As Andy ran he looked eagerly for signs of David. Snow had fallen
during the preceding week, and fresh tracks would have been easily
distinguishable. The accumulation of a single night’s rime would have
sufficed for that. Therefore David could not have passed this way
without leaving a boldly marked trail upon the snow, and in attending
to the traps this was indeed the only route he could have taken.
In one of the traps a mile from the spruce grove was a handsome cross
fox. Andy paused to kill it, and put it out of misery, then hurried
on. Under ordinary circumstances he would have been elated at the
capture of the fox, for it bore a valuable pelt. Now he scarcely gave
it a thought, so great was his anxiety for David’s safety. In another
trap was a dead rabbit, but he passed it without stopping.
Andy had followed the trail for upwards of three miles when, rounding
a clump of willow brush he came suddenly upon David’s snowshoe tracks.
An examination disclosed the fact that David had come to this point
and then turned about and retraced his steps toward the tilt. This was
peculiar, and Andy was perplexed, but a hundred yards farther on came
the explanation, when he discovered the tracks of a band of caribou
crossing the trail at right angles and leading in a northerly
direction, with David’s tracks following them. The discovery lifted a
load of anxiety from Andy’s heart. David was hunting caribou, and no
doubt safe enough. There was no further cause for worry.
An examination of the trail disclosed the fact that there were seven
caribou in the band. They had passed this way since early morning, for
no rime had accumulated upon the tracks. David, upon encountering them
had doubtless hurried on to summon Andy, but upon reconsideration had
turned about to follow the caribou at once, rather than chance their
escape through the delay that this would occasion. He had doubtless
hoped to find them feeding near by. Indeed they could not have been
far in advance of David.
With the relief of his anxiety for David’s safety, Andy felt keenly
disappointed, if not resentful, that he had not been permitted to join
David in the caribou hunt. This was an experience to which he had
looked forward. It had been agreed that if signs of caribou were
discovered they should hunt them together, and in his disappointment
Andy felt quite sure that an hour’s delay would not have made much
difference in the probabilities of success.
“Anyhow,” said he after a few minute’s indecision, “I’ll follow. If
Davy’s killed un he’ll need me to help he, and if they’ve gone too
far and he hasn’t killed un, I’ll meet he comin’ back.”
The trail made by David and the caribou led Andy in a winding course
over the marsh for a distance of nearly two miles, and then plunged
into the forest. The rising wind was shifting the snow in little rifts
over the marsh, and before Andy entered the forest the first flakes of
the threatened storm began to fall.
Under the shelter of the trees the snow was light and soft. Because of
this traveling became more difficult, and Andy was forced to reduce
his trot to a fast walk. For a time the trail continued to lead almost
due north. Then it took a turn to the westward. At the point of the
turn the caribou had stopped and circled about, and in taking their
new course had traveled more rapidly. Something had evidently aroused
their suspicions of lurking danger. The gait at which they had
traveled, however, indicated that they were not yet thoroughly
frightened, or else were uncertain of the direction in which the
suspected danger lay.
“They got a smell of something that startled un,” observed Andy, “and
’tweren’t Davy. Th’ wind were wrong for that. They never could have
smelled he with th’ wind this way.”
Snow was now falling heavily, but the trail was still plain enough. A
half mile farther on the caribou tracks made another sharp turn, this
time to the southward, turning about toward the marsh. There was no
doubt now that they had been frightened. Their trail evidenced that
here they had broken into a run.
“Whatever it were that scared un,” said Andy, “it scared un bad here,
and they’ve gone where Davy could never catch up with un.”
Just beyond the place where the caribou had made the last turn,
another trail came in from the north. Andy examined it carefully, and
though the rapidly accumulating snow had now nearly hidden the
distinguishing marks, he had no difficulty in recognizing the new
trail as one made by wolves.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed. “’Twere wolves scared un! They didn’t get
th’ scent rightly back there, but here they got un, and I hopes
they’ll get away safe!”
A further examination disclosed the fact that David had stopped, too,
and examined the tracks. He had doubtless concluded that continued
pursuit of the caribou was useless, for his tracks, now nearly covered
by the fresh snow, turned toward the marsh in a direction that would
lead him back by a short cut to the point in the fur trail where he
had left it to follow the caribou.
“He’s gone back to finish th’ last end of th’ trail,” said Andy.
“He’ll be fearin’ something has happened t’ me when he don’t find me
at th’ spruce trees. I’ll have t’ hurry.”
David’s tracks were becoming fainter and fainter with every step, and
Andy had not gone far when the last trace of them was lost. He knew
the general direction, however, that David would take, and was not
greatly concerned or alarmed until he suddenly realized that darkness
was settling. Until now he had lost all count of passing time.
He had also been too deeply engrossed in the caribou trail, and in
overtaking David, to give consideration to the storm. Now, with the
realization that night was falling, he also awoke to the fact that the
wind had risen into a gale, and that with every moment the storm was
gathering new strength. He could hear it roaring and lashing the tree
tops overhead. A veritable Arctic blizzard was at hand.
In the cover of the thick spruce forest Andy was well protected from
the wind, though even here snow fell so thickly that he could see but
a few feet in any direction.
By the short cut Andy soon reached the edge of the timber, where trees
gave way to the wide open space of the marsh. Here he was met by a
smothering cloud of snow, and a blast of wind that carried him from
his feet. He rose and tried again to face it, but was forced to turn
about and seek the shelter of the trees.
The wind came over the marsh, now in short, petulant gusts, now in
long, angry roars, sweeping before it swirling clouds of snow so dense
that no living creature could stand before it. The storm was
terrifying in its fury.
For a moment Andy was dazed and overcome by his encounter. Then came
realization of his peril. To reach the tilt he must either cross the
marsh or make a wide detour to the westward through the forest. The
former was not possible, and if he attempted to make the detour
darkness would certainly overtake him before he could attain half the
distance. Impeded by the thick falling snow, any attempt to travel
after night would certainly lead to disaster. He would probably lose
his direction, and be overcome by exhaustion and the bitter,
penetrating cold.
What was he to do? He was without other protection than the clothes he
wore. There was no shelter nearer than the tilt. He had no food. He
had eaten nothing since the early breakfast in the tilt, and his
healthy young appetite was crying for satisfaction.
Andy was suddenly seized by panic, and he began to run, in a wild and
frenzied hope that he might reach the tilt before darkness closed upon
the wilderness. But he quickly became entangled in low hanging
branches, and, sent sprawling in the snow, was brought to a sudden
halt.
The shock returned him again to sane reasoning. Taking shelter under
the thick overhanging limbs of a spruce tree, he stopped to think and
plan. He could not run, and unless he ran he could not reach the tilt
that night. He was marooned in the forest, that was plain. There was
no course but to make the best of it until morning. It was also plain
that he would perish with the cold unless he could devise some means
of protection. The moment he ceased his exertions he felt a deadly
numbness stealing over him.
“I must do something before dark, and I must have plenty o’ grit,” he
presently said. “I must keep a stout heart like a man. Pop says
there’s no fix so bad a man can’t find his way out of un if he uses
his head and does his best, and prays th’ Lard to help he.”
And so Andy, in simple words and briefly, said a little prayer, and
then he used his head and did his best to make the prayer come true.