IN THE WILDERNESS.
A bitter wind was blowing when Wyllard stood outside the little tent
the morning after he had made a landing on the ice, watching the grey
daylight break amidst a haze of sliding snow. He was to leeward of the
straining canvas which partly sheltered him, but the raw cold struck
through him to the bone, and he was stiff and sore from his exertions
during the previous day. Most of his joints ached unpleasantly, and
his clothing had not quite dried upon him with the warmth of his body.
He was also conscious of a strong desire to crawl back into the tent
and go to sleep again, but that was one it would clearly not be wise to
indulge in, since they were, he fancied, still some distance off the
beach, and the ice might commence to break up at any moment. It
stretched away before him, seamed by fissures and serrated ridges here
and there, for a few hundred yards, and then was lost in the sliding
snow, and as he gazed at it all his physical nature shrank from the
prospect of the journey through the frozen desolation.
Then with a little shiver he crawled back into the tent where his two
companions were crouching beside the cooking lamp. The feeble light of
its sputtering blue flame touched their faces which were graver than
usual, but Charly turned and looked up as he came in.
"Wind's dropping," said Wyllard curtly. "We'll start as soon as you
have made breakfast. We must try to reach the beach to-night."
Charly made no answer, though the dusky-skinned Siwash grunted, and in
a few more minutes they silently commenced their meal. It was promptly
finished, and they struck the tent, and packed it with their sleeping
bags and provisions upon the sled, and then, taking up the traces, set
out across the ice. The light had grown a little clearer now, and the
snow was thinning, but it still whirled about them, and lay piled in
drawn-out wreaths to lee of every hummock or ragged ridge. They
floundered through them knee-deep, and in the softer places the weight
upon the traces grew unpleasantly heavy. That, however, was not a
thing any of them felt the least desire to complain of, and it was
indeed a matter of regret to them that they were not harnessed to a
heavier burden. There was a snow-wrapped desolation in front of them,
and they had lost a number of small comforts and part of their
provisions in making a landing. Whether the latter could by any means
be replaced they did not know, and in the meanwhile it certainly did
not seem very probable.
This was, however, an excellent reason for pushing on as fast as
possible, and they stumbled and floundered forward until late in the
afternoon, while the ice became more rugged and broken as they
proceeded. The snow had ceased, but the drifts which stretched across
their path were plentiful, and they were in the midst of one when it
seemed to Wyllard who was leading that they were sinking much deeper
than usual. The snow was over the top of his long boots, the sled
seemed very heavy, and he could hear his comrades floundering savagely.
Then there was a cry behind him, and he was jerked suddenly backwards
for a pace or two until he flung himself down at full length clawing at
the snow. After that he was drawn back no further, but the strain upon
the trace became almost insupportable, and there was still a furious
scuffling behind him.
In a moment or two, however, the strain slackened, and looking round he
saw Charly waist-deep in the snow. The latter struggled out with
difficulty holding on by the trace, but the sled had vanished, and it
was with grave misgivings that Wyllard scrambled to his feet. Then,
saying nothing, they hauled with all their might, and after a tense
effort that left them gasping dragged the sled back into sight. Part
of its load, however, had been left behind in the yawning hole.
Charly went back a pace or two cautiously until he once more sank to
the waist, and they had some trouble in dragging him clear. Then he
sat down on the sled, and Wyllard stood still looking at the holes in
the snow.
"Did you feel anything under you?" he asked at length in a jarring
voice.
"I didn't," said Charly simply. "It was only the trace saved me from
dropping through altogether, but if I'd gone a little further I'd have
been in the water. Kind of snow bridge over a crevice. We broke it
up, and the sled fell through."
Wyllard turned and flung the tent, their sleeping bags, and the few
packages which had not fallen out off the sled, after which he hastily
opened one or two of them. His companions looked at them with
apprehension in their eyes until he spoke again.
"The provisions may last a week or so, if we cut down rations," he said.
He could not remember afterwards if anybody suggested it, and he
fancied that the same idea occurred to all of them at once, but in
another moment or two they set about undoing the traces from the sled,
and making them secure about their bodies. Then for half an hour they
made perilous attempt after attempt to recover the lost provisions, and
signally failed. The snow broke through continuously beneath the
foremost man, but it did not break away altogether, and they could not
tell what lay beneath it when they had drawn him out of the hole. When
it became evident that the attempt was useless they held a brief
council sitting on the sled.
