THE BLIZZARD
Even after the dogs were harnessed and ready to start the following
morning Martin hesitated.
“There’s a storm brewing,” he said. “The moon and the stars showed
it last night, and I can feel it in the air this morning. But we may
be able to get across before it strikes us, and I suppose we’ve got
to chance it.”
To Larry the old hunter’s apprehensions seemed absurd. The sun was
glaring brightly over the tree tops, and across the glistening crust
of the open plain the trees on the other side could be seen as a low
gray line, apparently close at hand. Surely those trees would be
reached before any storm settled over this clear day.
The hauling was much easier, too, on the smooth, level crust, so
different from the rough woodlands. Indeed, Larry’s toboggan seemed
to move so lightly that the boy stopped and examined his load after
he had been traveling a few minutes. He found, to his surprise, that
fully half his load had been transferred to Martin’s toboggan. The
discovery made his heart go out anew to the old man now rushing
ahead in feverish haste over the crust, and he put every ounce of
strength into keeping up the pace.
At the end of two hours the gray line ahead had become broad and
well-defined, while the line of trees behind them had dwindled to a
low gray streak on the horizon. But meanwhile the sun had turned to
a dull red ball and the wind had shifted into their faces. It took
no practiced eye now to see that a storm was approaching. But no one
unfamiliar with an arctic blizzard could conceive the fury of such a
storm as the one that broke half an hour later.
Squarely in their faces the wind struck them with such force that
even the dogs turned instinctively to avoid it, and to shield
themselves from the cutting, sand-like snow that was driven before
it. The temperature, too, dropped with inconceivable rapidity, and
the cold penetrated Larry’s thick clothing so that his skin tingled
despite the fact that he was exerting himself to the utmost, and a
moment before had been hot from his efforts. He closed his eyes for
a moment to shield them, and instantly the lashes were frozen
together. Unable to proceed he turned his back to the blast to rub
them open, and when he succeeded in doing so he found that Martin’s
sledge was completely blotted out by the storm, so that he was not
sure even of its location.
In a panic he realized the seriousness of his situation and rushed
forward in a frenzied effort to overtake his leader, shouting as he
struggled with the load. But his voice scarcely carried to the
struggling Kim, being drowned in the howl of the storm. He still had
enough command of his senses to remember that the wind was blowing
from dead ahead. But now, for some reason he did not understand, Kim
refused to face the blast squarely, but persisted obstinately in
turning almost at right angles to the left. In vain Larry shouted,
and kicked at the dog in desperation with his snow-shoe, but the
wind caught the clumsy framework, tripping the boy face downward
into the icy snow which cut and bruised his face.
Choking and gasping for breath he struggled to his feet again now
forcing his way forward blindly in the vague hope of stumbling upon
the elusive Martin. He was numb with the cold and exhausted by his
violent efforts; and while he strove to face the blast, he found
himself turning instinctively from it, while Kim, with seeming
perversity strained at the traces, first in one direction and then
another.
For a few minutes this struggle continued, and then a feeling of
irresistible drowsiness came over the boy. Standing with his back to
the wind he no longer felt the keen bite of the cold; and as he was
able to accomplish nothing by trying to go forward, he crouched down
behind the toboggan, mindful of Martin’s oft-repeated instructions
to keep moving to avoid freezing, but too much overcome to heed it.
Meanwhile the old hunter was in a far more distressed state of mind.
When the storm struck he had turned and shouted to Larry to keep
close to the tail of his toboggan, meanwhile fumbling to get his
compass from his pocket, for he knew that only the needle could hold
him to his course. It was just at this time that Larry’s lashes had
frozen together, and he had stopped to rub them open, so that he did
not overtake Martin’s sledge as the old man expected. And when the
old hunter looked up from fumbling with the compass a moment later,
the storm had blotted out the boy completely.
Instantly the old man brought his dog about to return to the other
sled, which was at most thirty yards away; but the heavy load,
clogged by the snow, moved slowly, and by the time he reached what
he felt sure must be the spot where Larry had stood the boy had
vanished. He was indeed only a few feet away, struggling desperately
with Kim who instinctively was striving to reach the other toboggan;
but in that storm an object thirty feet away was as completely
blotted out as if the interval had been miles instead of feet.
