The Fight with Nature
Dick realized suddenly that he was very cold. The terrible
pursuit was over, ending mortally for the pursuer, but he was
menaced by a new danger. Sheltered though his little valley was,
he could, nevertheless, freeze to death in it with great ease.
In fact, he had begun already to shiver, and he noticed that
while his feet were dry, the snow at last had soaked through his
deerskin leggings and he was wet from knee to ankle. The snow
had ceased, although a white mist hovered in a great circle and
the chill of the wind was increasing steadily. He must have a
fire or die.
He resumed his search, plunging into the snow banks under the
cottonwoods and other trees, and at last he brought out dead
boughs, which he broke into short pieces and piled in a heap in
the center of the open space. The wood was damp on the outside,
of course, but he expected nothing better and was not discouraged.
Selecting a large, well-seasoned piece, he carefully cut away all
the wet outside with his strong hunting knife. Then he whittled
off large quantities of dry shavings, put them under the heap of
boughs, and took from his inside a pocket a small package of
lucifer matches.
Dick struck one of the matches across the heel of his shoe. No
spark leaped up. Instead, his heart sank down, sank further,
perhaps, than it had ever done before in his life. The match was
wet. He took another from the pocket; it, too, was wet, and the
next and the next and all. The damp from the snow, melted by the
heat of his body, had penetrated his buckskin coat, although in
the excitement of pursuit and combat he had not noticed it.
Dick was in despair. He turned to the snow a face no less
white. Had he escaped all the dangers of the Sioux for this? To
freeze to death merely because he did not have a dry lucifer
match? The wind was still rising and it cut to his very marrow.
Reality and imagination were allied, and Dick was almost
overpowered. He angrily thrust the wet little package of matches
back into the inside pocket of his coat--his border training in
economy had become so strong that even in the moment of despair
he would throw away nothing--and his hand in the pocket came
into contact with something else, small, hard, and polished.
Dick instantly felt a violent revulsion from despair to hope.
The small object was a sunglass. That wagon train was well
equipped. Dick had made salvage of two sunglasses, and in a
moment of forethought had given one to Albert, keeping the other
for himself, each agreeing then and there to carry his always for
the moment of need that might come.
Dick drew out the sunglass and fingered it as one would a diamond
of great size. Then he looked up. A brilliant sun was shining
beyond white, misty clouds, but its rays came through them dim
and weak. The mists or, rather, cloudy vapor might lift or thin,
and in that chance lay the result of his fight for life. While
he waited a little, he stamped up and down violently, and threw
his arms about with energy. It did not have much effect. The
wet, cold, the raw kind that goes through, was in him and, despite
all the power of his will, he shivered almost continually. But he
persisted for a half hour and then became conscious of an increasing
brightness about him. The white mist was not gone, but it was
thinning greatly, and the rays of the sun fell on the snow brilliant
and strong.
Dick took the dry stick again and scraped off particles of wood
so fine that they were almost a power. He did not stop until he
had a little heap more than an inch high. Meanwhile, the sun's
rays, pouring through the whitish mist, continued to grow fuller
and stronger.
Dick carefully polished the glass and held it at the right angle
between the touchwood, that is, the scrapings, and the sun. The
rays passing through the glass increased many times in power and
struck directly upon the touchwood. Dick crouched over the wood
in order to protect it from the wind, and watched, his breath
constricted, while his life waited on the chance.
A minute, two minutes, three minutes, five passed and then a
spark appeared in the touchwood, and following it came a tiny
flame. Dick shouted with joy and shifted his body a little to
put shavings on the touchwood. An ill wind struck the feeble
blaze, which was not yet strong enough to stand fanning into
greater life, and it went out, leaving a little black ash to mark
where the touchwood had been.
Dick's nerves were so much overwrought that he cried aloud again,
and now it was a cry of despair, not of joy. He looked at the
little black ash as if his last chance were gone, but his despair
did not last long. He seized the dry stick again and scraped off
another little pile of touchwood. Once more the sunglass and
once more the dreadful waiting, now longer than five minutes and
nearer ten, while Dick waited in terrible fear, lest the sun
itself should fail him, and go behind impenetrable clouds.
But the second spark came and after it, as before, followed the
little flame. No turning aside now to allow a cruel chance to an
ill wind. Instead, he bent down his body more closely than ever
to protect the vital blaze, and, reaching out one cautious arm,
fed it first with the smallest of the splinters, and then with
the larger in an ascending scale.
Up leaped the flames, red and strong. Dick's body could not
wholly protect them now, but they fought for themselves. When
the wind shrieked and whipped against them, they waved back
defiance, and the more the wind whipped them, the higher and
stronger they grew.
The victory was with the flames, and Dick fed them with wood,
almost with his body and soul, and all the time as the wind bent
them over they crackled and ate deeper and deeper into the wood.
He could put on damp wood now. The flames merely leaped out,
licked up the melted snow with a hiss and a sputter, and
developed the stick in a mass of glowing red.
