THE UNEXPECTED.
By and bye Wyllard felt a troublesome dizziness creeping over him, and
he sat down upon a boulder with the rifle across his knees. He had
eaten very little during the last few days, which had been spent in
arduous exertion, and now the leaden weariness which he had fought
against since morning threatened to overcome him. In addition to this,
he was oppressed by a black dejection, which, though his mind had never
been clearer, reacted upon his failing physical powers, for it was now
unpleasantly evident that he and his companions could not reach the
inlet while their provisions held out. There was no longer any doubt
that he had involved them in disaster, and the knowledge that he had
done so was very bitter.
He sat still awhile with haggard face and set lips, gazing up the
ravine, for, although he scarcely fancied that either of the others had
expected anything else, he shrank from going back as empty-handed as
when he had left them. The light was getting very dim, but he could
still see the ice fringe upon the pool in front of him, and a mass of
rock that rose black against the creeping dusk not very far away.
Beyond it on the one side there seemed to be a waste of stones amidst
which a few wreaths of snow still gleamed lividly. Then a wall of rock
scarcely distinguishable in the shadow shut in the hollow.
The latter was filled with the hoarse roar of the river and the sharp
crash and crackle of stream-driven ice, but by and bye the worn-out man
started as he caught another faint sound which suggested the clink of a
displaced stone. His hands closed hard upon the rifle, but he sat very
still, listening with strained attention until he heard the sound
again. Then a thrill ran through him, for he was quite certain of its
meaning. A stone had rolled over higher up the gorge, and he rose and
moved forward cautiously, keeping the detached rock between him and the
upper portion of the ravine. Once or twice a stone clattered noisily
beneath his feet, and he stopped for a moment or two, wondering with
tense anxiety whether the sound could be heard at any distance through
the roar of the river. This was a very much grimmer business than
crawling through the long grass for a shot at the prairie antelope,
when in case of success it had scarcely seemed worth while to pack the
tough and stringy venison back to the homestead.
By and bye he heard the clatter of a displaced stone again, and this
time it was so distinct and near that it puzzled him. The wild
creatures of the waste were, he knew, always alert, and their
perception of an approaching danger was wonderful. It seemed strange,
since he had heard it, that the beast he was creeping in upon could
apparently not hear him, but he realised that he must face the hazard
of its doing so, for in another few minutes it would be too dark to
shoot. He had almost reached the rock by this time, and he shifted his
grasp on the rifle, holding it thrust forward in front of him while
crouching low he looked down for a spot on which to set his foot each
time he moved. It would, he knew, be useless to go any further if a
stone turned over now. None did, however, and he crept, strung up to
highest tension, into the deeper gloom behind the rock.
A little pool ran in close beneath the latter from the river, but it
was covered with ice and slushy snow, and treading very cautiously he
crept across it, and held his breath as he moved out from behind the
stone. Then he stopped suddenly, for a man stood face to face with him
scarcely a stone's throw away. His fur-clad figure cut sharply against
a gleaming bank of snow, and he held a gun in his hand. Though the
light had almost gone, it was evident to Wyllard that he was a white
man.
They stood very still for several seconds gazing at one another, and
then the stranger dropped the butt of his weapon and called out
sharply. Wyllard, who failed to understand him, did not move, and he
spoke again. What he said was still unintelligible, but Wyllard, who
had fallen in with a few Germans from Minnesota on the prairie, fancied
that he recognised the language. He made a sign that it was still
beyond his comprehension, and the stranger tried again. This time it
was French he spoke.
"You can come forward, comrade," he said.
He did not seem to be hostile, and Wyllard, who tossed his rifle into
the hollow of his left arm, moved out to meet him a pace or two.
"You are Russian?" he said, in the language the other had used, for
French of a kind is freely spoken in parts of Canada.
The man laughed. "That afterwards," he answered. "It is said so. My
name is Overweg--Albrecht Overweg. As to you, it appears you do not
understand Russian."
Wyllard drew a little nearer, and sat down upon a boulder. Now the
tension had somewhat slackened his weariness had once more become
almost insupportable, and he felt that he might need his strength and
senses. In the meanwhile he was somewhat bewildered by the encounter,
for it was certainly astonishing to fall in with a man who spoke three
civilised languages and wore spectacles in that desolate wilderness.