Martin knew that in a very short time the boy, struggling aimlessly
in the storm, would be overcome and frozen, and he realized that his
chance of finding him was desperate, as he could neither hear nor
see anything two yards ahead. His only hope lay in the sagacity of
the dog. So without a moment’s hesitation at the terrible risk he
was taking he cut the traces freeing the dog from his sled, and,
leaving the load of precious supplies standing where it was, sent
the animal ahead, holding the leash to restrain it. Guided by the
compass he began walking in narrowing circles, trusting to the dog
to find its mate should they pass near it. If he succeeded he could
weather the storm by the aid of the supplies on the boy’s toboggan.
If he failed?--well, the storm would shorten the end mercifully; and
the boy would have gone on before him.
For half an hour he fought his circular course through the storm,
Jack plodding ahead, crouched down to resist the blast. Then the
animal suddenly straightened up on its legs, and plunged off to one
side barking excitedly, and jerking Martin after him. A few short
leaps brought them to where Larry lay curled down behind the
toboggan.
Kim, who had been curled up beside the boy, sprang up to meet his
mate, jerking Larry about in his excitement, as they were still
fastened together in harness. But even this violent shaking only
roused the boy for a moment, who dropped back into a doze
immediately.
The situation confronting Martin was desperate. Larry was rapidly
freezing, and as the nearest shelter of the woods was several miles
away, it was useless to attempt to reach it. The only alternative
was to try to make such shelter as he could with the supplies on
Larry’s sled. Fortunately in distributing the packs the day before
he had put the tent on Larry’s toboggan, and now he conceived a plan
for using it, although it would be sheer madness to attempt to pitch
it in a gale that almost blew the dogs off their feet at times.
First of all he pulled out Larry’s fur sleeping bag and, crouching
behind the load, managed to get the stupified boy into it, twisting
the top of the bag over his head so that the boy’s own breath would
help warm him. Then he took out the tent, standing with his back to
the blast and with the toboggan load in front of him, he gradually
worked it over one end of the load and under the sled.
It will be remembered that this tent was made with the floor cloth
sewn firmly to the side walls so that it was in effect a great bag.
Martin worked the opening of this bag around the sled, fighting
fiercely against the gale, and then forced the sled into the bottom,
turning it at right angles to the wind. In this way he formed a
barrier on the inside of the low tent. Then he pushed Larry in his
sleeping bag inside, and he and the dogs crawled in and huddled
together. Next he gathered together the loose edges of the opening
of the tent and tied them with the guy ropes, thus shutting out the
storm on every side and amply protected on the side where the wind
was fiercest by the loaded sled.
The old hunter, accustomed to severe cold, and heated by his
exertions, was warm and comfortable for the moment, at least, in
this nest; and the dogs found their lodgings so agreeable that they
licked the snow from between their toes, and soon curled up for a
nap. But Larry still remained motionless, and when Martin felt
inside the bag he found his face cold. Evidently the little warmth
left in the boy’s body was not sufficient to warm him back to life,
even in the sleepng bag.
Closing the bag again to retain what warmth there was inside, Martin
ripped open the lacings of the sled, and fumbling about found
Larry’s tin cup, a tin plate, and the little box containing the
cubes of “solid alcohol.” Placing one of these on the bottom of an
overturned tin plate the old hunter struck a match and lighted it,
keeping the dish between his outspread knees to prevent the dogs
knocking against it, and using his rifle as a tent pole to raise the
canvas as high as possible. It was a hazardous thing to do, as they
were all crowded into a space so small there was scarcely room for
all of them to curl up together, to say nothing of space for
starting a fire. But Larry’s case was desperate: Martin must find
some way of warming him. And even a very tiny flame in that closely
packed space would soon do this.
As the little blue flame grew larger and flickered upwards, the dogs
instinctively drew away from it, crowding close to the tent walls,
in this way leaving Martin a little more elbow room. It also gave
him an opportunity carefully to work loose part of the fastening so
as to make an opening a few inches long on the leeward side of the
tent for ventilation. For as the tent cloth was practically air
tight the flame and the breath from four pairs of lungs quickly made
the atmosphere stifling. But Martin did not wait for this warmth
alone to start up the boy’s flagging circulation. He scooped a tin
cup full of snow, reaching through the ventilating slit, and holding
this over the flame, melted and warmed it.
Each little cube was supposed to burn for ten minutes, and give out
an amount of heat entirely disproportionate to its size. But the
first cube had burned itself out and a second one was half consumed
before Martin secured half a cup of steaming hot water. Meanwhile
Larry had not roused, although his face was warmer and he was
breathing more naturally. A few sips of the hot water forced between
his lips, however, roused him quickly; and by the time he had
swallowed the contents of the cup the color had come back to his
cheeks.