Dick fed his fire a full half hour, hunting continually in the
snow under the trees for brushwood and finding much of it, enough
to start a second fire at the far end of the sheltered place,
with more left in reserve. He spent another half hour heaping up
the snow as a bulwark about his den, and then sat down between
the two fires to dry and warm, almost to roast himself.
It was the first time that Dick understood how much pleasure
could be drawn from a fire alone. What beautiful red and yellow
flames! What magnificent glowing coals! What a glorious thing
to be there, while the wind above was howling over the snowy and
forlorn plain! His clothes dried rapidly. He no longer
shivered. The grateful warmth penetrated every fiber of him and
it seemed strange now that he should have been in despair only an
hour ago. Life was a wonderful and brilliant thing. There was
no ache in his bones, and the first tingling of his hands, ears,
and nose he had relieved with the application of wet snow. Now
he felt only comfort.
After a while Dick ate again of his jerked buffalo meat, and with
the food, warmth, and rest, he began to feel sleepy. He plunged
into the snow, hunted out more wood to add to his reserve, and
then, with the two blankets, the Indian's and his own, wrapped
about him, sat down where the heat of the two fires could reach
him from either side, and with a heap of the wood as a rest for
his back.
Dick did not really intend to go to sleep, but he had been
through great labors and dangers and had been awake long. He
drew up one of the blankets until it covered all of his head and
most of his face, and began to gaze into the coals of the larger
fire. The wind--and it was now so cold that the surface of the
snow was freezing--still whistled over him, but the blanket
protected his head from its touch. The whistle instead increased
his comfort like the patter of rain on a roof to him who is dry
inside.
The fire had now burned down considerable and the beds of coals
were large and beautiful. They enveloped Dick in their warmth
and cheer and began to pain splendid words of hope for him. He
could read what they said in glowing letters, but the singular
feeling of peace and rest deepened all the while. He wondered
vaguely that one could be so happy.
The white snow became less white, the red fire less red, and a
great gray mist came floating down over Dick's eyes. Up rose a
shadowy world in which all things were vague and wavering. Then
the tired lids dropped down, the gray mist gave way to a soft
blackness, and Dick sank peacefully into the valley of sleep.
The boy slept heavily hour after hour, with his hooded head sunk
upon his knees, and his rifle lying across his lap, while over
him shrieked the coldest wind of the great northwestern plains.
The surface of the frozen ground presented a gleaming sheet like
ice, over which the wind acquired new strength and a sharper
edge, but the boy in his alcove remained safe and warm. Now and
then a drift of fine snowy particles that would have stung like
small shot was blown over the barrier, but they only stuck upon
the thick folds of the blankets and the boy slept on. The white
mist dissolved. The sun poured down beams brilliantly cold and
hard, and over them was the loom of the mountains, but the boy
knew nothing of them, nor cared.
The fires ceased to flame and became great masses of glowing
coals that would endure long. The alcove was filled with the
grateful warmth, and when the sun was in the zenith, Dick still
slept, drawing long, regular breaths from a deep strong chest.
The afternoon grew and waned, twilight came over the desolate
snow fields, the loom of the mountains was gone, and the twilight
gave way to an icy night.
When Dick awoke it was quite dark, save for the heaps of coals
which still glowed and threw out warmth. He felt at first a
little wonderment that he had slept so long, but he was not
alarmed. His forethought and energy had provided plenty of wood
and he threw on fresh billets. Once more the flames leaped up to
brighten and to cheer, and Dick, walking to the edge of his snow
bank, looked over. The wind had piled up the snow there
somewhat higher before the surface froze, and across the barrier
he gazed upon some such scene as one might behold near the North
Pole. He seemed to be looking over ice fields that stretched
away to infinity, and the wind certainly had a voice that was a
compound of chill and desolation.
It was so solemn and weird that Dick was glad to duck down again
into his den, and resume the seat where he had slept so long. He
ate a little and then tried to slumber again, but he had already
slept so much that he remained wide awake. He opened his eyes
and let them stay open, after several vain efforts.
The moonlight now came out with uncommon brilliancy and the
plain glittered. But it was the coldest moon that Dick had
ever seen. He began to feel desolate and lonely again, and,
since he could not sleep, he longed for something to do.
Then the knowledge came to him. He put on fresh wood, and
between firelight and moonlight he could see everything
clearly.
Satisfied with his light, Dick took from his pocket the History
of the United States that was accompanying him so strangely in
his adventures, and began to study it. He looked once more at
the map of the Rocky Mountain territories, and judged that he was
in Southern Montana. Although his curiosity as to the exact spot
in which he lay haunted him, there was no way to tell, and
turning the leaves away from the map, he began to read.
It was chance, perhaps, that made him open at the story that
never grows old to American youth--Valley Forge. It was not a
great history, it had no brilliant and vivid style, but the
simple facts were enough for Dick. He read once more of the last
hope of the great man, never greater than then, praying in the
snow, and his own soul leaped at the sting of example. He was
only a boy, obscure, unknown, and the fate of but two rested with
him, yet he, too, would persevere, and in the end his triumph
also would be complete. He read no further, but closed the book
and returned it carefully to his pocket. Then he stared into the
fire, which he built up higher that the cheerful light might
shine before him.
