The two adventurers marooned on the island ate their first meal of
rabbit, grilled over the coals, with keen relish, though they had
neither salt to season it nor bread to accompany it.
"It might be worse," remarked Shad, when the meal was finished.
"Rabbit is good, and," he continued, lolling back lazily and
contentedly before the fire, "there's always some bright spot to light
the darkest cloud--we've no dishes to wash. A rinse of the tea pail, a
rinse of our cups, and, presto! the thing's done. I detest
dish-washing."
"Aye," admitted Bob, "dish-washin' is a putterin' job."
"Yes, that's it; a puttering job," resumed Shad. "But now let's come
to the important question of the day. Continued banqueting upon
rabbit, I've been told, becomes monotonous, and under any conditions
imprisonment is sure to become monotonous sooner or later. I have a
hunch it will be sooner in our case. I'm beginning to chafe under
bonds already. What are we going to do about it?"
"I'm not knowin' so soon," confessed Bob, "but I'm thinkin' before
this day week Dick an' Ed an' Bill will be huntin' around for us, an'
they's like t' find us, an' when they does they'll be findin' a way t'
help us. They might build up th' place down there with stones, so's t'
make a footin' t' land on, an' then 'twill be easy goin' ashore."
"But suppose they don't come around this way and don't find us?"
"Then I'm thinkin' we'll be bidin' here till ice forms."
"Till ice forms! And when will that be?"
"An' she comes on frosty, ice'll begin formin' th' middle of October
on th' banks. But th' current's wonderful strong, an' I'll not be
expectin' ice t' cross on till New Year, whatever."
"January first! October! November! December! Three months on this
god-forsaken bit of rock! Great Jehoshaphat, man! That'll be an
eternity! We can't endure it!"
"I'm not thinkin' we'll have to. I'm thinkin' they'll find us in a
fortni't, whatever," reassured Bob, rising and picking up the axe.
"We'll be needin' a shelter, an' I'm thinkin' I'll build un now."
"And we have no blankets with us!" exclaimed Shad. "Oh, we're going to
have a swell time!"
"We'll be fair snug with a shelter, now. I'll be cuttin' th' sticks,
an' you breaks boughs."
"All right, Bob, I'll get the boughs," agreed Shad, languidly rising,
and as he went to his task singing:
"'Old Noah, he did build an ark,
He made it out of hick'ry bark.
"'If you belong to Gideon's band,
Why here's my heart, and here's my hand,
Looking for a home.
"'He drove the animiles in two by two,
The elephant and the kangaroo.
"'And then he nailed the hatches down,
And told outsiders they might drown.
"'And when he found he had no sail,
He just ran up his own coat tail.
"'If you belong to Gideon's band,
Why here's my heart, and here's my hand,
Looking for a home.'"
A full stomach sometimes wholly changes one's outlook upon the world.
Shad was beginning now to view his adventure from a whimsical
standpoint, a result induced partially by his dinner, largely by Bob's
philosophical attitude.
It was not anticipated the shelter would be required for long, and a
comfortable lean-to under the lee of the hill, with back and ends
enclosed, and closely thatched with boughs and moss, was considered
sufficient. A thick, springy bed of spruce boughs was then arranged,
and the temporary home was completed.
Then Bob proceeded to set deadfalls, utilising flat stones and raising
them on a figure 4, which he baited with tender birch boughs. Several
rabbits were started in the course of the afternoon, giving assurance
that the deadfalls would yield sufficient food for their needs, though
no results could be expected from them until the following morning.
"Now for supper, Shad, we'll have t' be usin' some shells," he
announced. "Supposin' you tries un. I were goin' t' make a bow an'
arrows t' save th' shells, but they's nothin' t' feather th' arrows
with, an' no string that'd be strong enough for th' bow."
"All right," agreed Shad. "I'll get them;" and within half an hour he
returned with a bag of two fat young rabbits.