The hot water warmed his tingling body like magic, and by the time
the third cube was burned out his cheeks were pink and even the tips
of his fingers warm. But Martin was not satisfied with this. He dug
out some lumps of pemmican, heated them in the flame, and fed him
the bits as they became warm, occasionally taking a mouthful
himself, and giving some to the dogs as a reward for good behavior.
By the time the last cube had burned itself out they had all made a
hearty meal, and Larry was feeling like himself again, warm and
comfortable in the fur bag.
But now Martin found himself in a dilemma. His own sleeping bag was
somewhere on his sled lost in the blizzard; and while his clothing
was warm, he soon realized that it would not be enough protection to
keep him from freezing in a few hours, now that the cubes were all
gone. There was only one thing to be done: he must wedge himself in
beside the boy and share his warm bag until the storm subsided.
Luckily for him the bag was a full-sized one like his own. So that
by dint of much wriggling and squeezing he managed to crawl in
beside the boy and pull the folds over his head, although it was
such a tight fit that neither of them could move when it was finally
accomplished.
They were warm, however, and other discomforts were a minor
consideration. And in a few moments all hands were sleeping soundly
while the storm raged about their little tent. All the rest of that
day and well into the night it roared incessantly. Then gradually it
began to abate in fury, and finally “blew itself out” as Martin
said. By sunrise there was scarcely a breath of air stirring, but
everything creaked and sparkled in the cold.
Getting out of the bag proved to be almost as hard a task as getting
into it, but the old hunter finally worked his arms free and then
crawled out, pulling the boy after him. Both were stiff and lame
from lying in the cramped position, but they were soon limbered up
by dancing about to keep warm while they gnawed at the frozen
pemmican and packed the sled.
Fortunately the fury of the wind had swept the plain clear of new
snow as fast as it had fallen on the glassy crust, so that the few
elevations on its surface were easily seen. One of these a quarter
of a mile away proved to be Martin’s sled, clear of snow on the
windward side, with a long pointed bank slanting off to leeward. So
that in half an hour’s time they had recovered it, harnessed the
dogs, and were making their way as quickly as possible to the edge
of the woods for which they were aiming the day before.
The distance proved to be short--only a scant three miles. But Larry
was still weak, and was tottering and almost exhausted when they
finally wallowed through the snowbanks at the edge of the great
spruce forest. He had said nothing to Martin of his weakness, but
the old man had been watching him out of the corner of his eye and
was well aware of his condition.
As soon as they reached an open space among the trees, therefore,
Martin stopped and made a roaring fire, while Larry sat on his sled
and rested, watching the old man brewing tea and cooking a hot meal.
His legs ached and his head swam a little, although he was beginning
to feel more like his old self by the time their breakfast was over.
But the thought of the weary hours of toil through the woods was
almost intolerable; and he was ready to cry for joy when Martin
announced that he “was going to look around for a camp,” leaving the
boy to toast his shins by the fire. “And I may find something to
shoot while I’m looking,” the old hunter added as he started on his
search.
In half an hour Martin returned fairly beaming at his success. He
had found no game, but he had stumbled upon a camping place which he
announced was “the best in all Canada.” “And these woods are full of
game, too,” he added.
The camping place which Martin had discovered was indeed an ideal,
as well as a very unusual one. It was a natural excavation under the
south side of an overhanging ledge of rock which was so protected
from the wind that only a thin layer of snow covered its rock floor.
A roaring fire built at the entrance warmed the hollowed out space
like a great room, and Larry found that the old hunter had started
such a fire and left it to warm things up while he returned for the
toboggans. It seemed a sylvan paradise to the exhausted boy.
The hunter watched the boy slyly as they stood in the warm glow by
the fire. “Perhaps you’d rather go on than to stop here over
to-morrow,” he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.
For answer the boy threw off his heavy coat, went over to his
toboggan, and began unfastening Kim and unpacking his load. And
Martin with a little laugh followed his example.
“You’ll stay and keep house to-morrow,” he explained as he worked,
“while I go out and have a try at some of this fresh meat that is
running loose around here. We need a supply to take the place of
what we’ve eaten in the last week, and I never saw a likelier place
for getting it, judging by the signs.”
All the afternoon the tireless old man worked laying in a supply of
fuel and making things snug, not allowing the boy to help, but
making him “tend camp” lying on a pile of warm furs beside the fire.