok not come zee regular
trail; s'pose he knew anoder way through zee woods, an' come out
further up zee lak'. Eef we on zee island we not see heem, but up
here--" he swept a hand in front of him--"we behold zee whole lak' and
we not miss him."
"Yes," agreed Stane. "You are right, Jean. Now go and rest. I will keep
a bright look-out."
"I not doubt dat, m'sieu. You haf zee prize to watch for, but I----"
He turned away without finishing his sentence, and Stane resumed his
sentry go, stopping from time to time to view the long expanse of the
snow-covered lake, and to search the woods along the shore. As the time
passed without bringing any change, and as the unbroken surface of the
snow mocked him with its emptiness, he grew sick at heart, and a
feverish anxiety mounted within him. He felt utterly helpless, and a
fear that Chief George had lied, and had deliberately misled them, grew
in him till it reached the force of conviction. Watching that empty
valley of the lake, he felt, was a waste of time. To be doing nothing,
when Helen was being hurried to be knew not what fate, was torture to
him. It would, he thought, be better to go back on their trail, and
endeavour to pick up that of the kidnappers, since that way they would
at least be sure that they were on the right lines. So strongly did
this idea appeal to him, that he turned down the trail to the camp to
propose the plan to his companion. But when he turned the corner of the
cliff, it was to find Jean Bènard fast asleep in front of the fire, and
though his first impulse was to waken him, he refrained, remembering
how tired the man must be, and how necessary it was that he should be
as fresh as possible when the moment for action arrived.
"No," he whispered, as he looked at the bent form of the sleeping man.
"I will wait one hour, and then we will decide."
He himself was beginning to feel the strain of the steady marching to
and fro, and decided that it would be wise to spare himself as much as
possible. Accordingly he seated himself by the fire, contenting himself
by walking to the top of the trail to view the lake at intervals of
from twelve to fifteen minutes. Twice he did this and the second time
was made aware of a change in the atmosphere. It had grown much colder
and as he turned the corner of the cliff a gust of icy-wind smote him
in the face. He looked downwards. The surface of the lake was still
barren of life; but not of movement. Films of snow, driven by the gusty
wind, drove down its narrow length, were lifted higher and then
subsided as the wind fell. Overhead the sky was of a uniform leaden hue
and he knew that before long there would be snow. And if snow came----
His heart stood almost still at the thought. It might snow for days,
and in the storm, when all trails would be obliterated it would be an
easy matter to miss Helen and her captors altogether. As he returned to
the fire, his mind was full of forebodings. He was afraid, and though
Jean Bènard slept on, he himself could not rest. He made up the fire,
prepared bacon and moose meat for cooking, set some coffee to boil. It
would be as well to have a meal in case the necessity for a start
should arise. These things done he went once more to the outlook, and
surveyed the snow-covered landscape. The wind was still for the moment,
and there were no wandering wisps of snow. His first glance was towards
the creek opposite the island. There was nothing there to arrest
attention. His eyes travelled further without any light of expectation
in them. Creek by creek, bay by bay, he followed the shore line, then,
in a second, his gaze grew fixed. The lake was no longer devoid of
life. Far-off, at least ten miles, as he swiftly calculated, a blur of
black dots showed on the surface of the snow. Instantly he knew it for
what it was--a team of sled dogs. His heart leaped at the sight, and
the next moment he was running towards the camp.
"Jean! Jean!" he cried. "Jean Bènard!"
The sleeping man passed from slumber to full wakefulness with the
completeness that characterizes a healthy child.
"Ah, m'sieu," he said, standing upright. "Dey haf arrive?"
"I do not know. But there is a dog-train a long way up the lake."
"I weel tak' one look," said the trapper, beginning to walk quickly
towards the head of the trail.
Stane went with him and indicated the direction.
"There, where the shore sweeps inward! Do you see, Jean?"
"Oui, m'sieu."
With bent brows the trapper stared at the blur of dots on the white
surface, and after a couple of seconds began to count softly to
himself. "Un, deux, trois, quatre----" Then he stopped. "Four dogs and
one man," he said, turning to his companion. "But Chigmok it ees not.