"I guess we don't want to go back," said Charly. "It's quite likely
we've crossed a good many of these crevices, and the snow's getting
soft. Besides, Dampier will have hauled off and headed for the inlet
by now."
He spoke quietly, though his face was grim, and then pausing a moment
waved his hand. "It seems to me," he added, "we have got to fetch the
inlet while the provisions last."
"Exactly," said Wyllard. "Since the chart shows a river between us and
it, the sooner we start the better. If the thaw holds, the stream will
break up the ice on it."
The Indian, who made no suggestion, grunted what appeared to be
concurrence, and they silently set to work to reload the sled. That
done, they took up the traces and floundered on again into the
gathering dimness and a thin haze of driving snow. Darkness had fallen
when they made camp again, and sat, worn-out and aching in every limb,
about the sputtering lamp inside the little, straining tent. The meal
they made was a very frugal one, and they lay down in the darkness
after it, for half their store of oil had been left behind in the
crevice. They said very little, for the second disaster had almost
crushed the courage out of them, and it was very clear to all that it
would only be by a strenuous effort they could reach the inlet before
their provisions quite ran out. They slept, however, and rising in a
stinging frost next morning set out again on the weary march, but it
was slow travelling, and at noon they left the tent and poles behind.
"In another few days," said Wyllard, "we'll leave the sled."
They made the beach that afternoon, though the only sign of it was the
fringe of more ragged ice and the white slope beyond the latter. A
thin haze hung about them heavy with frosty rime, and they could not
see more than a quarter of a mile ahead. When darkness fell they
scraped out a hollow beneath what seemed to be a snow-covered rock, and
sat upon their sleeping bags about the cooking lamp. Then, having
eaten, they huddled close together with part of their aching bodies
upon the sled in a bitter frost, but none of them slept much that night.
The morning broke clear and warmer, and Wyllard, climbing to the summit
of the rock, had a brief glimpse of the serrated summits of a great
white range that rose out of a dingy greyness to the west and south.
It, however, faded like a vision while he watched it, and turning he
looked out across the rolling wilderness that stretched away to the
north. Nothing broke its gleaming monotony, and there was no sign of
life anywhere in the vast expanse. By and bye it narrowed, and when he
clambered down the haze was creeping in again.
They set out after breakfast, breaking through a thin crust of snow,
which rendered the march almost insuperably difficult, and they had
painfully made a league or two by the approach of night. The snow had
grown softer, and the thawing surface would not bear the sled, which
sunk in the slush beneath. Still, they floundered on for a while after
darkness fell, and then lay down in a hollow, packed close together,
while a fine rain poured down on them.
Somehow they slept, and, though this was more difficult, got upon their
feet again when morning came, for of all the hard things the wanderer
in rain-swept bush or frozen wilderness must bear there is none that
tests his powers more than the bracing himself for another day of
effort in the early dawn. Comfortless as the night's lair has been,
the jaded body craves for such faint warmth as it afforded, and further
rest, the brain is dull and heavy, and the aching limbs appear
incapable of supporting the weight on them. Difficulties loom
appallingly large in the faint creeping light, courage fails, and the
will grows feeble. Wyllard and his companions felt all this, but it
was clear to them that they could not dally, with their provisions
running out, and staggering out of camp after a very scanty meal they
hauled the sled through the slush they churned up for an hour or so.
Then they stopped, gasping, the Indian slipped out of the traces, and
Charly, who nodded, cast them loose from him.
"We've hauled that thing about far enough," he said.
Wyllard stood looking at them for a moment or two with a furrowed face
and a hand that the frost had split tightly clenched. It was evident
that they could haul the hampering load no further, and he was troubled
by an almost insupportable weariness. Then he made a little unwilling
sign of concurrence.
"In that case," he said, "you have to decide what you'll leave behind."
They discussed it for some minutes, partly because it furnished an
excuse for sitting upon the sled, though none of them had much doubt as
to the result of the council. It was unthinkable that they should
sacrifice a scrap of the provisions. Then, when each man had lashed a
light load upon his shoulders with a portion of the cut-up traces, they
set out again, and it rained upon them heavily all that day.