"No," he said, "it is almost the first time I have heard it."
"Ah," said the other, "there is a certain significance in that
admission, my friend. It is permissible to inquire where you have come
from, and what you are doing here?"
Wyllard, who had no desire to give him any information upon the latter
point, pointed towards the east.
"That is where I come from. As to my business, at the moment you will
excuse me. It is perhaps not a rudeness to ask what is yours?"
The stranger laughed. "Caution, it seems, is necessary; and to the
east, where you have pointed, there is only the sea. I will, however,
tell you my business. It is the science, and not"--he seemed to add
this with a certain significance--"in any way connected with the
administration of the country."
Wyllard was conscious of a vast relief on hearing this, but as he was
not quite sure that he could believe it, he felt that prudence was
still advisable. In any case, he could not let the stranger go away
until he had learned whether there were any more white men with him.
He sat still, thinking rather hard for a moment or two.
"You have a camp somewhere near?" he asked at length.
"Certainly," said the other. "You will come back with me, or shall I
come to yours?"
"There are several of you?"
"Besides myself, two Kamtchadales."
"Then," said Wyllard, "I will come with you. I have left two comrades
a little further down the ravine. Will you wait until I bring them?"
The stranger made a sign of assent, and sitting down upon a ledge of
rock took out a cigar. Wyllard now felt more sure of him, since it was
evident that had he meditated any treachery he would naturally have
preferred him to make the visit unattended. In any case, it seemed
likely that he would have something to eat in his camp.
Wyllard plodded back down the ravine, and when he reappeared with the
others Overweg was still sitting there in the gathering darkness. He
greeted them with a wave of his hand, and rising, silently led the way
up the hollow until they came into sight of a little tent that
glimmered beneath a rock. There was a light inside it, and two dusky
figures were silhouetted against the canvas. When the party reached
it, Overweg drew the flap back, and the light shone upon his face as he
signed them to enter. Wyllard standing still a moment looked at him
steadily, and then seeing the little smile in his eyes quietly went in.
After that Overweg called to one of the Kamtchadales, who came in and
busied himself about the cooking lamp, while his guests sat down with a
sense of luxurious content among the skins that were spread upon the
ground sheet. After the raw cold outside the tent was very snug and
warm. They said little, however, and Overweg made no attempt at
conversation until the Kamtchadale laid out a meal, when he watched
them with a smile while they ate voraciously. He had stripped his furs
off, and sat with his knees drawn up on one of the skins, a little,
plump, round-faced man, with tow-coloured hair, and eyes that gleamed
shrewdly behind his spectacles.
"Shall I open another can?" he asked at length.
"No," said Wyllard. "We owe you thanks enough already. Provisions are
evidently plentiful with you."
Overweg nodded. "I have a base camp two or three days' journey back,"
he said. "It is possible that I shall make a depôt. We brought our
stores up from the south with dog sleds before the snow grew soft, but
it is necessary for me to push on further. My business, you
understand, is the scientific survey; to report upon the natural
resources of the country."
He paused, and his manner changed a little when he went on again. "I
have," he added, "to this extent taken you into my confidence, and I
invite an equal candour. Two things are evident. You have made a long
journey, and your French is not that one hears in Paris."
"First of all," said Wyllard, "I must ask again are you a Russian?"
Overweg spread his hands out with a little whimsical gesture. "My
name, which I have told you, is not Sclavonic, and it may be admitted
that I was born in Bavaria. In the meanwhile, it is true that I have
been sent on a mission by the Russian Government."
"I wonder," said Wyllard reflectively, "how far you consider your duty
towards your employers goes."
Overweg's eyes twinkled. "It covers all that can be ascertained about
the geological structure and the fauna of the country, especially the
fauna that produce marketable furs. At present I am not convinced that
it goes very much further."
It was clear to Wyllard that he was to a large extent in this man's
hands already, since he could not reach the inlet without provisions,
and Overweg could, if he thought fit, send back a messenger to the
Russian authorities. He was one who could think quickly and make a
momentous decision, and he realised that if he could not win the man's
sympathy there must be open hostility between them. It seemed possible
that he might obviate any necessity for the latter.
