THE END OF THE SEARCH.
The two men made a hurried breakfast in the cold dawn and not long
afterwards they were struggling through thick timber, when the light
suddenly grew a little clearer. Carroll remarked upon the fact and
Vane's face hardened.
"We're either coming to a swamp, or the track the fire has swept is
close in front," the latter said.
A thicket lay before him, but he smashed savagely through the midst of
it, the undergrowth snapping and crackling about his limbs. Then there
was a network of tangled branches to be crossed, and afterwards,
reaching slightly clearer ground, he broke into a run. Three or four
minutes later, he stopped, breathless and ragged, with his rent boots
scarcely clinging to his feet; and Carroll, who came up with him, gazed
eagerly about.
The living forest rose behind them, an almost unbroken wall, but ahead
the trees ran up in detached and blackened spires. Their branches had
vanished; every cluster of sombre-green needles and delicate spray had
gone; the great rampikes, as they are called, looked like shafts of
charcoal. About their feet lay crumbling masses of calcined wood which
grew more and more numerous where there were open spaces farther on and
then the bare, black columns ran on again, up the valley and the steep
hill benches on either hand. It was a weird scene of desolation;
impressive to the point of being appalling in its suggestiveness of
widespread ruin.
For the space of a minute the men gazed at it; and then Vane, stretching
out his hand, pointed to a snow-sheeted hill.
"That's the peak Hartley mentioned," he said in a voice which was
strangely incisive. "Give me the axe."
He took it from his comrade and, striding forward, attacked the nearest
rampike. Twice the keen blade sank noiselessly overhead, scattering a
black dust in the frosty air; and then there was a clear, ringing thud.
After that, Vane smote on with a determined methodical swiftness, until
Carroll grabbed his shoulder.
"Look out!" he cried. "It's going."
Vane stepped back a few paces; the trunk reeled and rushed downwards:
there was a deafening crash, and they were enveloped in a cloud of
gritty dust. Through the midst of it they dimly saw two more great
trunks collapse; and then somewhere up the valley a series of thundering
shocks, which both knew were not echoes, broke out. The sound jarred
upon Carroll's nerves, as the thud of the felled rampike had not done,
but Vane picked up one of the chips and handed it to him.
"We have found Hartley's spruce," he said.
Carroll did not answer for a minute. After all, when defeat must be
faced, there was very little to be said, though his companion's
expression troubled him. Its grim stolidity was portentous.
"I suppose," he remarked at length, "nothing could be done with it?"
Vane pointed to the butt of the tree, which showed a space of clean wood
surrounded by a blackened rim.
"You can't make marketable pulp of charcoal, and the price would have to
run pretty high before it would pay for ripping most of the log away to
get at the residue," he answered harshly.
"But there may be some unburned spruce farther on," Carroll urged.
"It's possible," said Vane. "I'm going to find out."
This was a logical determination; but, in spite of his recent
suggestion, Carroll realised that he would have abandoned the search
there and then, had the choice been left to him, in which he did not
think he was singular. After all they had undergone, the shock of the
disappointment was severe. He could have faced a failure to locate the
spruce with some degree of philosophical calm; but to find it at last,
useless, was very much worse. But he did not expect his companion to
turn back yet: before he desisted, Vane would seek for and examine every
unburned tree. What was more, Carroll, who thought the search could
serve no purpose, would have to accompany him. Then the latter noticed
that Vane was waiting for him to speak, and he decided that this was a
situation which he had better endeavour to treat lightly.
"I think I'll have a smoke," he said. "I'm afraid any remarks I could
make wouldn't do justice to the occasion. Language has its limits."
He sat down on the charred log and took out his pipe before he
proceeded: "A brulee's not a nice place to wander about in when there's
any wind, and I've an idea there's some coming, though it's quiet now."
Shut in, as they were, in the deep hollow with the towering snows above
them, it was impressively still; and in conjunction with the sight of
the black desolation the deep silence reacted upon Carroll's nerves. He
longed to escape from it, to make a noise, though this, if done
unguardedly, might bring more of the rampikes thundering down. He could
hear tiny flakes of charcoal falling from them, and though the fire had
long gone out, a faint and curious crackling, as if the dead embers were
stirring. He wondered if this were some effect of the frost; it struck
him as disturbing and weird.
