A PAINFUL DECISION
Two days passed uneventfully, though Nasmyth was conscious of a growing
uneasiness during them; and then one evening they landed to search
another beach. They had less difficulty here, for small cedars and
birches crept down to the waterside and Jake found an ax-blaze on one.
After that, it was easy to locate the cache, and there were signs that it
had been either very roughly made, or afterward opened and reclosed in
careless haste. Lisle had no hesitation in deciding upon the latter, and
Jake was emphatic in his brief assurance on the point.
On removing the covering stones, they found very little beneath them, but
every object was taken out and Lisle, measuring quantities and guessing
weights, carefully enumerated each in his notebook. Neither he nor
Nasmyth said anything of import then; both felt that the subject was too
grave to be lightly discussed; and walking back silently along the
shingle, they pitched the tent and prepared supper. After the meal, Jake,
prompted by an innate tact, sauntered away down the beach, and the other
two, lounging beside the fire, took out their pipes. A full moon hung
above the lonely gorge, which was filled with the roar of the river, and
the shadows of the cedars lay black upon the stones.
Some minutes passed before a word was spoken; and then Nasmyth looked up.
"Well?" he said briefly.
Lisle moved a little, so that he could see his companion's face.
"In the first place," he explained, "Clarence Gladwyne came down this
bank. One could locate the cache by the blazed tree, even with snow upon
the ground--and it has been opened. Apart from the signs of this, no
party of three men would have thought it worth while to make a cache of
the few things we found."
"Mightn't it have been opened by some Indian?"
"It's most unlikely, because he would have cleaned it out. A white
prospector would certainly have taken the tobacco."
Nasmyth knit his brows. He was deeply troubled, because there were
respects in which the matter would hardly bear discussion, though he
recognized that it must now be thrashed out.
"Well," he admitted reluctantly, "what we have discovered has its
significance; but it isn't conclusive."
His companion took out from a pocket the palm and wrist portion of a fur
glove. It was badly rotted, and the rest had either fallen away or been
gnawed by some animal, but a button with a stamp on it remained.
"Jake found that and gave it to me," he said. "There's enough left to
show that it had finger-stalls, and there are none on the mittens we use
in cold weather. The thing's English, and with a little rubbing I expect
you'll find the maker's name on that button. When the party went up it
was warm weather, but we know there was sharp frost when Gladwyne came
back. A buttoned glove doesn't drop off one's hand, and even if it had
done so Gladwyne would have noticed and picked it up. It seems to me he
took it off to open one of the provision bags and couldn't find it
afterward because he'd trodden it into the snow."
Nasmyth could doubt no longer, and his face grew red.
"The hound!" he broke out. "He had a hand frost-bitten--one finger is
different from the others yet."
Lisle said nothing; he could understand and sympathize with what was
going on in his companion's mind and the latter was filled with
bitterness and humiliation. A man of his own kind and station in life,
one with whom he fished and shot, had broken faith with his starving
comrade and with incredible cowardice had left him to perish. Even this
was not the worst; though Nasmyth had always taken the personal courage
of his friends for granted. He was not a clever man and he had his
faults, but he shaped his life in accordance with a few simple but
inflexible rules. It was difficult for him to understand how one could
yield to a fit of craven fear; but there was a fact which made Gladwyne's
transgression still blacker.
"This thing hits hard," he said at length. "The man should have gone
back, if he had known it meant certain death."
Lisle filled his pipe and smoked in silence for several minutes during
which the eery cry of a loon rang about the camp. It roused Nasmyth to an
outbreak of anger.
"I hate that unearthly noise!" he exclaimed vehemently. "The thing seems
to be gloating; it's indecent! When I think of that call it will bring
back the long portage and this ghostly river! I wish I'd never made the
journey, or that I could blot the whole thing out!"
"It can't be done," Lisle replied. "It's too late. You have learned the
truth of what has been done here--but the results will work themselves
out. Neither you nor I can stop them; they have to be faced."
"The pity of it is that the innocent must suffer; they've borne enough
already."
"There's a point I don't quite understand," declared Lisle. "Whatever the
Hudson Bay agent thought, he'd have kept it to himself if he'd been
allowed--I've met him. It was Gladwyne who laid the whole blame on
Vernon; he forced the agent to bear him out. Why should he have taken so
much trouble? His own tale would have cleared him."
Nasmyth looked irresolute; and then he answered reluctantly:
"There's a fact I haven't told you yet--Clarence came into the family
property on George's death; a fine old place, a fairly large estate. The
sister doesn't count, though she got her brother's personal property--the
land goes down in the male line."
Lisle dropped his pipe.
"Now I understand! Gladwyne profits, my dead partner bore the shame. But
do you believe the man meant to let his cousin die?"
"No," Nasmyth answered sharply, "that's unthinkable! But I blame him
almost as much as if he had done so. Besides his duty to George, he had a
duty to himself and to the family--the honorable men and women who had
kept the name clean before him. Knowing he would inherit on George's
death, there was only one way open--he should have gone back, at any
cost. Instead, to clear himself of the faintest trace of ugly suspicion,
he lays the blame upon an innocent man."