Their fire was built before the lean-to, and a very small blaze was
found sufficient to heat it to a cosy warmth. Here they sat and ate
their grilled rabbit and drank their tea, quite as comfortably as they
would have done in their tent or tilt, though during the night one or
the other found it necessary to rise several times to renew the fire.
Bivouacking in this manner was more or less of an ordinary
circumstance in Ungava Bob's life. He looked upon it as the sort of
thing to be expected, and as a matter of course. He felt indeed that
they were very fortunately situated, and for the present he had small
doubt that their imprisonment would prove but a temporary
inconvenience.
The deadfalls yielded them the first night three rabbits; another was
shot. They had quite enough to eat the next day, and Shad took a
brighter view of the matter.
"By Jove!" he laughed, after breakfast, "I wonder what the fellows at
home would say if they should see me now, playing the part of Robinson
Crusoe?" and then he began to sing:
"'Fare thee well, for I must leave thee.
Do not let the parting grieve thee,
And remember that the best of friends must part,
must part.
Adieu, adieu, kind friends, adieu, adieu, adieu,
I can no longer stay with you, stay with you,
I'll hang my harp on a weeping-willow tree,
And may the world go well with thee.'"
But when another morning came, with no sugar remaining for the tea,
and no other food than the now monotonous unsalted rabbit, Shad
rebelled.
"See here, Bob!" he exclaimed irritably, "I can't eat any more rabbit!
It nauseates me to even think of it! We've got to do something."
"We can't help un, now, Shad," answered Bob soothingly. "Rabbit ain't
so bad."
"Not once or twice, or even three times in succession--but eternally
and forever, I can't go it."
"It does get a bit wearisome, but 'tis a wonderful lot better'n no
rabbit, when rabbit's all there is."
"Wearisome! Wearisome! Confound it, Bob, it's disgusting! Now we've
got to do something to get ourselves out of here, and that quick."
"I'm not knowin', now, what t' do till th' others comes, an' I'm
knowin' they will."
"Come, Bob, let's make a try for that wall down there. Even if the
canoe does get away from us, we can make the wall--I know we can."
"No," and Bob shook his head ominously, "I'm ready t' take any fair
chanct, Shad, but they wouldn't be even a fair chanet t' make un."
"Oh, bosh!" exclaimed Shad angrily. "I thought you had some nerve."
"'Tisn't a matter o' nerve, Shad; 'tis a matter o' what can be done
an' what can't."
"Oh, yes, it can! Anyone with two legs and two hands and two eyes and
just a grain of grit can do it."
Bob, quiet and unruffled, grilled his rabbit, refusing to take offence
or to be moved at Shad's remarks, evidently intended to goad him into
what his experience told him would certainly prove a hopeless and
foolhardy venture.
It is a psychological phenomenon that men, denied action and confined
to limited and solitary surroundings, become highly irascible. They
find cause for offence in every word and every action of their
companions, and it is not unusual for men situated as Ungava Bob and
Shad Trowbridge were to lapse into such a state of antagonism toward
one another that they cease to converse.
This was the condition into which Shad Trowbridge quickly lapsed. He
soon came to ascribe to timidity and cowardice Bob's opposition to his
wish to attempt a crossing to the mainland. He was one who chafed
under restraint, and one who, when he had once decided upon a course
of action, could not brook opposition from another; and though at
heart he knew that Bob was fearless and brave, and that his arguments
were sound, yet he would not now admit this, even to himself.
Normally Shad was a good fellow, and he would endure hardships
cheerfully if the hardships were accompanied by physical activity; but
the condition of monotonous existence, accompanied by idleness and
inactivity, which they were now experiencing, was too great for him to
withstand, and he was prepared to take the most desperate chance to
escape from it. When at length the tea and his tobacco were gone, and
nothing but the daily ration of unseasoned rabbit remained, the
thought of thus continuing indefinitely became unendurable to him.
