David was vaguely aware of a babel of human voices, and that he was
being lifted, and then came a sudden consciousness of warmth,
accompanied by the pleasant odor of burning wood.
He attempted to open his eyes, but the effort resulted in such sharp
pain that he directly closed them again. Dimly, however, he had seen
in the brief interval his eyes were open that Andy was by his side,
and the dark forms of Indians bending over them, and the blaze of a
fire. Then he fell into the heavy slumber of complete exhaustion.
With returning consciousness the following day David’s first thought
was that he was in his bunk in the Namaycush Lake tilt. He could hear
the blizzard still raging outside. Vaguely he felt relieved that the
storm would not permit him and Andy to venture out upon the trails,
and that he might rest a little longer, for he was aware of an unusual
lassitude and weariness and a desire to remain in bed.
Then there stole upon him the recollection of the terrible struggle in
the blizzard, how Andy had become exhausted, and his own desperate
effort to keep Andy upon his feet and to keep moving himself. Dimly he
recalled the faint cloud of fire that had suddenly risen before him in
the darkness at a moment when he felt his strength exhausted and he
sank into the snow, and then the sensation of warmth, the vision of
Indians and the echo of voices.
David’s senses were awake now, and sitting up he attempted to look
about him. Faintly, as through a smoke, he saw a fire and an Indian
woman bending over it. Two Indians sat opposite, smoking, and there
were other Indians by the fire. He recognized at once the interior of
an Indian wigwam. Then the pain in his eyes compelled him to close
them again immediately.
“Beeg snow. Mooch bad,” said one of the Indians good-naturedly,
observing that David was awake.
“Where am I?” asked David.
“Sa-peesh tent,” said the Indian.
“Andy! Is Andy all right?” David asked apprehensively.
“Andy sleep mooch,” laughed the Indian. “Heem all right.”
David was vastly relieved by this assurance. He knew Sa-peesh, the old
Mountaineer Indian, well, for Sa-peesh had camped at the post each
summer for as many years as David could remember, and of all the
Indians that came there was the only one who could speak English.
With Sa-peesh’s limited command of English, and the few Indian words
that David understood, he presently learned that he and Andy had
fallen headlong against the wigwam in the night, that the Indians had
thus discovered and rescued them, and that they were quite welcome to
remain until they were sufficiently recovered from exhaustion and
snowblindness to return to the tilts. He also learned that they were a
considerable distance to the eastward of Namaycush Lake, and had
doubtless traveled up, instead of, as they had supposed, down, the
river.
Satisfied with the assurance that Andy was quite safe, David lay back
again upon the bed of boughs, as there was nothing else to do, and as
he lay there he recounted to himself the happenings of the previous
day.
The cloud of fire that had appeared so suddenly before him, then, was
the Indians’ tent, with the firelight filtering through it and he
whispered a little prayer of thanksgiving that God had guided him and
Andy to it--and that they had kept their grit. Then he heard a
movement by his side, and Andy’s voice speaking his name.
“Here I be, Andy!” said David eagerly. “How you feelin’?”
“Not so bad if ’tweren’t for th’ hurt in my eyes. Where are we, Davy?”
asked Andy.
“In Sa-peesh’s tent, and away up th’ river instead o’ down,” answered
David. “We ran into their tent in th’ dark. ’Twas good we kept our
grit, Andy, or we’d ha’ perished before we got here.”
“We _did_ keep our grit, now, didn’t we Davy, and stout hearts, too?”
and there was pride and satisfaction in Andy’s voice.
“And now,” continued David, “we’ll be here a week, _what_ever, before
th’ snowblind leaves us, and then in another fortnight ’twill be time
t’ strike up th’ traps.”
“But we made a fine hunt, _what_ever,” said Andy.
“That we did!” agreed David. “A fine hunt, now!”
While the boys were talking Mrs. Sa-peesh was dipping generous
portions of boiled venison from a kettle that simmered over the fire,
and now Sa-peesh interrupted the boys with an invitation to eat,
setting before them, at the same time, the dish of venison, two tin
cups and a kettle of tea. And though they could open their eyes only
to narrow slits, because of the pain, there was no complaint to be
made with their appetite, and they managed well enough.
And thus, miraculously, David and Andy were rescued, and they were
safe enough, and comfortable enough, too, in the wigwam with Sa-peesh
and Mrs. Sa-peesh, and Mesh-tuk (tree), a young Indian who lived with
them and hunted with Sa-peesh, and Amish-ku (beaver) and Ni-pit-se
(summer), the two children. A-mish-ku, a lad of twelve, and Ni-pit-se,
a maiden of fifteen years, were exceedingly well pleased that they
were to have the companionship of David and Andy for so long, and they
chattered to the two boys in their wild Indian tongue, and there was
a deal of sport for all, learning to pronounce each other’s strange
words.
* * * * *
It was Saturday evening that week when Indian Jake reached the Narrows
tilt, for he too had been delayed by the storm. He was not in the
least astonished or disturbed that the boys did not appear as usual.
“Held up by the storm,” said he to himself. “They’ll be here
tomorrow.”
He was somewhat at a loss to account for their non-arrival on Sunday.
