ADRIFT IN THE WILDERNESS
Nowhere, perhaps, except adrift in mid-ocean, is the sense of
loneliness more appalling than to be lost in a labyrinthine forest of
the mighty north. Even upon the ocean there is always the chance of
being picked up by a passing vessel. But lost in the wilderness!
hidden from view, what hope can the stoutest heart entertain of rescue?
Here a man is but a thing of naught, an insect creeping upon the
ground, a mere speck, the veritable plaything of chance.
Reynolds, however, was well hardened to desperate situations. Often in
France he had been alone in "No Man's Land," with death close at hand.
He had never flinched then, and he was determined that he would not do
so now.
"I told Harmon that I like adventure and desperate undertakings," he
mused. "I have certainly enough here to satisfy me for a while. But
it can't be helped, and so I must make the best of it. Rest is what I
need at present, and I am not going to worry about to-morrow. 'One
thing at a time' has been my motto, and I guess it's a good one."
He awoke early the next morning, though the sun was up ahead of him.
He sprang to his feet and peered around. But nothing could he see,
except trees on every side.
"I must get out of this," he muttered, "and strike for the high hills.
Perhaps there I may be able to get my proper bearings. I must find a
breakfast somewhere, but with my scanty supply of ammunition, it is
necessary to be careful."
Picking up his rifle, he started forth, and for several hours moved
steadily onward. Through a break in the forest he had caught sight of
a high hill, and toward this he laboriously made his way. He had to
descend first into a deep valley, where a large wild meadow offered an
inviting feeding-ground for moose. But not a sign of life could he
see, and greatly disappointed he was forced to begin the hard climb up
the opposite side of the hill.
About the middle of the afternoon he succeeded in shooting a rabbit,
which he at once skinned and broiled over a small fire. He was weak
from hunger and hard, anxious travelling, so this food gave him much
refreshment. He ate sparingly, nevertheless, knowing that he might not
be able to procure anything more for supper. With only two cartridges
left, his outlook was far from encouraging.
When the summit of the hill was at length reached, he climbed a large
fir tree from which he was enabled to obtain an excellent view of the
surrounding country. Far off rose great snow-capped mountain peaks,
over which fleecy clouds were lazily drifting. A vast sea of forest
stretched on every side, broken here and there by placid, shimmering
lakes. But which was the one near the camp where Frontier Samson was
no doubt anxiously awaiting the wanderer's return? That was the
question which agitated Reynolds' mind. No sign of human life could he
behold, and he wondered in which direction Big Draw mining camp lay.
So completely had he lost his bearings that he had no idea which was
the right course to pursue. Anyway, it was necessary to keep on the
move, for to remain where he was meant certain death. If he must die,
he would die fighting, game to the very last. Surely beyond some of
those outstanding hills he could find a river, which would bear him out
of that wilderness maze. A high crest to the left looked promising,
and toward this he at once started.
He slept that night in a valley by a little brook which gurgled down to
a lake beyond. The remains of the rabbit served him for supper, and
where was he to obtain his next meal? He had startled several grouse
during the day, and once he detected the plunging of a moose. But
nothing came within the range of his rifle except a few noisy
squirrels, but upon these he did not dare to waste his two remaining
cartridges. In his extremity he would have welcomed the sight of a
bear, and even a grizzly at that. He could then afford to exhaust his
ammunition, as the flesh of a bear would last him for many days. But
no bear had he met, although signs of them were at times abundant,
especially in the valleys.
The next morning in a mood of desperation, he took a long shot at a
flying grouse and missed it. One cartridge now remained, and it was
absolutely necessary to reserve that for something large. Down the
valley lay a big wide meadow, and here he believed he might find a
moose feeding. It was worth trying, at any rate. Walking warily along
the edge of the forest, he was at length rewarded by seeing a fine
animal some distance off on the opposite side of the meadow. Reynolds
instantly stopped, and his hands trembled through the excitement of his
discovery. If he could get a little closer he felt sure that the moose
would be his. But just as he took a few steps forward, the animal
lifted its great head and sniffed the air. There was not a second to
lose, so bringing the rifle to his shoulder, he took a quick aim and
fired. With a startled snort, the moose reared, staggered, and then
with tremendous leaps bounded across the twenty or thirty yards of
intervening meadow and vanished in the forest. Reynolds could hear it
crashing its way among the trees as he hurried out into the open. The
sounds grew fainter and fainter, and finally ceased. The animal had
made good its escape, although evidently wounded.
Reynolds' previous discouragement was nothing to what he experienced
now. He moved mechanically toward the spot where the moose had been
grazing. Why he did so he could not tell. He reached the border of
the forest, and flung himself down upon the grass. With his last
cartridge gone, what chance had he of life? He had been in many a dire
strait in the past, but nothing to equal this. He was face to face
with death, more surely and in a far more terrible form than he had
ever encountered in far off France.
"This is certainly 'No Man's Land,'" he muttered. "I do not believe a
human being ever trod this region before and it is not likely that
anyone will come here during the next one hundred years. And to think
that I missed that shot when my life depended upon it! It must be my
nerves."
A feeling of annoyance swept upon him, and picking up his rifle, he
hurled it among the trees.
"Lie there," he ordered. "You are of no use to me now, and I have no
strength to tote you along."
Then he laughed, and the hollow sound of his voice startled him. He
sprang to his feet and looked around. Why had he laughed? he asked
himself. Was he going out of his mind? He glanced at his hands and
shuddered, so bruised and bleeding were they. His clothes, too, were
in tatters, while his boots were so worn that portions of his feet were
visible.
