KALIN WINS HIS KNOWLEDGE
For fifty miles Polaris and Kalin drove the Sardanian ponies along the
Hunters' Road, while the dogs of the pack raced strong and free at the
sides of the sledge. Alas, it was now but a five-dog pack! Octavius
had given his life in the crater, in the mad fight to avenge the death
of Pallas. Two Sardanians had fallen under his gashing jaws when a
spear-thrust found his vitals, and in his death-pain he had leaped
over the rim of the fire-pit to the molten lake in the depths.
Of the pack remained Juno, Hector, Julius, Nero, and Marcus, the giant
leader.
Urged on by voice and crack of whip, the ponies tore along the
snow-paths, mile after mile. Rose Emer rode on the sledge, and the men
beside it with the dogs.
When they had traveled fifty miles or more, the little beasts showed
signs of going to pieces, and Polaris halted them. Enough fodder had
been taken from the valley to give the animal one good meal. The men
fed them and made camp.
After the ponies were somewhat rested from their long pull in the
snows, Polaris pointed their noses toward home and whipped them into
the trail. Tossing their heads in the air, the little beasts set
off along the road in a cloud of fine snow-dust upflung from their
scurrying hoofs.
"Yonder goeth the last link with thy land, Kalin," said Polaris, as the
men and the maid stood to watch the departure of the small horses.
"Aye," replied the priest and smiled. "Now be _thy_ land my land. On to
the north," and he pointed ahead with steady hand to where the massive
ice barrier stood in their path, its glittering sides gleaming a steely
blue in the sunlight. He turned to Rose Emer.
"Lady," he said in the halting English, of which he had acquired a
surprising knowledge, considering the few days that had elapsed since
he first had heard that tongue--"lady, Kalin--American--now."
"Yes," smiled the girl in answer, "am I not well guarded? Two American
gentlemen to watch over me. I could have no better protectors."
Kalin caught the significance of her remark, and smiled his wonderfully
sweet, sad smile--the smile that always struck to the heart of Polaris
with a prescience of sorrow to come.
Inland they pushed, skirting the base of the towering ice-wall, seeking
for some spot where they might pass over or through it. Disaster dogged
fast on their heels, waiting to strike.
On the seventh day out from the valley the first blow fell.
They had passed the ice-ridge. After three days of groping along its
base, they came to a place where the mighty wall was deeply notched and
the slope was less steep. There, aided by a heavy fall of snow, which
partly melted and then froze, giving a scant foothold on the ice-hills,
they were able to pass.
* * * * *
One entire day was consumed in making passage. At length they passed
the wall in safety, and found themselves in an apparently interminable
stretch of plain and hummock and crevasse, where the going was slow and
laborious and exceedingly perilous.
Then the priest fell ill.
Either the unaccustomed fare--their diet now consisted almost entirely
of fish and boiled snow-water prepared over the little oil stove--or
the rigor of the atmosphere and the exertions caused a sudden decline
in the bodily powers of Kalin. Strive as he might, his waning strength
became apparent, and he lagged in the journeying through the steppes of
snow.
The capstone of trouble came when his eyes unused to the continual
glare of the relentless sun on the fields of snow and the cliffs of
ice, gave way to the dread snow blindness, the _bête noir_ of all
explorers in polar regions.
For hours he was able to conceal his blindness from his companions.
With stubborn will bent to the task, he ran on with the sledge, guiding
himself with his hand at its rail, after the last faint glimmerings of
sight had vanished. He had a splendid will, and he made it dominate
his weakening body long after it seemed that his muscular strength
was unequal to the demand of the trail. It was impossible for them to
travel as swiftly as they had, but he would not yield to his creeping
weakness, and still ran on.
When the darkness fell he was undismayed and said nothing, hoping
against hope that it would pass away. He could no longer keep up his
pretense, however, at the first camping spot, and his companions saw
him groping helplessly once he had quitted the side of the sledge.
His plight struck a chill to the stout heart of Polaris, who realized
that in speed lay their only hope of earthly salvation. Bitter
weather lay to the north of the ice barrier, and there was almost no
game from which to replenish their stock of food. The days of travel
had diminished it to the point where a fresh supply had come to be a
problem demanding speedy solution.
Now, to accommodate their pace to that of the tottering blind man, or
to carry him, nearly doubling the load of the dogs, spelled almost sure
defeat.
He gave no inklings of his foreboding to either Kalin or Rose Emer, but
cheered the priest as best he might in his affliction, and pressed on
with what speed was possible. Three more laps on the journey they made
before the steely fortitude of Kalin gave way, and he could no longer
force his exhausted limbs to bear the weight of his failing body. In
mid career across the snows, he stumbled from the path and fell prone
in lee of a huge drift.
Polaris plucked him from the snow.
"Kalin is outdone!" gasped the Sardanian. "Thou, my brother, and the
Lady Rose must go forward and leave me. On to the north, O brother!
Kalin dieth!"
"Not so, Kalin," answered Polaris. "My breath will leave my body before
I desert my brother. Didst thou falter in Sardanes, when all were
against the strangers? And shall Polaris desert thee now?"
"But for the lady's sake, thou must," persisted Kalin. "Thou mayest not
fail her, and delay is death."
"She would not buy even her life at such a price, O Kalin," said
Polaris. "Together we will fare to the north, or together will we keep
eternal watch here in the snows."
Unheedful of the protests of the priest, he carried him to the sledge
and rearranged the load on the vehicle, making a place for Kalin at the
rear behind the girl. Thus they took up again the tale of the journey,
but more slowly than they had yet traveled, the load taxing the powers
of the diminishing team-pack.
Once broken in the pride of his endurance, the priest rapidly lost hold
on himself, and his vitality seemed to ooze from him with the passing
hours. At the second stop after Polaris had made a place for him on
the sledge the son of the snows discovered that one of his legs, which
seemed to be paralyzed, was frozen from foot to knee; yet Kalin did not
seem to know it.
At the close of a particularly trying march--their going no longer
could be called a dash--Polaris made their camp at the sheltered
side of one of the hummocks of rock and ice with which the land was
sprinkled and all of them, dogs and humans, slumbered wearily for many
hours.
Polaris awoke with a strange weight at his threat. It was the ilium
necklace of Kalin, in which glimmered the red stones. He held it up
for an instant in wonder at its presence there and then sprang to the
priest's sleeping parka.
It was empty. Kalin was not in the camp!