"In that case I think I may tell you what has brought me here," he
said. "If you have travelled much in Kamchatka you can, perhaps, help
me. To begin with, I sailed from Vancouver, in Canada, going on for a
year ago."
It took him some time to make his errand clear, and then Overweg looked
at him in a rather curious fashion.
"It is," he said, "a tale that in these days one finds some little
difficulty in believing. Still, it must be admitted that I am
acquainted with one fact which appears to substantiate it."
Then as he saw the blood rise to Wyllard's forehead he broke off with a
little soft laugh.
"My friend," he added, "is it permitted to offer you my felicitations?
The men who would attempt a thing of this kind are, I think, singularly
rare."
"The fact?" said Wyllard, impatiently.
"There is a Kamtchadale in my base camp who told me of a place where a
white man was buried some distance to the west of us. He spoke of a
second white man, but nobody, I understand, knows what became of him."
Wyllard straightened himself suddenly. "You will send for that
Kamtchadale?"
"Assuredly. The tale you have told me has stirred my curiosity. As my
path lies west up the river valley, we can, if it pleases you, go on
for a while together."
Wyllard, who thanked him, turned to Charly with a faint sigh of relief.
"It seems that we shall not bring those men back, but I think we may
find out where they lie," he said. Charly made no comment, for this
was the most he had expected, and a few minutes later there was silence
in the little tent when the men lay down to sleep among the skins.
They started at sunrise next morning, and followed the river slowly by
easy stages until the man sent back to Overweg's base camp overtook
them with another Kamtchadale. Then they pushed on still further
inland, and it was a week later when one evening their guide led them
up to a little pile of stones upon a lonely ridge of rock. There were
two letters very rudely cut on one of them, and Wyllard, who stooped
down beside it, took off his cap when he rose.
"There's no doubt that Jake Leslie lies here," he said, and looked at
Overweg. "Your man is sure it was only one white man who buried him?"
Overweg spoke to the Kamtchadale, who answered him.
"There was only one white man," he said. "It seems he went inland
afterwards--at least a year ago."
Then Wyllard turned to Charly, and his face was very grave. "That
makes it certain that two of them have died. There was one left, and
he may be dead by this time." He spread his hands out with a forceful
gesture. "If one only knew!"
Charly made no answer. He was not a man of education or much
imagination, but like others of his kind he had alternately borne many
privations in the wilderness, logging, prospecting, trail-cutting about
the remoter mines, and at sea. As one result of this there crept into
his mind some recognition of what the outcast who lay at rest beside
their feet had had to face--the infinite toil of the march, the black
despair, the blinding snow, and Arctic frost. He met his leader's gaze
with a look of comprehending sympathy.
By what grim efforts and primitive devices their comrade, had clung to
life so long as he had done it seemed very probable that they would
never know, but they clearly realised that though some might call it an
illegal raid, or even piracy, it was a work of mercy this outlaw who
had borne so much had undertaken when he was cast away. In the word to
swing the boats over and face the roaring surf in the darkness of the
night he had heard the clear call of duty, and had fearlessly obeyed.
His obedience had cost him much, but as the man who had come so far to
search for him looked down upon the little pile of stones that had been
raised above his bones in the desolate wilderness, there awoke within
him a sure recognition of the fact that this was not the end. That, at
least, was unthinkable. His comrade, sloughing off the half-frozen,
suffering flesh, had gone on to join the immortals--with his duty done.
It was with a warmth at his heart and a slight haziness in his eyes
that Wyllard turned away at length, but when he put on his fur cap
again he was more determined than ever to carry out the search. There
were many perils and difficulties to be faced, but he felt that he must
not flinch.
"One man went inland," he said to Overweg. "I must go that way, too."
The little spectacled scientist looked at him curiously.
"Ah," he said, "the road your comrade travelled is a hard one. You
have seen what it leads to."
Then Wyllard did what is in the case of such men as he was a somewhat
unusual thing, for he gave another a glimpse of the feelings he
generally kept hidden deep in him.
"No," he said, quietly, "the hard road leads further--where we do not
know--but one feels that the full knowledge will not bring sorrow when
it is some day given to those who have the courage to follow."