Ungava Bob, on the contrary, had been accustomed to wilderness
solitude all his life. This, and a naturally even disposition, coupled
with a philosophical temperament, rendered him capable of overlooking
Shad's slurs, and when finally Shad ceased to speak to him, or when
spoken to by Bob ceased to acknowledge that he heard, Bob permitted
the slight to pass unnoticed.
At length, one day, when Shad had nursed his supposed grievance to a
point where he could no longer endure it, he blurted out brutally:
"See here, I've stood this devilish cowardice of yours as long as I'm
going to. Do you see where the sun is! It's noon. Now I'll give you
until that sun drops half-way to the horizon to decide whether or not
you're going across with me. If you say 'No,' I'm going without you,
that's all, and you can stay here and eat rabbit, and rot, if you
choose."
"Now, Shad," Bob placated, "I knows how you feels, an' it's your
judgment ag'in mine. But I'm havin' experience with places like that,
an' I knows we can't make th' crossin' an' land. Now don't try un,
Shad."
"Don't 'Shad' me--My God, Bob! Look there!" he suddenly broke off.
Shooting past them, half standing in their birch canoe, paddling with
the desperation of men facing doom, one with his sound paddle, the
other with his broken one, were the Indians that Manikawan had sent
adrift.
They were very near the island--so near that every outline of their
drawn, terrorstricken faces was visible--but too far away to reach the
gravelly point upon which Bob and Shad had found refuge. Indeed, they
seemed not to see it, or to see anything but the horrible spectral
phantom of the evil spirit that they believed had them in its control.
On--on--on-they sped, ever faster--faster toward the pounding
rapids--impotently, though still desperately, wielding their paddles.
Bob and Shad stood spellbound and horror-stricken. The Indians were
nearing the first white foam! In a moment their canoe would strike it!
It was in the foam! It rose for an instant upon a white crest, the
Indians' paddles still working--then was swallowed up in the swirling
tumult of waves and whirlpools, never to reappear.
Ungava Bob and Shad Trowbridge stood for a moment in awe-stricken
horror. Then they sat down upon the rock on which Shad had sunk when
overcome with shock on the day of their escape upon the island.
"Bob," said Shad, at last, "that was the most terrible thing I ever
beheld!"
"'Twere awful!" assented Bob.
"It shows us, Bob, what you and I escaped. Bob, I've been very
disagreeable lately. Take my hand and forgive me, won't you?"
"'Twere th' rabbit meat, Shad," said Bob, taking Shad's hand. "Rabbit
meat be wonderful tryin' t' eat steady. I were knowin', now, you'd be
all right again, Shad."
"I think I've been demented, Bob--I'm sure I have--anyway, believe it,
and don't hold it against me."
"I'll not be holdin' un ag'in you, Shad. 'Twere natural, and--" Bob
ceased speaking and sat staring at the high bank of the mainland.
"Manikawan!" he exclaimed, springing up and crossing the island point
at a bound.
There she stood, joy, wonder, incredulity, written upon her face. She
had believed White Brother of the Snow dead, but here she saw him in
flesh and alive, and he had spoken her name.
"White Brother of the Snow! Oh, White Brother of the Snow! The evil
spirits did not devour you, but like hungry wolves they have devoured
your enemies."
Very quickly Bob explained their predicament, and she listened
silently. Then she went to the sloping rock, descended its dangerous
angle to the water's edge, and returned.
"White Brother of the Snow and his friend would find no lodgment
there," said she. "It is a place of deceit. But White Brother of the
Snow knows how to be patient. Let him and his friend wait. The evil
spirits cannot reach up for them where they are. When the sun returns
again to the high point in the heavens Manikawan will stand here.
Wait."
The next instant she was gone.
"What did she say?" asked Shad.
"She were sayin'," explained Bob, "that if we has patience an' waits
she'll be back by noon to-morrow, or thereabouts. An' she says if we
waits here we'll be safe, but we couldn't be makin' a footin' on th'
rock. She's thinkin' o' some way o' gettin' us off, but I'm not
knowin' what 'tis, now."