THE JOURNEY THROUGH THE FOREST
“My goodness, boy,” the old hunter said the next morning at
breakfast, “I do wish you could handle a pair of snow-shoes. We’d
start for home to-morrow, if you could. For the crust is perfect,
and the weather is settled for a spell I think. But there’s no use
starting until we can make good time every hour, so we’ll spend
another week letting you learn to use the snow-shoes, and getting
the kinks out of your legs.”
Larry made no reply but munched his bacon and biscuit, occasionally
handing a bit to Kim who sat near, watching expectantly. As soon as
breakfast was finished, Martin brought our two pairs of snow-shoes
and strapped one pair to his own feet, instructing Larry to follow
his example. Then he showed the boy how to take the swinging,
gliding steps, sliding one shoe past the other with the peculiar leg
motion that shot the shoe ahead without getting tangled up with its
mate.
“Now watch me while I run out to that tree and back, and try to do
as I do when you start,” he instructed. And with that he struck out,
the two dogs running beside him, barking excitedly, for they seemed
to know the significance of snow-shoes, and were eager for a run
through the woods.
The tree Martin had indicated was about a hundred yards away, and
the old hunter covered the distance at top speed, exhilarated as a
boy trying his skates on the first ice of the winter. He did not
stop when the tree was reached, but turned sharply to one side so as
to circle it. As he did so Larry passed the tree on the other side,
running like a veteran, trying to beat him, and bursting with
suppressed laughter. “I’ll race you to the top of the hill and
back,” the boy shouted exultantly.
But the old man, in his astonishment, bumped into a sapling and came
to a full stop.
“Where in the world did you learn to use snow-shoes like that?” he
asked, when Larry had swung around to him.
“Oh, in the Adirondacks that winter,” Larry answered, trying to seem
as if knowing how to use snow-shoes was the most ordinary thing in
the world.
“But why didn’t you _say_ so?” Martin persisted, his face beaming.
“Well, you never asked me,” said Larry. “I came within one of
telling you last night, but I just thought I’d save it and surprise
you.”
“Well, you sure did surprise me,” the old hunter said; “the very
best surprise I have had since I can remember. Why, I woke up half a
dozen times last night worrying because we would have to wait so
long because you had to learn to use the shoes before we could
start. And here you knew how all the time. You can run like an
Indian, Larry.”
“Well, I can run pretty good,” Larry admitted modestly. “I beat all
the boys in the Christmas races up there last year, and one of them
was an Indian boy, at that.”
“I’ll bet you did,” Martin exclaimed with admiration. “Why, I was
going at a pretty good clip myself just now, and yet you were at my
heels. Face about and back to the tent we go, for now we have a new
day’s work before us, and to-morrow we head for home.”
Saying this Martin turned and ran for the camp, Larry doing his best
to keep up; but he finished twenty feet behind. It is one thing to
beat a crowd of boys on snow-shoes, but quite another to have a
competitor who could show his heels to every man in the whole North
Country.
And now everything was arranged exactly as if they were making their
start in earnest. The sledges were loaded with infinite care, and
the dogs harnessed in their places, one dog to each toboggan. Larry
was to have Kim under his charge, and to pull in harness with the
dog; for Kim was not only the stronger dog of the two, but also the
one most easily managed.
Martin had made harnesses for himself and Larry, with broad draw
straps over the shoulders and across the chest, so that the weight
of the body was thrown into the harness as they bent forward in
walking. The old hunter harnessed himself in front of his dog, so as
to choose the course, set the pace, and break the trail all at the
same time. But he instructed Larry to harness himself next his
toboggan and behind Kim.
By this arrangement the old man worked out a shrewdly conceived
plan. He knew that Kim would always strive to keep up with the sled
just ahead of him, for that is the nature of the malamoot when
sledging. This would force the boy to keep up the pace, no matter
how tired and leg weary he might be. At the same time it gave Larry
the benefit of a thoroughly broken-out trail every step of the way--a
thing the boy learned to appreciate within an hour.
