There was no time to be lost. The long northern twilight was already
waning. Hastened by the storm, darkness would come early.
“The Injuns get caught out this way often enough, when they’re
huntin’,” said Andy, by way of self-comfort. “They finds a way to make
out. They just gets a place in th’ lee, where th’ wind can’t strike
un, and puts on a good fire. That’s all they ever does. But,” he
continued doubtfully, “they’re used to un, and I never stopped out
without a tent, _what_ever.”
Bivouacking in a blizzard, with a thirty-degrees-below temperature and
no blankets or other protection, was an emergency Andy had never
before been called upon to meet. Now he turned to it uncertainly.
Reconnoitering he discovered, near at hand, a large fallen tree,
partly covered by the snow. Close to the butt of the fallen tree stood
a big, thickly foliaged spruce tree, the outer ends of its branches
bending so low that the tips were enveloped by the deep snow.
“’Twill make a shelter, _what_ever!” exclaimed Andy, encouraged. “A
little fixin’, and maybe ’twon’t be so bad, in under the branches.
They’ll make a cover from the snow.”
With his ax he at once cut off the limbs of the spruce tree on the
side next the fallen trunk. This made an opening that would serve as a
door. Under the arching branches was a circular space, thatched above
by foliage. Removing one of his snowshoes, and utilizing it as a
shovel, he cleared the space of snow. Then donning his snowshoes again
he cut several branches, which he thatched upon the overhanging limbs
of the tree, thus increasing the protection of his cover from fresh
drift. This done, he banked snow high against the branches around the
entire circle, save at the opening facing the fallen tree.
Now breaking a quantity of boughs and arranging them as a floor for
his improvised shelter, he made a comfortable bed.
The next consideration was wood, and fortunately there was no lack of
this. Everywhere about, as is usual in primordial forests, were dead
trees, that would burn readily. Andy selected three that were perhaps
six inches thick at the butt, and not too large for him to handle
easily. These he felled with his ax, trimmed off the branches, and
cutting the logs into convenient lengths for burning, piled them at
one side of the entrance to his shelter. He now chopped into small
firewood a quantity of the branches, adding them to his reserve supply
of fuel.
Again using a snowshoe as a shovel, he cleared the snow from the butt
of the fallen tree, which he had decided should be the back log of his
fire. This done, he split a quantity of small kindling wood. He now
secured a handful of the long, hairy moss that hangs close to the
limbs and trunks of spruce trees in the northern forest, and using it
as tinder quickly lighted his fire against the back log. Leaning over
it to protect it from falling snow until the carefully placed kindling
wood was well ablaze, he added pieces of smaller branches, and finally
sticks of the larger wood. Then, with a sigh of relief, Andy drew back
under the cover of his shelter to test the efficiency of his efforts.
Almost immediately a genial warmth began to pervade the interior of
the cave beneath the tree. The fire crackled and blazed cheerfully.
The thick thatching of boughs proved an excellent protection from the
snow and such wind as penetrated the depths of the forest. The success
of the experiment was assured.
It was quite dark now, but Andy, for the present at least, was safe
and comfortable enough. Quick planning, energetic action, and
instinctive resourcefulness, had saved him from the terrible blizzard
that was sweeping over the marsh and lashing through the tops of the
forest trees with growing fury.
Andy sat lax and limp for a little while. He had worked with almost
frenzied exertion. Now he felt like one who had but just, and barely,
escaped a great peril. Presently he drew off his outer adiky, shook
the snow from it, and drawing it on again proceeded to arrange himself
comfortably.
“’Tis almost as snug as the tilt,” he said presently. “Pop were right
when he says there’s no fix too big to get out of, if you goes about
un right. If I’d kept scared, and hadn’t tried, I’d perished, and now
I’m safe whilst I ’bides here. If I only had something t’ eat!”
Comfort is comparative. What might be a severe hardship under some
circumstances might become the height of luxury and comfort under
others. Andy’s retreat appealed to him now, after his battle with the
storm, as most luxurious and comfortable. The wind howling and
shrieking through the treetops brought to the lad’s ears a constant
reminder of what might have been his fate, and served to add to the
snugness of the shelter and cozy cheerfulness of the fire.
Now that he was safe from the storm for the time being, his thoughts
turned to David. He did not know how far David was in advance of him.
He had no doubt he had hurried on to the spruce grove, and not finding
him there had set out for the tilt, but he could never have reached it
before the storm broke.
This thought rendered Andy miserable. His imagination pictured David
stark and frozen out on the storm beaten marsh. His misery grew almost
to anguish until, in his better judgment, he reasoned that, like
himself, David must have taken refuge in the forest, and that David
knew better than he how to protect himself. Then he remembered Doctor
Joe’s song, and accompanied by the roar of wind overhead, sang in a
subdued voice:
“The worst of my foes are worries and woes,
And all about troubles that never come true.
And all about troubles that never come true.”
This comforted him, and when he had finished he said, decisively:
“There’s no use worrying about something that I don’t know has
happened, and the most of th’ things we worries about never does
happen. I’ll just think that Davy’s safe and sound in the tilt, or
snug and safe somewhere in the green woods. And like as not, too, he’s
worryin’ about me.”
With this determination Andy replenished the fire, and, with his feet
toward it, stretched out upon the boughs to sleep. “The Lard took care
o’ Davy and me last evenin’ when th’ wolves chased us,” he mused.
“They were close t’ gettin’ us but th’ Lard made Davy’s rifle shoot
th’ right time. _I’m_ thinkin’ now He didn’t just save us t’ leave
Davy t’ perish in th’ snow. He’ll take care o’ Davy _what_ever.”
This was the logic of his simple faith. It soothed him and quieted his
fears. Weary enough he was, for the day’s work had been hard and
trying and presently he slept. Several times during the night he was
awakened by the cold, when the fire burned low, and each time he
huddled close to the blaze until his half congealed blood was warmed
and the camp regained its comfort. Then he would lie down again to
fall asleep with the shriek and roar of wind in his ears.
Finally he awoke to find that the wind had lost much of its force, and
looking upward through the treetops he saw the glimmer of a star. The
cold had grown more intense. His feet and hands were numb. He piled
some of the small branch wood upon the coals and as it burst into
flame added some of the larger sticks.
“It must be comin’ mornin’, and th’ storm’s about blown over,” he said
thankfully, listening for the wind, when he sat down again. “I’m
thinkin’, now, ’twill soon be clear of shiftin’ snow on th’ mesh, and
soon as I’m warmed I’ll see how ’tis, _what_ever.”
Despite his resolution not to worry, Andy was far from satisfied of
David’s safety. Now as he sat by the fire he began again to picture
David lying out on the marsh somewhere, stark and dead. The longer
Andy permitted his mind to dwell upon the possibility of such a
tragedy having taken place, the more probable it seemed. The snow-clad
forest had never been so grim and silent. A foreboding of some
horrible tragedy was in his heart. He could restrain himself no
longer.
The numbness was hardly yet out of his hands and feet when he
hurriedly arose, put on his snowshoes, shouldered his rifle, and
picking up his ax, rushed out into the dim-lit forest to grope his
way through trees to the marsh.
Fitful gusts of wind were still blowing over the marsh, driving the
snow in little swirling clouds. Light clouds lay in patches against
the sky, and between them the stars shone with cold, metallic
brilliance.
Andy could see clearly enough here. The wind was in his back, and
taking a short cut, that would reduce the distance by nearly half, he
swung out at a trot toward the tilt. He would look there first, and if
David were not in the tilt he would follow the trail back to the
spruce grove.