The storm had continued but two days, and he could think of no good
reason why they should have been delayed longer. He slept not the less
soundly, however, Sunday night, and on Monday morning as usual set out
upon the weekly round of his trail, well satisfied that the boys would
appear later.
He was mystified, however, upon returning the following Friday, to
discover that David and Andy had not visited the tilt during his
absence, and still more mystified when they failed to appear either
that evening or Saturday evening.
“Something has happened,” he said, when it grew so late he was assured
they would not come. “I’ll go over their trail tomorrow and take a
look for them.”
Accordingly, early on Sunday morning he set out with his long,
swinging, rapid stride for the Halfway tilt, and making no pause to
visit traps, and not following the windings of the trail but taking a
straight course, reached there a considerable time before midday. A
brief survey was sufficient to satisfy him that the boys had not been
there for many days, and without halting to prepare his dinner he
continued to the Namaycush Lake tilt.
It was early afternoon of the long April day when the tilt came into
view, and as he approached it his sharp eyes took in every detail of
the surroundings. There had been no storm since the blizzard in which
David and Andy were lost, and the half-breed was quick to discover no
track of snowshoes.
“Not here since the storm!” he exclaimed.
The boys’ toboggan leaned against the tilt outside, and within, the
half-breed discovered their sleeping bags and other equipment which
they usually carried with them. He closed the tilt and set out upon
the marsh, but no sign or mark could be found to indicate the course
they had taken.
“Lost in the storm,” he said, turning back after an hour’s fruitless
search. “No use looking for them any longer. They’ve perished. They’re
buried deep enough under the drifts somewhere, and when the thaw comes
they’ll be food for foxes and wolves.”
Indian Jake proceeded to kindle a fire in the stove, and, while the
kettle was boiling, to examine two marten pelts, which hung from the
ceiling. These he took down and stuffed into the bosom of his shirt.
Then turning his attention to a search for food, he discovered some
fat pork and stale camp bread. He sliced some of the pork into a
frying pan and placed it upon the stove. Indian Jake was hungry, for
he had eaten nothing since early morning.
When he had disposed of his simple and hastily prepared dinner, the
half-breed set out upon his return without delay. When night fell the
trail was lighted by a brilliant moon, and he did not stop until near
midnight, when he reached the Narrows tilt.
Indian Jake kindled a fire, boiled the kettle, and ate a belated
supper. Then he took down a bag suspended from the ceiling, opened it,
and drew forth the furs which David and Andy had captured during the
winter.
The pelts were in the condition in which they had been cured, the fur
side turned in, the fleshy side out, for, as previously explained, in
skinning a fur-bearing animal the trapper draws the pelt off whole,
necessarily turning it as he draws it down over the head, and it is
then stretched upon a properly shaped board, after which all fat and
fleshy adhesions are scraped away.
One by one Indian Jake turned down each pelt sufficiently to examine
the color and texture of the fur, turned it back again, and laid it on
the bunk. Thus he first went over the marten pelts, laying them in
three piles, graded as to value and quality. In the same manner he
graded the fox and mink pelts. There were also four lynx and the three
wolf skins. Indian Jake had previously examined every pelt, to be
sure, but never before with the careful criticism he now displayed.
This done he mentally calculated the value, and uttered a huge grunt
of satisfaction.
“Worth five hundred dollars--maybe six hundred--at the Bay, and they’d
bring nine hundred in Quebec. Good! One more round o’ th’ trail, and
I’ll strike up, and go. Won’t be safe t’ wait for the break up. Wish I
had my fur here; I’d go in the mornin’!”
The following morning the half-breed left the tilt at the usual hour,
gathering his fur at his tilts as he went, and striking up his traps
when he had examined them for his week’s catch; and on Friday drew his
toboggan as usual to the Narrows tilt.
On Saturday Indian Jake assorted his own furs in the same manner in
which he had previously assorted those of David and Andy.
“Ugh!” he grunted. “Thought I’d tell ’em what I had! Wonder what
they’d said t’ that!”
And he held up to his admiring gaze a beautiful silver fox skin,
shaking it briskly as he did so, that all its glossy luster might
appear to advantage.
“Worth six hundred anyhow,” he muttered with satisfaction.
Then he drew out another, shook and examined it in like manner.
“Not so good,” he said. “Worth four hundred, though, at the Post. Even
if I hadn’t got these two silvers, it’s the best hunt I ever had.
Worth with the silvers about fifteen hundred. And Tom Angus thinks
he’ll get a third of it! Ugh!”
The balance of the day was occupied in getting together the things he
wished to take with him. The venison had long since been eaten. There
was some whitefish, taken upon a second fishing excursion, four
rabbits and several partridges. A small amount of flour, salt pork and
tea also remained. These he carefully packed. On Sunday morning Indian
Jake lashed upon his toboggan all of the provisions, a cotton tent, a
tent stove, his sleeping bag and other equipment, and all the furs.
Snow was falling when the half-breed closed the tilt door, and,
hauling his well-laden toboggan, turned southward. Presently the thick
falling flakes closed upon him, and covered his tracks, and no sign or
mark remained to indicate in which direction he had gone. The Narrows
tilt and the fur trails were now deserted indeed.