Lisle did not reply to this. He felt that had the grim choice been
imposed upon his companion, the man would have taken the course he had
indicated.
"You said that George Gladwyne was a naturalist," he remarked. "Was he a
methodical man?"
"Eminently so," replied Nasmyth, wondering where the question led. He had
already been astonished at Lisle's close reasoning and the correctness of
his deductions.
"Then he would have made notes on his journey and no doubt have kept some
kind of diary. Did the rescue party recover it?"
"They did. It was given to George's sister."
"Damaged by snow or water, badly tattered?"
"It was," assented Nasmyth. "I've had the book in my hands. I suppose
it's natural that you should guess its condition, but I don't see what it
points to."
Lisle smiled grimly.
"One wouldn't be astonished to find some leaves missing from a tattered
book."
"You're right again." Nasmyth started. "Several had gone."
"I think I can tell which part of the journey they related to. A
methodical man would make a note of the stores cached, and the lists
would be conclusive evidence if anybody afterward opened the caches and
enumerated their contents, as we have done. If everything put into the
one on the bank Vernon followed remained there, it would prove that he
couldn't have found it. On the other hand, if the one on Gladwyne's side
of the river--"
"Of course!" Nasmyth broke in. "You needn't labor the point; it's plain
enough." He stopped for a few moments before he went on again. "I'm
convinced; but without that list of Gladwyne's you still haven't proof
enough to place your account of the affair beyond dispute. What are you
going to do?"
"I'm going to England--it's my father's country, and I meant to visit it
some day. Whether I shall find out anything more there or not I don't
know."
"Then you must stay with me. That's a point I insist upon. But I must
make my situation clear--though I've been drawn into this matter against
my will, you have my promise, and if ever the time for action comes, I'll
stand by you. But I'll take no part in trapping Clarence Gladwyne into
any admission, nor will I countenance any charge against him unless some
chance supplies you with indisputable evidence."
"Thanks," said Lisle; "I'm agreeable. You stand neutral until I call on
you."
"There are two more questions, and then we'll let the subject drop. Why
didn't you make this search earlier? Why didn't Gladwyne rearrange the
caches afterward? He went back, you know."
"They're easily answered. It was some time before I heard of Vernon's
death and met the Hudson Bay man in Victoria--I'd been away in the North.
Gladwyne had the rescue party with him when he went back; he couldn't
replace the provisions in the cache on this side without their knowing
it, and I don't suppose he could have crossed the river to the other
cache. Now we'll talk of something else."
They started again the next morning, and instead of leaving the river for
the Hudson Bay post, which stood farther back into the wilderness, they
held on down-stream, though they afterward regretted this when their
provisions once more grew scanty. There was now sharp frost at nights;
fangs of ice stretched out behind the boulders and crackling sheets of it
gathered in the slacker eddies along the bank. What mattered more was
that the portages were frequent, and carrying the canoe over rock coated
with frozen spray became dangerous as well as difficult, and Nasmyth
working on short rations began to feel the strain. It was only since he
had entered that inhospitable region that he had ever been compelled to
go without his dinner; and now breakfast and supper were sternly
curtailed. When they were stopped for two days by a blinding snowstorm he
grew anxious, and his uneasiness had increased when some time afterward
they made their evening meal of a single flapjack each. He could readily
have eaten a dozen of the thin, flat cakes. The duck they had shot every
now and then since crossing the divide had gone; they had not seen a
trout since the cold set in; and there did not appear to be any salmon in
the river.
After breakfast the next morning, Lisle concluded that it would be wise
to risk a day looking for a deer, so he invited Nasmyth to take his rifle
and the two set out. It cost them some trouble to climb the low bluff
above the river through a horrible tangle of fallen trunks. The trees
were getting larger and the branches of those the wind had brought down
lay spread about them or were resting on the standing growth in networks
which Nasmyth would have thought it impossible to traverse had he been
alone. Lisle scrambled through, however, and he had no choice except to
follow. Where the timber was thinner, the slope was covered with
sharp-edged stones which further damaged his already dilapidated boots;
and when at last they came out upon a comparatively bare, rocky
tableland, a bitter wind met them in the teeth. It drove a little fine
snow before it, but Lisle plodded steadily on, explaining that any deer
which might be in the neighborhood would have gone down into the
sheltered valleys. He had no doubt they would find one of the valleys,
for they were generally numerous.
It was an hour before they reached one, and Nasmyth was conscious of an
unpleasant pain in his side and a headache which he supposed resulted
from want of food. For all that, he scrambled after his companion down an
almost impossible descent, where trees of increasing size grew up among
outcropping rock and banks of stones. When he reached the bottom he found
himself in a deep rift filled with densely-matted underbrush, through
which a swift stream flowed. Its banks promised a slightly easier road,
though now and then they had to wade through the water, which was icy
cold. Noon came and they had seen no sign of life, except two or three
willow-grouse which they failed to dislodge from cover; but Lisle held
on, his course running roughly in a line with the river.