Before starting Martin built up a rousing fire to keep the camp
kettle boiling, and then with a shout struck out into the forest. At
first he went almost in a straight course, and at a pace that made
Larry open his eyes in amazement. Was _this_ the speed they would
have to keep up hour after hour? Then the old man made wide circles,
bending first one way and then the other, until they had been going
about an hour and a half. Now he stopped and asked the panting,
perspiring Larry, how he would take a short-cut to camp.
“Good gracious, I don’t know!” said the boy.
“Well, I didn’t expect you would,” Martin said quietly; “but I’m
going to let you steer us back to it all the same. Take your compass
and lead us straight northeast and you’ll land us there. It will be
good practice for you. And mind you, keep up the pace.”
Larry now changed places with Kim, taking the lead as Martin had
done, got out his compass, and they were off again. The country was
fairly open, so that while he was guided by the little instrument,
he really steered by landmarks, as Martin had instructed him.
Usually the landmark was some tree some distance away that stood
exactly in line with the northeast mark indicated by the compass.
This tree would then be the boy’s goal until he reached it, when
some other mark further on would be selected. In this way the
instrument was only brought into use every half mile or so, a much
easier method than constantly watching the dial.
The old hunter offered no suggestions about the route, he and Jack
simply plodding along in the procession. But Larry, upon whom the
brunt of everything had now fallen, had hard work to keep his
flagging legs moving along at a rate that would satisfy the members
of his rear guard. He was surprised that they did not come across
some marks of the trail they had made on the way out even after they
had been plodding for a full three-quarters of an hour. This made
him apprehensive that Martin was letting him take them out of their
course, for some reason of his own. He was astonished, therefore,
suddenly to come in sight of their camp dead ahead, and not over a
quarter of a mile away. The compass had given him a short-cut from
Martin’s purposely bending course.
As soon as the dogs sighted the camp they began barking wildly and
tugging at the traces in their eagerness to reach it; and Larry,
whose legs were flagging sadly, felt all weariness disappear in the
excitement of finishing the run. So, shouting and laughing, with
both dogs leaping and barking, the two teams raced into camp neck
and neck.
They rested a few minutes, and then began making final preparations
for an early start the next day. They visited the yacht and found
that she was packed thick in a huge bank of ice that had formed upon
her, and been banked about her by the waves, so that she was
practically frozen in for the winter. Then they strengthened all the
fastenings of the canvas under which the provisions and supplies
were stored, and Martin cut several strips of canvas and tied them
with short pieces of rope to trees a few feet away and all about the
heap, where they would blow about in the wind and frighten any
inquisitive prowlers, particularly foxes.
“But what is the use of going to all that trouble, Martin?” Larry
asked. “We will never come back to this place, and probably no one
else will come here, so all this work is for nothing it seems to
me.”
The old hunter smiled and shook his head. “That’s the way I should
have talked at your age,” he said. “But I have learned that many
things in this world turn out very differently from what we expect,
and so I always plan for the very worst that can possibly happen.
And it will be a comfort for me to know that there is a big cache of
supplies waiting here in case we have to come back, although I
haven’t the faintest idea of doing so.”
When the canvasses had been secured to Martin’s satisfaction he made
the fastenings all about their camp secure in the same way. For he
had decided not to take their present tent with them, but in its
place a smaller one, made with a stout canvas bottom sewed fast to
the rest of the tent, so that the whole thing resembled a huge bag.
There were several advantages in this arrangement. It provided a
dry, clean floor, kept the wind from creeping in, and obviated the
likelihood of losing small articles at the camp site that might
otherwise be overlooked and left behind on breaking camp. Moreover,
it insured the tent not being blown from over their heads in a gale
should the fastenings give way--a very important thing when passing
through a barren, windswept country.
Then they made a final inspection of the toboggan loads, unpacking
them and re-packing them carefully, Martin enjoining the boy to
memorize every article and where it could be found on each sledge.