"We'll work right round the brulee," said Vane. "Then I suppose we had
better head back for Vancouver, though we'll look at that cedar as we go
down. Something might be made of it; I'm not sure we've thrown our time
away."
"You wouldn't be sure of such a thing," said Carroll. "It isn't in you."
Vane disregarded this. A new constructive policy was already springing
up out of the wreck of his previous plans. "There's a good mill site on
the inlet, but as it's a long way from the railroad we'll have to
determine whether it would be cheaper to tow the logs down or split them
up on the spot," he went on. "I'll talk it over with Drayton; he'll no
doubt be useful, and there's no reason why he shouldn't earn his share."
"Do you believe the arrangement you made with Hartley applies to the
cedar?"
"Of course," said Vane. "I don't know that the other parties could
insist upon the original terms--we can discuss that later; but, though
it may be modified, the arrangement stands."
His companion considered the matter dispassionately, as an abstract
proposition. Here was a man, who, in return for certain information
respecting the whereabouts of a marketable commodity, had undertaken to
find and share it with his informant. The commodity had proved to be
valueless, but during the search for it he had incidentally discovered
something else. Was he under any obligation to share the latter with his
informant's heirs?
Carroll decided that the question could only be answered in the
negative; but he had no intention of disputing his comrade's point of
view. In the first place, this would probably only make Vane more
determined or ruffle his temper; and in the second Carroll, who felt
very dubious about the prospect of working the cedar profitably, was
neither a covetous nor an ambitious person, which was, perhaps, on the
whole, fortunate for him.
Vane, as his partner realised, was ambitious; but in place of aspiring
after wealth or social prominence--the latter of which had, indeed, of
late began to pall on him--his was a different aim; to rend the hidden
minerals from the hills, to turn forests into dressed lumber, to make
something grow. Dollars are often, though not always, made that way; but
while he affected no contempt for them, in Vane's case their acquisition
was undoubtedly not the end. Fortunately, he was not altogether singular
in this respect.
When he next spoke, there was, however, no hint of altruistic sentiment
in his curt inquiry: "Are you going to sit there until you freeze?"
Carroll got up, and they spent the rest of the day plodding through the
brulee, with the result that when darkness fell Vane had abandoned all
idea of working the spruce. Next morning, they set out for the inlet,
and one afternoon during the journey they came upon several fallen logs
lying athwart each other with their branches spread in a horrible tangle
between. Vane proceeded to walk along one log, which was tilted up
several yards above the ground, balancing himself carefully upon the
rounded surface; and Carroll followed until the end of a broken branch,
which he evidently had not noticed, caught in the leader's clothes. Next
moment there was a sharp snapping, and Vane plunged down into the tangle
beneath, while Carroll stood still and laughed. It was not an uncommon
accident.
Vane, however, did not reappear; nor was there any movement among the
half-rotten boughs and withered sprays, and Carroll, moving forward
hastily, looked down into the hole. He was disagreeably surprised to see
his comrade lying, rather white in face, upon his side.
"I'm afraid you'll have to chop me out," he said, and his voice was
hoarse. "Get to work; I can't move my leg."
Moving farther along the log, Carroll dropped to the ground, which was
less encumbered there, and spent the next quarter of an hour hewing a
passage to his comrade. Then as he stood beside him, hot and panting,
Vane looked up.
"It's my lower leg; the left," he said. "Bone's broken; I felt it snap."
Carroll turned from him for a moment in consternation. Looking out
between the branches, he could see the lonely hills tower, pitilessly
white, against the blue of the frosty sky, and the rigid firs running
back as far as his vision reached upon their lower slopes. There was no
touch of life in all the picture; everything was silent and motionless,
and its desolation came near to appalling him. When he looked round
again, Vane smiled wryly.
"If this had happened farther north, it would have been the end of me,"
he said. "As it is, it's awkward."
The word struck Carroll as singularly inadequate, but he made an effort
to gather his courage when his companion broke off with a groan of pain.
"It's lucky we helped that doctor when he set Pete's leg at Bryant's
mill," he said. "Can you wait a few minutes?"
Vane's face was beaded with damp now, but he tried to smile. "It strikes
me," he answered, "I'll have to wait a mighty long time."