It was toward three o'clock, and a little snow was sifting down between
the somber branches overhead, when Lisle, stopping, raised a warning hand
and pointed to an opening in the trees. The light was dim among the rows
of trunks, and for a few seconds Nasmyth gazed down the long colonnade,
seeing nothing. Then Lisle pointed again, impatiently, and he made out
something between a gray trunk and a thicket. Sportsman as he was, he had
not the bush-man's eye, and he would never have supposed that formless
object to be a deer. It moved, however; a prong of horn appeared; and
waiting for nothing further he pitched up his rifle.
It was a long shot, standing; he guessed the range in a deceptive light;
but he found himself strangely steady as he squeezed the trigger. He was
desperately hungry and weak from want of food; the deer must not escape.
Yet he was in no rash haste; for two or three seconds the tiny foresight
trembled slightly upon the mark, while the pressure on the trigger
increased. Then there was a flash; he heard no report but the smoke blew
into his eyes. Almost simultaneously, a train of red sparks leaped out
from somewhere close at his side and there was a sharp snapping in the
bush ahead.
"You got your shot in!" cried Lisle. "I think I missed him on the jump.
Come on; we must pick up the trail!"
It was easy to find; the deer had been too badly hit to bound across each
obstacle as cleanly as usual, and broken twigs and scattering withered
leaves showed which way it had gone. Besides, there were red splashes
here and there. It was, however, a difficult matter to follow the trail.
Fallen trees and dense thickets barred the way, and they had to cross the
creek every now and then. Nasmyth rapidly got breathless and before long
he was badly distressed, but he held on behind his companion. Once or
twice he was held fast for a moment or two, and breaking free, found he
had badly ripped his garments on the ragged branches. Still, it was
unthinkable that they should let the deer escape.
As he struggled forward, he remembered that the days were rapidly
shortening, and he shrank from the prospect of retracing his way to camp
in the dark. It occurred to him that it was a compliment and a mark of
very fine courtesy that Lisle had left the first shot to him. In return
for this, he must endeavor to be present to assist when he was wanted.
The deer was still invisible, but it was not very far ahead, for at times
the snapping of a stick or a rustle of disturbed underbrush came sharply
out of the woods. The light was getting dimmer and the snow was falling
more thickly.
At last the hunted creature left the valley and after a desperate
scramble the men reached the summit of the ridge above. Here the
tableland between them and the river was covered with straggling bush,
and though the undergrowth was thin they could see nothing but the long
rows of shadowy trunks. Lisle, however, picked up the trail, and they
followed it as rapidly as possible until, when Nasmyth was lagging some
distance behind, there was a shout in front of him and his companion's
rifle flashed. Making a last effort, he broke into a run and presently
came to the brink of a steep descent covered with thick brush and
scattered trees, with a wide reach of palely gleaming water at the foot
of it. It was the kind of place one would have preferred to climb down
cautiously, but there was a sharp snapping and crackling below and
Nasmyth knew that a hard-pressed deer will frequently take to the water.
If it crossed the river, it would escape; and that could not be
contemplated.
Holding his rifle up, he plunged madly down the descent, smashing through
matted bushes, stumbling over slippery stones. Once or twice he collided
with a slender tree and struck his leg against some ridge of rock; but he
held on, gasping, and the water rapidly grew nearer. He had almost
reached it when a dim shape broke out from a thicket at the bottom of the
slope. There were still some cartridges in his rifle cylinder, but he was
slipping and sliding down an almost precipitous declivity at such a rate
that it was impossible to stop and shoot. Indeed, in another moment he
fell violently into a brake and had some difficulty in smashing through
it, but when he struggled free he saw shingle and boulders in front of
him and Lisle bounding across them a few yards behind the deer. He
reached the stones, wondering why Lisle did not fire; and then he saw man
and deer plunge into the water together.
A few seconds later he was waist-deep in the swift icy current, savagely
endeavoring to drag the animal toward the bank, while Lisle stood near
him, breathing hard, with a red hunting-knife in his hand.
"Steady!" gasped Lisle. "You can't do it that way! Help me throw the
beast on his side. Now heave!"
They got the deer out, and Nasmyth sat down limply. All the power seemed
to have gone out of him; he did not want to move, though he was filled
with exultation, for they now had food. It was a minute or two before he
noticed that Lisle had left him; and then he saw him coming back with his
rifle.
"I dropped the thing," Lisle explained. "Couldn't snap a fresh shell in;
guess I bent the slide. I took the knife to finish it."
"In another moment or two you'd have been too late."
Lisle laughed.
"I don't know. It wouldn't have been decided until we'd reached the other
side."
"You would have swum across?" Nasmyth asked in astonishment.
"Sure," said Lisle simply. "Anyway, I'd have tried."
Nasmyth glanced at the river. It was broad, icy cold, and running fast,
and he could hardly imagine a worn-out and half-fed man safely swimming
it. Lisle, however, called upon him to assist in an unpleasant operation
which, when Nasmyth had killed a deer at home, had been judiciously left
to the keepers or gillies. After that, he was directed to light a fire on
a neighboring point, from which it could be seen some way up the river,
and by and by Jake arrived in the canoe. Then they made camp, and after a
feast on flesh so tough that only hungry men could have eaten more than a
few morsels of it they went to sleep.