IN THE NICK OF TIME.
If Frank was undecided, Mr. Johnston's mind was fully made up.
"Our only chance is for you to get to the shanty at once, Frank. It'll be
a hard job, my boy, but you'll have to try it," said he.
"But what'll become of you, sir, staying here all alone? The wolves might
find you out, and how could you defend yourself then?" asked Frank, in
sore bewilderment as to the solution of the dilemma.
"I'll have to take my chances of that, Frank; for if I stay here all
night, I'll freeze to death, anyway. So just throw the buffaloes over me,
and put for the shanty as fast as you can," replied the foreman.
Unable to suggest any better plan, Frank covered Johnston carefully with
the robes, making him as comfortable as he could; then buttoning up his
coat and pulling his cap on tightly, he was about to scramble up the
steep side of the gully to regain the road, when the foreman said, in a
low tone, almost a whisper,--
"This is about the time you generally say your prayers, Frank. Couldn't
you say them here before you start?"
With quick intuition Frank divined the big bashful man's meaning. It was
his roundabout way of asking the boy to commit him to the care of God
before leaving him alone in his helplessness.
Feeling half condemned at not having thought of it himself, Frank came
back, and kneeling close beside his friend, lifted up his voice in prayer
with a fervour and simplicity that showed how strong and sure was his
faith in the love and power of his Father in heaven. When he had finished
his petition, the foreman added to it an "Amen" that seemed to come from
the very depths of his heart; and then, yielding to an impulse that was
irresistible, Frank bent down and implanted a sudden kiss upon the pale
face looking at him with such earnest, anxious eyes. This unexpected
proof of warm affection completely overcame the foreman, whose feelings
had been already deeply stirred by the prayer. Strong, reserved man as he
was, be could not keep back the tears.
"God bless you, my boy!" he murmured huskily. "If I get safely out of
this, I shall be a different man. You have taught me a lesson I won't
forget."
"God bless you and take care of you, sir!" answered Frank. "I hope
nothing will happen to you while I'm away, and I'll be back as soon as I
can."
The next moment he was making his way up the gully's side, and soon a
triumphant shout announced that he had reached the road and was off for
the lumber camp at his best speed.
The task before him was one from which many a grown man might have shrunk
in dismay. For five long, lonely miles the road ran through the forest
that darkened it with heavy shadows, and not a living soul could he hope
to meet until he reached the shanty.
It was now past eight o'clock, and to do his best it would take him a
whole hour to reach his goal. The snow lay deep upon the road, and was
but little beaten down by the few sleighs that had passed over it. The
air was keen and crisp with frost, the temperature being many degrees
below zero. And finally, the most fear-inspiring of all, there was the
possibility of wolves, for the dreaded timber wolf had been both heard
and seen in close proximity to the camp of late, an unusual scarcity of
small game having made him daring in his search for food.
But Frank possessed a double source of strength. He was valiant by
nature, and he had implicit faith in God's overruling providence. He felt
specially under the divine care now, and resolutely putting away all
thoughts of personal danger, addressed himself, mind and body, to the one
thing--the relief of Johnston from his perilous position.
With arms braced at his sides and head bent forward, he set out at a
jog-trot, which was better suited for getting through the deep snow than
an ordinary walk. Fortunately he was in the very pink of condition. The
steady, hard work of the preceding months, combined with the coarse but
abundant food and early hours, had developed and strengthened every
muscle in his body and hardened his constitution until few boys of his
age could have been found better fitted to endure a long tramp through
heavy snow than he. Moreover, running had always been his favourite form
of athletic exercise, and the muscles it required were well trained for
their work.
"I'll do it all right inside the hour," he said to himself. And then, as
a sudden thought struck him, he gave a nervous little laugh, and added,
"And perhaps make a good deal better time if I hear anything of the
wolves."
Try as he might, he could not get the wolves out of his head. He had not
himself seen any signs of them, but several times the choppers working
farthest from the camp had mentioned finding their tracks in the snow,
and once they had been heard howling in the distance after the men had
all come into the shanty for the night.
On he went through the snow and night, now making good progress at his
brisk jog-trot, now going more slowly as he dropped into a walk to rest
himself and recover breath. Although the moon rode high in the heavens,
the trees which stood close to the road allowed few of her beams to light
his path.
"If it was only broad daylight I wouldn't mind it a bit," Frank
soliloquized; "but this going alone at this time of night is not the sort
of a job I care for."
And then the thought of poor Johnston lying helpless but uncomplaining in
the snow made him feel ashamed of his words, and to ease his conscience
he broke into a trot again. Just as he did so a sound reached his ear
that sent a thrill of terror to his heart. Hoping he might be mistaken,
he stopped and listened with straining senses. For a moment there was
absolute silence. Then the sound came again--distant, but clear and
unmistakable. He had heard it only once before, yet he felt as sure of it
now as if it had been his mother's voice. It was the howl of the timber
wolf sounding through the still night air from somewhere to the north;
how far away he could not determine.