Behold, m'sieu, he comes dis way."
"Then who----"
"Dat ees not to be told. Zee men in zee wilderness are many." As he
finished speaking a gust of wind drove suddenly in their faces,
bringing with it a few particles of snow, and he looked up into the
leaden sky. "Presently," he said, "it weel snow, m'sieu. Let us go and
eat, then eef Chigmok has not appeared we weel go meet dat man out
dere. He may haf zee news."
Reluctantly Stane turned with him, and went back to the camp. He had no
desire for food, but he forced himself to eat, and when the meal was
finished he assisted his companion to load the sledge. Then Bènard
spoke again.
"We weel tak' one look more, m'sieu, before we harness zee dogs."
They went up to the outlook together. The lake once more showed its
white expanse unbroken; the little blot of moving dots having
withdrawn. Stane stared on the waste, with an expression of blank
dismay upon his face, then he turned to his companion.
"Zee man, he camp," explained Bènard. "He not pushed for time, an' he
know it snow b'fore long. We find heem, m'sieu, an' den--By gar! Look
dere!"
As he gave vent to the exclamation, he pointed excitedly up the lake,
two miles beyond the island, the neighbourhood of which Stane had gazed
at so often and hopelessly during the last three hours. A dog-train had
broken from the wood, and taken to the surface of the lake, three men
accompanying it.
"Chigmok! Behold, m'sieu!"
On a mutual impulse they turned and running back to the camp, began
hurriedly to harness the dogs to the sledge. A few minutes later they
were on the move, and turning the corner of the cliff began the descent
towards the lake. As they did so both glanced at the direction of the
sled they were pursuing. It was moving straight ahead, fairly close in
shore, having evidently sought the level surface of the lake for easier
travelling. More than that they had not leisure to notice, for the
descent to the lake was steep, and it required the weight and skill of
both to keep the sled from overrunning the dogs, but in the space of
four minutes it was accomplished, and with a final rush they took the
level trail of the lake's frozen and snow-covered surface. As they did
so a gust of wind brought a scurry of snow in their faces, and Bènard
looked anxiously up into the sky.
"By-an'-by it snow like anythin', m'sieu. We must race to catch Chigmok
b'fore it come."
Without another word he stepped ahead, and began to make the trail for
the dogs, whilst Stane took the gee-pole to guide the sledge. Bènard
bent to his task and made a rattling pace, travelling in a bee-line for
their quarry, since the lake's surface offered absolutely no
obstructions. Stane at the gee-pole wondered how long he could keep it
up, and from time to time glanced at the sled ahead, which, seen from
the same level, now was half-hidden in a mist of snow. He noted with
satisfaction that they seemed to be gaining on it; and rejoiced to
think that, as Jean Bènard's dogs were in fine mettle and absolutely
fresh, they could not be long before they overhauled it. Presently the
trapper stopped to rest, and Stane himself moved ahead.
"I will take a turn at trail-breaking," he said, "and do you run
behind, Jean."
It was a different matter going ahead of the dogs on the unbroken snow.
In a little time his muscles began to ache intolerably. It seemed as if
the ligaments of the groin were being pulled by pincers, and the very
bone of the leg that he had broken, seemed to burn with pain. But
again, as on the previous night, he set his teeth, and defied the
dreaded _mal de roquette_. New hope sustained him; before him, within
sight as he believed, was the girl, whom, in the months of their
wilderness sojourn, he had learned to love, and who on the previous
night (how long ago it seemed!) in the face of imminent death, had
given herself to him unreservedly. His blood quickened at the
remembrance. He ignored the pangs he was enduring. The sweat, induced
by the violent exertion froze on eyebrows and eyelashes, but he ignored
the discomfort, and pressed on, the snow swirling past his ankles in a
miniature storm. Twice or thrice he lifted his bent head and measured
the distance between him and the quarry ahead. It was, he thought
nearer, and cheered, he bent his body again to the nerve-racking toil.