Carroll turned and left him. He was afraid to stand still and think, but
action was a relief. It was some time before he returned with several
strips of fabric cut from the tent curtain, and the neatest splints he
could extemporise from slabs of stripped-off bark, and the next
half-hour was a trying one to both of them. Sometimes Vane assisted him
with suggestions--once he reviled his clumsiness--and sometimes he lay
silent with his face awry and his lips tight set; but at length it was
done, and Carroll stood up, breathing hard.
"I'll fasten you on to a couple of skids and pull you out," he said.
"Then I'll make camp."
He managed it with difficulty, pitched the tent above Vane, whom he
covered with their blankets, and made a fire outside.
"Are you comfortable now?" he inquired.
Vane looked up at him with a somewhat ghastly grin. "I suppose I'm about
as comfortable as could be expected. Anyhow, I've got to get used to the
thing. Six weeks is the shortest limit, isn't it?"
Carroll confessed that he did not know, and presently Vane resumed:
"It's lucky that the winters aren't often very cold so near the coast."
The temperature struck Carroll as low enough, but he made no answer. To
his disgust, he could think of no cheering observation, for there was no
doubt that the situation was serious. They were cut off from the sloop
by leagues of tangled forest which a vigorous man would find it
difficult to traverse, and it would be weeks before Vane could use his
leg; no human assistance could be looked for, and they had only a small
quantity of provisions left. Besides this, it would not be easy to keep
the sufferer warm in rigorous weather.
"I'll make supper. You'll feel better afterwards," he said at length.
"Then don't be too liberal," Vane warned him.
The latter fell into a restless doze after the meal, and it was dark
when he opened his eyes again.
"I can't sleep any more, and we may as well talk--there are things to be
arranged," he said. "In the first place, as soon as I feel a little
easier, you'll have to sail across to Comox and hire some men to pack me
out. When you've sent them off, you'll make for Vancouver, and get a
timber licence and find out how matters are going on."
"That," said Carroll firmly, "is out of the question. Nairn can look
after our mining interests--he's a capable man--and if the thing's too
much for him they can go to smash. Besides, they won't give you a timber
licence without full particulars of area and limits, and we've blazed no
boundaries. Anyhow, I'm staying right here."
Vane began to protest, but Carroll raised his hand. "Argument's not
conducive to recovery. You're on your back, unfortunately, and I'll give
way to you, as usual, as soon as you're on your feet again, but not
before."
"I'd better point out that we'll both be hungry by then. The provisions
won't last long."
"Then I'll look for a deer as soon as I think you can be left. And now
we'll try to talk of something more amusing."
"Can you see anything humorous in the situation?"
"I can't," Carroll confessed. "Still, there may be something of that
description which I haven't noticed yet. By the way, the last time we
were at Nairn's, I happened to cross the room near where you and Miss
Horsfield were sitting, and I heard her ask you to wait for something at
Nanaimo or Comox. I thought it curious."
"She told me to wait, so she could send me word to come back, if it was
needful."
"Ah!" said Carroll; "I won't ask why she was willing to do so--it
concerns you more than me--but I fancy that as regards your interests in
the Clermont a warning from her would be worth as much as one from
Nairn; that is, if she could be depended on."
"Have you any doubt upon the subject?"
"Don't get angry. Perhaps I've talked too much. We have to think of your
injury."
"I'm not likely to forget it," Vane informed him. "But I dare say you're
right in one respect--as an amusing companion you're a dead failure, and
talking isn't as easy as I imagined."
He lay silent afterwards, and, though he had disclaimed any desire for
sleep, worn by the march and pain, as he was, his eyes presently closed.
Carroll, however, sat long awake, and afterwards admitted that he felt
badly afraid. Deer are by no means numerous in some parts of the bush;
they had not seen one during the journey; and though there was a little
food left on board her, it was a long way to the sloop.
Once or twice, for no obvious reason, he drew aside the tent flap and
looked out. The sky was cloudless and darkly blue, and a sickle moon
gleamed in it, keen and clear with frost. Below, the hills were washed
in silver, majestic, but utterly cheerless; and lower still the serrated
tops of the rigid firs cut against the dreary whiteness. After each
glimpse of them, Carroll drew his blanket tighter round him with a
shiver. Very shortly, when the little flour and pork were gone and their
few cartridges had been expended, he would be reduced to the condition
of primitive man. Cut off from all other resources, he must then wrest
what means of subsistence he could from the snowy wilderness by brute
strength and cunning and such instruments as he could make with his
unassisted hands, except that an axe of Pennsylvania steel was better
than a stone one. Civilisation has its compensations, and Carroll longed
for a few more of them that night.