At the sound all his strength seemed to leave him. How helpless he was
alone in that mighty forest without even so much as a knife wherewith to
defend himself! But it would not do to stand irresolute. His own life as
well as the foreman's depended upon his reaching the shanty. Were he to
climb one of the big trees that stood around, the wolves, of course,
could not get at him; but Johnston would be dead before daylight came to
release him from his tree citadel, and perhaps he would himself fall a
victim to the cold in that exposed situation. There was no other
alternative than to run for his life, so, breathing out a fervent prayer
for divine help and protection, he summoned all his energies to the
struggle. He was more than a mile from the shanty, and his exertion had
told severely upon his strength; but the great peril of his situation
made him forget his weariness, and he started off as if he were perfectly
fresh.
But the howling of the wolves grew more and more distinct as they drew
swiftly nearer, and with agony of heart the poor boy felt his breath
coming short and his limbs beginning to fail beneath him. Nearer and
nearer came his dreaded pursuers, and every moment he expected to see
them burst into the road behind him.
Fortunately, be had reached a part of the road which, being near the
camp, was much used by the teams drawing logs to the river-bank, and was
consequently beaten hard and smooth. This welcome change enabled him to
quicken his steps, which had dropped into a walk; and although he felt
almost blind from exhaustion, he pushed desperately forward, hoping at
every turn of the road to catch a glimpse of the shanty showing dark
through the trees. The cry of the disciples caught in the sudden storm on
Galilee, "Lord, save us; we perish!" kept coming to his lips as he
staggered onward. Surely there could not be much further to go! He turned
for a moment to look behind him. The wolves were in sight, their dark
forms showing distinctly against the snow as in silence now they gained
upon their prey. Run as hard as he might, they must be upon him ere
another fifty yards were passed. He felt as if it were all over with him,
and so utter was his exhaustion that it seemed to benumb his faculties
and make him half willing for the end to come.
But the end was not to be as the wolves desired. Just at the critical
moment, when further exertion seemed impossible, he caught sight of some
one approaching him rapidly from the direction of the shanty, and
shouting aloud while he rushed forward to meet him. With one last supreme
effort he plunged toward this timely apparition, and a moment later
fell insensible at his feet.
It was Baptiste--good-hearted, affectionate Baptiste--who, having awaited
the travellers' return and grown concerned at their long delay, had gone
out to look along the road to see if they were anywhere in view. Catching
sight of Frank's lonely figure, he had made all haste to meet him, and
reached him just in time to ward off the wolves that in a minute more
would have been upon him.
When the wolves saw Baptiste, who swung a gleaming axe about his head, as
he shouted, "_Chiens donc!_ I'll split your heads eef I get at you!" they
stopped short, and even retreated a little, drawing themselves together
in a sort of group in the middle of the road, snapping their teeth and
snarling in a half-frightened, half-furious manner. But Baptiste was not
to be daunted. Lifting his axe on high, he shouted at them in his
choicest French, and charged upon the pack as though they had been simply
a flock of marauding sheep. Wolves are arrant cowards, and without
pausing to take into consideration the disparity of numbers, for they
stood twelve to one, they fled ignominiously before the plucky Frenchman,
not halting until they had put fifty yards between themselves and him.
Whereupon Baptiste seized upon the opportunity to pick up the still
senseless Frank, throw him over his broad shoulder, and hasten back to
the shanty before the wolves should regain their self-possession.
They were all asleep in the shanty when the cook returned with his
unconscious burden; but he soon roused the others with his vigorous
shouts, and by the time they were fully awake, Frank was awake too, the
warm air of the room quickly reviving him from his faint. Looking round
about with a bewildered expression, he asked anxiously,--
"Where is Mr. Johnston? Hasn't he come back too?"
Then he recollected himself, and a picture of his good friend lying
prostrate and helpless in the snow, perhaps surrounded by the same wolves
that brave Baptiste had rescued him from, flashed into his mind, and
springing to his feet he cried,--
"Hurry--hurry! Mr. Johnston is in Deep Gully, and he can't move. The
bridge broke under us, and he was almost killed. Oh, hurry, won't you, or
the wolves will be after him!"
The men looked at one another in astonishment and horror.
"Deep Gully!" they exclaimed. "That's five miles off. We must go at
once."
And immediately all was bustle and excitement as they prepared to go out
into the night. As lumbermen always sleep in their clothes, they did not
take long to dress, and in a wonderfully short space of time the
teamsters had a sleigh with a pair of horses at the door, upon which
eight of the men, armed with guns and axes, sprang, and off they went
along the road as fast as the horses could gallop. Frank wanted to
accompany them, but Baptiste would not allow him.
"No, no, _mon cher._ You must stay wid me. You tired out. They get him
all right, and bring him safe home."
And he was fair to lie back, so tortured with anxiety for the foreman
that he could hardly appreciate the blessing of rest, although his own
exertions had been tremendous.
Not sparing the horses, the rescuers sped over the road, ever now and
then discharging a gun, in order to let Johnston know of their approach
and keep his courage up. In less than half-an-hour they reached the
gully, and peering over the brink, beheld the dark heap in the snow below
that was the object of their search. One glance was sufficient to show
how timely was their coming, for almost encircling the hapless man were
smaller shapes that even at that distance could be readily recognized.
"We're too late!" cried one of the men; "they're wolves." And with a wild
shout he flung himself recklessly down the snowy slope, and others
followed close behind.
Before their tumultuous onset the wolves fled like leaves before the
autumn wind, and poor Johnston, almost dead with pain, cold, and
exhaustion, raising himself a little from the snow, called out in a faint
but joyful tone,--
"Thank God; you've come in time! I thought it was all over with me."