During the four following days they were buffeted by a furious wind,
but the temperature had risen, and the snow was melting fast, and
splashing knee-deep through slush and water they made progress. While
he stumbled along with the pack-straps galling his shoulders, Wyllard
was conscious of little beyond the unceasing pain in his joints and the
leaden heaviness of his limbs; but the recollection of that march
haunted him like a horrible nightmare long afterwards, when each
sensation and incident emerged from the haze of numbing misery. He
remembered that he stormed at and almost fought with Charly, who lagged
behind now and then in a fit of languid dejection, and that once he
fell heavily, and was sensible of a certain half-conscious regret that
he was still capable of going on when the Indian dragged him to his
feet again. They rarely spoke to one another, and noticed nothing
beyond the strip of white waste, through which uncovered brown patches
commenced to break, immediately in front of them, except when they
crossed some low elevation and looked down upon the stretch of dull
grey water not far away on one hand. The breeze, at least, had swept
the ice away, and that was reassuring, because it meant that Dampier
would be at the inlet when they reached it, though now and then a
horrible fear that their strength would fail them or their provisions
run out first crept in.
Their faces had already grown gaunt and haggard, and each scanty meal
had been further cut down to the smallest portion which would keep life
and power of movement within them. Still, though the weight of it
hampered him almost intolerably, Wyllard clung to the one rifle that
they had saved from the disaster at the landing and a dozen cartridges.
This was a folly which he and Charly had once virulent words about.
At length they came one evening to a river which flowed across their
path, and lay down beside it, feeling that the end was not far away.
Except in the eddies and shallows, the ice had broken up, and the
stream swirled by between in raging flood, thick with heavy masses
which it had brought down from its higher reaches. They crashed upon
the gleaming spurs that here and there projected from the half-thawn
fringe, and smashed with a harsh crackling among the boulders, and
there was no doubt as to what would befall the stoutest swimmer who
might attempt the passage. So far as Wyllard afterwards remembered,
none of them said anything when they lay down among the wet stones, but
with the first of the daylight they started up stream. The river was
not a large one, and it seemed just possible that they might find a
means of crossing higher up, though they afterwards admitted that this
was a good deal more than they expected.
During the afternoon the ground rose sharply, and the stream flowed out
of a deep ravine which they followed. The rocks, as far as Wyllard
could remember, were of volcanic origin, and some of them had crumbled
into heaps of ragged debris. The slope of the ravine became a talus it
was almost impossible to scramble along, and they were forced back upon
the boulders and the half-thawn ice in the slacker pools.
Still, they made some progress, and when evening drew near found a
little clearer space between rock and river. The Indian had in the
meanwhile wrenched his foot or knee, and when at length they stopped to
make camp among the rocks it was some little time before he overtook
them. Then he said that he had found the slot of some animal which he
fancied had gone up the ravine. What the beast was he did not seem to
know, but he assured them that it was, at least, large enough to eat,
and that appeared to be of the most importance then. He would not,
however, take the rifle. Nothing would compel him to drag himself
another rod that night, he said, and the others, who had noticed how he
limped, accepted his statement. He sat down among the stones with an
expressionless face, and Charly decided that it was Wyllard's part to
try to pick up the trail.
"You could beat me every time at trailing or shooting when we went
ashore on the American side, and I'm not sorry to let it go at that
now," he said.
Wyllard smiled very grimly, "And I've carried this rifle a week on top
of my other load. You can't shoot when you're dead played out."
Then they called in the Indian and left it to him, and saying nothing
he gravely pointed to Wyllard.
Charly grinned for the first time in several days.
"Well," he said, "in this case I guess I've no objections to let it be
as he suggests."
Wyllard, who said nothing further, took up the rifle and strode very
wearily out of camp. There was, he fancied, scarcely an hour's
daylight left, and already the dimness seemed a little more marked down
in the hollow. He, however, found the slot again, and as there was a
wall of rock on one side of him up which he did not think a beast of
any kind could scramble he pushed on up stream beside the ice. There
was nothing except this to guide him, but he was a little surprised to
feel that his perceptions which had been dull and dazed the last few
days were growing clearer. He noticed the different sounds the river
made, and picked out the sharp crackle of ice among the stones, though
he had hitherto only been conscious of a hoarse, pulsating roar. The
rocks also took distinctive shapes instead of looming in blurred masses
before his heavy eyes, and he found himself gazing with strained
attention into each strip of deeper shadow. Still, though he walked
cautiously, there was no sign of any life in the ravine. He was
horribly weary, and now and then he set his lips as he stumbled noisily
among the stones, but he pushed on beside the water while the deep
hollow grew dimmer and more shadowy.