For a few minutes he stood rigidly still, as if in a dream. The
intense loneliness of the place was appalling. It was unnerving him,
and he was losing control of himself. Suddenly he started and ran as
if for life, back over the track he had recently traversed. He was no
longer the Tom Reynolds who had started forth from Big Draw, but a
denizen of the wilds. The desire for food possessed him. It made him
mad, a demon, ready to fall upon any creature that crossed his path.
He was crafty as well, and reaching the shelter of the forest, he
glided cautiously along the edge of the meadow, up toward the little
brook where he had slept the night before. No tiger creeping through
the jungle moved more stealthily than did he. Nothing escaped his
notice, and he eagerly watched for rabbit or squirrel that he might
pounce upon it.
For some time he thus advanced, but nothing could he see. At length he
came to an opening in the trees, which exposed the brook plainly to
view. His eyes swept the stream, and as they did so they presently
rested upon a black object crouched upon a fallen tree projecting out
over the brook. He recognized it at once as a black bear, watching for
fish. It was lying flat on the log, with one big paw close to the
water waiting for its breakfast.
Reynolds' first impulse was to rush forward and engage the brute in a
deadly conflict. But a natural caution restrained him, and he
accordingly waited to see what would happen. Neither did he have to
wait long, for in a twinkling the big paw struck, the water splashed,
and a shiny form hurtled through the air, and fell several yards away.
And after it sprang the bear, but his body had scarcely left the log
ere Reynolds was bounding toward him with such yells and whoops that
the forest resounded on all sides. Startled and surprised beyond
measure, the bear paused and looked back. Seeing, but not
understanding the strange creature rushing toward him with wildly
waving arms, and emitting such blood-curdling yells, it uttered a
hoarse growl of fear and rage and lumbered off for the shelter of the
forest as fast as its legs would carry it.
Reynolds paid no more attention to the bear than if it had been a gnat,
but sprang greedily upon the fish, which was wriggling and beating
itself around upon the ground. It was a young king-salmon, and
although not large, Reynolds thought it the finest fish he had ever
beheld. It did not take him long to despatch his prize, and in a few
minutes a portion of it was sizzling over a small fire he had lighted.
Never had any food tasted so good, he imagined, and the strength thus
gained brought back his normal state of mind. He felt more like
himself, and ready for another effort to free himself from his
wilderness prison. He even smiled as he thought of the bear's fright
and its ignominious retreat.
"Lost your breakfast, old boy, didn't you?" he called out. "You
weren't expecting company, were you? But I am grateful to you, and
wish you better luck next time."
Taking with him the remainder of the fish, Reynolds once more continued
his journey. The high ridge was a long way off, and before it could be
reached it would be necessary to cross several smaller hills and a
number of valleys. But with strength renewed, he sped onward.
All through the day the heat had been almost over-powering. It poured
its hot rays full upon him, and not a breath of wind stirred the trees.
He was about half way up the high hill when the weather suddenly
changed. The sky darkened, and the wind began to howl through the
forest. Great black clouds massed in vast battalions overhead, and in
less than half an hour the storm burst.
Reynolds had paused on a rocky ledge as the tempest swept upon him.
Never before had he experienced such a storm. It seemed as if the very
windows of heaven had suddenly opened to deluge the earth. He looked
hurriedly around for shelter, and seeing an overhanging portion of
rock, he at once made his way thither, and crouched low for protection.
The rain, however, swirled in after him, forcing him to move farther
back. That he was able to do this surprised him, and feeling with his
hands, he discovered that there was a big open space to the rear, and
that he was at the entrance of a cave, how large he did not know.
Fortunately he was provided with a good supply of matches, so striking
one, he examined his new abode. The brief feeble light showed that the
cave was about a foot higher than his head, and much larger than he had
supposed. He had no inclination to explore it just then, for some dry
sticks lying at his feet arrested his attention. He was hungry after
his hard tramp, so a piece of salmon would be most acceptable.
It did not take him long to light a small fire as near the mouth of the
cave as the rain would permit, and, prepare his meal. The fire felt
good, too, for the air was damp and chilly.
"I might as well spend the night here," he mused, "for even if the
storm does let up, I would only get soaked from the drenched trees.
And, besides, I cannot see anything from the top of the hill until the
clouds roll away and the air clears."
He ate the nicely browned piece of fish, and when he had finished he
leaned comfortably back, filled and lighted his pipe. This was the
first time he had thought of smoking since leaving Frontier Samson. He
wondered where the old prospector was, and whether he was hunting
frantically for his lost companion. His mind turned naturally to Glen.
He was farther from her now than ever, and should he see her again?
The thought of her had stimulated him during his recent terrible
experiences. Over and over again she seemed to be standing by his
side, urging him to go on, and renewing his fainting spirits. He
pictured her now as he had last seen her at the top of that steep
trail, mounted upon her horse. He recalled for the thousandth time her
clear musical voice, the bright flash of her eyes, and the deep flush
which had mantled her cheeks at the mention of Curly's name.
"I must find her," he emphatically declared, as he stirred up the
dwindling fire, and added a couple of sticks. "I expected to be with
her before this, but here I am, lodged like a bear in this dismal hole."
He glanced around the cave, and as he did so, he gave a sudden start.
Something in one side of the wall where the fire-light fell attracted
his attention. It made his heart beat fast, and brought him to his
feet in an instant. His hand reached up and touched it. Then he
quickly struck a match, and examined it more carefully. Yes, he was
right, and he had made no mistake. It was gold!