Overweg spread his hands out. "It is not the view of the materialists,
but it is conceivable that the materialists may be wrong. In this
case, however, it is the concrete and practical we have to grapple
with, my friend. You say you are going inland to search for that man,
and for awhile I go that way, but though I have my base camp there is
the question of provisions if you come with me."
They discussed the matter until Wyllard suggested that he could replace
any provisions his companion supplied him with from the schooner, to
which Overweg agreed, and they afterwards decided to send the Siwash
and one of the Kamtchadales on to the inlet with a letter to Dampier.
The two started next day when they found a place where the river was
with difficulty fordable, and the rest pushed on slowly into a broken
and rising country seamed with belts of thin forest here and there.
They held westwards for another week, and then one evening made their
camp among a few stunted and straggling firs. The temperature had
risen in the day-time, but the nights were cold, and when they had
eaten their evening meal they were glad of the shelter of the tent. A
small fire of resinous branches was sinking into a faintly glowing mass
close outside of it.
The flap was, however, drawn back, and Wyllard, who lay facing the
opening, could see a triangular patch of dim blue sky with a sharp
sickle moon hanging low above a black fir branch. The night was clear
and still, but now and then there was a faint elfin sighing among the
stunted trees that died away again. He was then, while still
determined, moodily discouraged, for they had seen no sign of human
life during the journey, and his reason told him that he might search
for years before he found the bones of the last survivor of the party.
Still, he meant to search while Overweg was willing to supply him with
provisions.
By and bye he saw Charly sharply raise his head and gaze towards the
opening.
"Did you hear anything outside?" he asked.
"It would be the Kamtchadales," said Wyllard.
"They went back a mile or two to lay some traps."
"Then," said Wyllard, decisively, "it couldn't have been anything."
Charly did not appear satisfied, and it seemed to Wyllard that Overweg
was also listening, but there was deep stillness outside now, and he
dismissed the matter from his mind. A few minutes later it, however,
seemed to him that a shadowy form appeared out of the gloom among the
firs and faded into it again. This struck him as very curious, since
if it had been one of the Kamtchadales he would have walked straight
into camp, but he said nothing to his companions, and there was silence
for a while until Charly rose softly to his feet.
"Get out as quietly as you can," he said, as he slipped by Wyllard, who
crept after him to the entrance.
When he reached it his companion's voice rang out with a startling
vehemence.
"Stop right now!" he cried, and after a pause, "Nobody's going to hurt
you. Walk right ahead."
Then Wyllard felt his heart beat furiously, for a dusky, half-seen
figure materialised out of the gloom, and grew into sharper form as it
drew nearer to the sinking fire. The thing was wholly unexpected,
almost incredible, but it was clear that the man could understand
English, and his face was white. In another moment Wyllard's last
doubt vanished, and he sprang forward with a gasp.
"Lewson--Tom Lewson," he said.
Then Charly thrust the man inside the tent, and when somebody lighted a
lamp he sat down stupidly and looked at them. His face was gaunt and
furrowed, and almost blackened by exposure to the frost, his hair was
long, and tattered garments of greasy skins hung about him. There was
also something that suggested bewildered incredulity in his eyes.
"It's real?" he said, slowly and haltingly. "You have come at last?"
They assured him that this was the case, and for a moment or two the
man's face worked and he made a hoarse sound in his throat.
"Lord," he said, "if I'm dreaming I don't want to wake."
Charly leaned forward and smote him on the shoulder.
"Shall I hit you like I did that afternoon in the Thompson House on the
Vancouver water front?" he asked.
Then the certainty of the thing seemed to dawn upon the man, for he
quivered, and his eyes half closed. After that he straightened himself
with an effort.
"I should have known, and I think I did," he said. "Something seemed
to tell me that you would come for us when you could."
Wyllard's face flushed, but he said nothing, and it was Charly who
asked the next question.
"The others are dead?"
Lewson made a little expressive gesture. "Hopkins was drowned in a
crevice of the ice. I buried Leslie back yonder."
He broke off abruptly, as though speech cost him an effort, and Wyllard
turned to Overweg.
"This is the last of the men I was looking for," he said.
Overweg quietly nodded. "Then you have my felicitations--but it might
be advisable if you did not tell me too much," he said. "Afterwards I
may be questioned by those in authority."