Half an hour passed, and though the wind was rising steadily, blowing
straight in their teeth and adding greatly to their labours, the snow
kept off. They were still gaining slowly, creeping forward yard by
yard, the men with the train ahead apparently unaware of their pursuit.
Then they struck the trail made by their quarry and the work became
less arduous and the pace quickened.
"By gar!" cried Bènard as they hit the trail, "we get dem now, dey make
zee trail for us."
"Yes," answered Stane, his eyes ablaze with excitement.
A mile and three quarters now separated the two teams, and as they
followed in the trail that the others had to make, their confidence
seemed justified. But nature and man alike were to take a hand and
upset their calculations. In the wind once more there came a smother of
snow. It was severe whilst it lasted, and blotted out all vision of the
team ahead. As it cleared, the two pursuers saw that their quarry had
turned inshore, moving obliquely towards a tree-crowned bluff that
jutted out into the lake. Jean Bènard marked the move, and spoke almost
gleefully.
"Dey fear zee snow, an' go to make camp. By zee mass, we get dem like a
wolf in zee trap!"
The sledge they pursued drew nearer the bluff, then suddenly Jean
Bènard threw back his head in a listening attitude.
"Hark!" he cried: "what was dat?"
"I heard nothing," answered Stane. "What did you fancy you----"
The sentence was never finished, for borne to him on the wind came two
or three sharp sounds like the cracks of distant rifles. He looked at
his companion.
"The detonation of bursting trees far in the wood," he began, only to
be interrupted.
"Non, non! not zee trees, but rifles, look dere, m'sieu, someting ees
happening."
It certainly seemed so. The sled which had almost reached the bluff,
had swung from it again, and had turned towards the open lake. But now,
instead of three figures, they could see only one; and even whilst they
watched, again came the distant crack of a rifle--a faint far-away
sound, something felt by sensitive nerves rather than anything
heard--and the solitary man left with the sledge and making for the
sanctuary of the open lake, plunged suddenly forward, disappearing from
sight in the snow. Another fusillade, and the sled halted, just as the
two men broke from the cover of the bluff and began to run across the
snow in the direction of it.
"By gar! By gar!" cried Jean Bènard in great excitement. "Tings dey
happen. Dere are oder men who want Chigmok, an' dey get heem, too."
Then with a clamouring wind came the snow, blotting out all further
vision of the tragedy ahead. It hurtled about them in fury, and they
could see scarcely a yard in front of them. It was snow that was vastly
different from the large soft flakes of more temperate zones--a wild
rain of ice-like particles that, as it struck, stung intolerably, and
which, driven in the wind, seemed like a solid sheet held up to veil
the landscape. It swirled and drifted about them and drove in their
faces as if directed by some malevolent fury. It closed their eyes,
clogged their feet, stopped their breathing, and at the moment when it
was most essential, made progress impossible. Dogs and men bowed to the
storm, and after two minutes of lost endeavour in attempting to face
it, the course was altered and they raced for the shore and the
friendly shelter of the trees. When they reached it, breathless and
gasping, they stood for a moment, whilst the storm shrieked among the
tree-tops and drove its icy hail like small shot against the trunks. In
the shelter of one of them, Stane, as his breath came back to him,
swung his rifle off his shoulder, and began to strip from it the
deer-hide covering. Jean Bènard saw him, and in order to make himself
heard shouted to him.
"What you do, m'sieu?"
"I'm going after them, Jean. There's something badly wrong."
"Oui! But with zee storm, what can you do, m'sieu?"
"I can find that girl," he said. "Think, man, if she is bound to the
sled--in this----"
"Oui! Oui! m'sieu, I understand, but----"
"I shall work my way in the cover of the trees till I reach the bluff.
If the storm abates you will follow but do not pass the bluff. There
will be shelter in the lee of it, and I will wait your coming there."
"Go, and God go with you, m'sieu; but do not forget zee rifles which
were fired dere."
"I will keep them in mind," answered Stane, and then setting his face
to the storm, he began to work his way along the edge of the wood.