On rising next morning, he found the frost keener, and he spent the day
and a number of those that followed in growing anxiety, which was only
temporarily lessened when he once succeeded in killing a deer. There was
almost a dearth of animal life in the lonely valley. Sometimes at first,
Vane was feverish; often he was irritable, and the recollection of the
three or four weeks he spent with him afterwards haunted Carroll like a
nightmare. At last, when he had spent several days in vain search for a
deer and the provisions were almost exhausted, he and his companion held
a council of emergency.
"There's no use in arguing," Vane declared. "You'll rig me a shelter of
green boughs outside the tent and close to the fire. I can move from the
waist upwards, and if it's necessary, drag myself with my hands. Then
you can chop enough cord-wood to last a while, cook my share of the
eatables, and leave me while you go down to the sloop. There's half a
bag of flour and a few other things I'd be uncommonly glad of on board
her."
Carroll expostulated; but it was evident that his companion was right,
and next morning he started for the inlet, taking with him the smallest
possible portion of their provisions. So long as he had enough to keep
him from fainting on the way, it was all he required, because he could
renew his stores on board the boat. The weather broke during the march;
driving snow followed him down the valley, and by and by gave place to
bitter rain. The withered underbush was saturated, the soil was soddened
with melting snow, and after the first scanty meal or two he dare risk
no delay. He felt himself flagging from insufficient food, and it was
obvious that he must reach the sloop before he broke down. He had
tobacco, but that failed to stay the gnawing pangs, and before the march
was done he was on the verge of exhaustion; forcing himself onward,
drenched, and grim of face; scarcely able to keep upon his bleeding
feet.
It was falling dusk and blowing fresh when he limped down the beach and
with a last effort launched the light dinghy and pulled off to the
sloop. She rode rather deep in the water, but that did not trouble him.
Most wooden craft leak more or less, and it was a considerable time
since he had pumped her out. Clambering wearily on board, he made the
dinghy fast; and then stood still a moment or two, looking about him
with his hand on the cabin side. Thin flakes of snow drifted past him;
the firs were rustling eerily ashore, and ragged wisps of cloud drove by
low down above their tops. Little frothy ripples flecked the darkening
water with streaks of white and splashed angrily against the bows of the
craft. The prospect was oppressively dreary, and the worn-out man was
glad that he was at last in shelter and could snatch a few hours' rest.
Thrusting back the slide, he stepped below and lighted the lamp. The
brightening glow showed him that the boat's starboard side was wet high
up, and, though there was a good deal of water in her, this puzzled him,
until an explanation suggested itself. They had moored the craft
carefully, but he supposed she must have dragged her anchor or kedge and
swung in near enough the shore to ground towards low-tide. Then, as the
tide left her, she would fall over on her starboard bilge, because they
had lashed the heavy boom down on that side, and the water in her would
cover the depressed portion of her interior. This reasoning was probably
correct; but he did not foresee the result, until after lighting the
stove and putting on the kettle, he opened the provision locker, which
was to starboard. Then he saw with a shock of dismay that the stock of
food they had counted on was ruined. The periodically submerged flour
bag had rotted and burst, and most of its contents had run out into the
water as the boat righted with the rising tide; the prepared cereals,
purchased to save cooking, had turned to mouldy pulp; and the few other
stores were in much the same condition. There were only two sound cans
of beef, and a few ounces of unspoiled tea in a canister.
Carroll's courage failed him as he realised it, but he felt that he must
eat and sleep before he could grapple with the situation. He would allow
himself a meal and a few hours' rest; and crawling out while the kettle
boiled, he shortened in the cable and plied the pump. Then he went
below, and feasted on preserved beef and tea, gauging the size of each
slice with anxious care, until he reluctantly laid the can aside. After
that, he filled his pipe and, stretching out his aching limbs on the
port locker, which was comparatively dry, soon sank into heavy sleep.