This would save them much useless hunting, and overhauling, and
disarranging of the loads. And so when night came they were all
ready for the early start the next morning.
At daylight they were off on their race for life--just how grim and
serious an undertaking Larry was to learn before the day was over.
For now it was plod, plod, plod, Martin setting the pace and
breaking the trail, keeping up an even swing forward regardless of
obstacles. Long before midday Larry realized the magnitude of their
undertaking; for Martin allowed no pause, no resting to catch up
lost breath. It was on, and on, every step ahead being counted
precious gain through the unknown stretch of wilderness.
At noon they stopped, the dogs dropping in their tracks, and Larry
stretched his aching legs on his load while Martin boiled a pot of
tea and heated up their lunch. But in half an hour they were back in
the harness again, trudging on silently. Even the dogs seemed to
realize that they must do their utmost, straining at the traces all
the time, with noses pointed straight ahead, but wasting no energy
in useless looking about at interesting objects along the trail as
they had always done on their previous journeys.
By the middle of the afternoon even the dogs showed signs of
fatigue, as the loads were heavy, and despite every effort he could
make, Martin’s speed was gradually slackening. By this time Kim was
obliged to haul his load practically without aid from Larry, whose
legs were tottering. Yet the boy pushed his feet ahead mechanically,
watching the slowly descending sun, and hoping the old hunter would
soon decide to stop for the night. But it was not until just before
sunset that the old man halted and selected a place for their camp.
His first provision for the night was to help Larry set up the tent;
then he took his snares and went off into the woods to set them,
instructing Larry to get in a good supply of wood and a big heap of
boughs for their bed. “We can cook and eat after dark, you know,” he
said, “but these other things have to be done in daylight.”
Fortunately for the boy boughs and wood were close at hand, for he
was fagged and exhausted beyond expression. He knew what Martin had
said to him about “getting accustomed to it in a few days” was
probably true, and this helped him keep up his courage; but there is
a limit to muscular endurance even when backed by the highest
quality of will-power. He managed to collect the wood and the
boughs, however, by the time Martin returned, and the old man found
him lying on the heap of boughs, sleeping the sleep of complete
exhaustion.
The six days following were practically repetitions of the first--a
ceaseless grind of hard work through the timber. Martin, although a
tough and seasoned veteran, began to show the effects of the strain,
while Larry had become an automaton, who performed the three
functions of working, eating, and sleeping mechanically. There were
no talks beside the camp-fire now before turning in, neither man nor
boy having enough surplus energy left at the end of the day to
indulge in more conversation than was absolutely necessary. Both had
settled down to their grim work, more and more of which Martin had
taken upon himself as they proceeded; and every day the boy had
reason to be thankful to the tough old woodsman for little acts of
kindness and thoughtfulness. But his efforts left the old man too
tired for useless conversation even if Larry had cared to listen.
At noon on the seventh day the woods thinned out into scraggly
trees, and an hour later the travelers emerged upon a flat, and
apparently treeless plain. Here Martin called a halt and left Larry
and the dogs while he took observations. In a few minutes he
returned, but instead of fastening on his harness he sat down beside
Larry on the sled.
“It isn’t as bad as it might be,” he said, “but it is bad enough, at
that. I can make out the outline of the fringe of trees on the other
side from the top of a big rock over yonder, and I think it is only
ten miles over to them. But I’m not sure, for distances are
deceptive in this country. So we’ll camp here now and get an early
start in the morning.”
Then he added, with a grim smile, “I guess you won’t mind the six
hours’ extra rest.”
They made their camp accordingly in a clump of trees, and Larry and
the dogs slept and rested, while the old hunter arranged for the
next day’s run. This consisted in rearranging the loads, examining
and mending harnesses and sled lashings, besides performing Larry’s
usual task of gathering wood and boughs, not rousing the tired boy
until a hot supper was ready. And when Larry had gorged himself,
Martin sent him back to his sleeping bag to get more rest without
waiting to help about cleaning up the supper pans and pots.