Dick did not hide from himself even now the dangers of his
position. He was warm and sheltered for the present, he had
enough of the jerked buffalo to last several days, but sooner or
later he must leave his den and invade the snowy plain with its
top crust of ice. This snow might last two or three weeks or a
month. It was true that spring had come, but it was equally
true, as so often happens in the great Northwest, that spring had
refused to stay.
Dick tried now to see the mountains. The night was full of
brilliant moonlight, but the horizon was too limited; it ended
everywhere, a black wall against the snow, and still speculating
and pondering, Dick at last fell asleep again.
When the boy awoke it was another clear, cold day, with the wind
still blowing, and there in the northwest he joyously saw the
white line of the mountains. He believed that he could recognize
the shape of certain peaks and ridges, and he fixed on a spot in
the blue sky which he was sure overhung Castle Howard.
Dick saw now that he had been going away from the mountains. He
was certainly farther than he had been when he first met the
Sioux, and it was probable that he had been wandering then in an
irregular course, with its general drift toward the southwest.
The mountains in the thin, high air looked near, but his
experience of the West told him that they were far, forty miles
perhaps, and the tramp that lay before him was a mighty
undertaking. He prepared for it at once.
He cut a stout stick that would serve as a cane, looked carefully
to the security of his precious sun glass, and bidding his little
den, which already had begun to wear some of the aspects of a
home, a regretful farewell, started through the deep snow.
He had wrapped his head in the Indian's blanket, covering
everything but eyes, nose, and mouth, and he did not suffer
greatly from the bitter wind. But it was weary work breaking the
way through the snow, rendered all the more difficult by the icy
crust on top. The snow rose to his waist and he broke it at
first with his body, but by and by he used the stick, and thus he
plodded on, not making much more than a mile an hour.
Dick longed now for the shelter of the warm den. The cold wind,
despite the protection of the blanket, began to seek out the
crannies in it and sting his face. He knew that he was wet again
from ankle to knee, but he struggled resolutely on, alike for the
sake of keeping warm and for the sake of shortening the
distance. Yet there were other difficulties than those of the
snow. The ground became rough. Now and then he would go
suddenly through the treacherous snow into an old buffalo wallow
or a deep gully, and no agility could keep him from falling on
his face or side. This not only made him weary and sore, but it
was a great trial to his temper also, and the climax came when he
went through the snow into a prairie brook and came out with his
shoes full of water.
Dick shivered, stamped his feet violently, and went on painfully
breaking his way through the snow. He began to have that dull
stupor of mind and body again. He could see nothing on the
surface of the white plain save himself. The world was entirely
desolate. But if the Sioux were coming a second time he did not
care. He was amused at the thought of the Sioux coming. There
were hidden away somewhere in some snug valley, and were too
sensible to venture upon the plain.
Late in the afternoon the wind became so fierce, and Dick was so
tired, that he dug a hole in the deepest snow bank he could find,
wrapped the blankets tightly around him, and crouched there for
warmth and shelter. Then, when the muscles were at rest, he
began to feel the cold all through his wet feet and legs. He
took off his shoes and leggings inside the shelter of his
blankets, and chafed feet and legs with vigorous hands. This
restored warmth and circulation, but he was compelled after a
while to put on his wet garments again. He had gained a rest,
however, and as he did not fear the damp so much while he was
moving, he resumed the painful march.
The mountains seemed as far away as ever, but Dick knew that he
had come five or six miles. He could look back and see his own
path through the deep snow, winding and zigzagging toward the
northwest. It would wind and zigzag no matter how hard he tried
to go in a straight line, and finally he refused to look back any
more at the disclosure of his weakness.
He sought more trees before the sun went down, as his glass could
no longer be of use without them, but found none. There could be
no fire for him that night, and digging another deep hole in the
snow he slept the darkness through, nevertheless, warmly and
comfortably, like an Eskimo in his ice hut. He did not suffer as
much as he had thought he would from his wet shoes and leggings,
and in the night, wrapped within the blankets they dried on him.
Dick spent the second day in alternate tramps of an hour and
rests of half an hour. He was conscious that he was growing
weaker from this prodigious exertion, but he was not willing to
acknowledge it. In the afternoon he came upon a grove of
cottonwoods and some undergrowth and he tried to kindle a fire,
but the sun was not strong enough for his glass, and, after an
hour's wasted effort, he gave it up, discouraged greatly. Before
night the wind, which had been from the northwest, shifted to the
southwest and became much warmer. By and by it snowed again
heavily and Dick, who could no longer see his mountains, being
afraid that he would wander in the wrong direction, dug another
burrow and went to sleep.
He was awakened by the patter of something warm upon his face,
and found that the day and rain had come together. Dick once
more was struck to the heart with dismay. How could he stand
this and the snow together? The plain would now run rivers of
water and he must trudge through a terrible mire, worse even than
the snow.
He imagined that he could see his mountains through the rain
sheets, and he resumed his march, making no effort now to keep
anything but his rifle and ammunition dry. He crossed more than
one brook, either permanent or made by the rain and melting snow,
and sloshed though the water, ankle deep, but paid no attention
to it. He walked with intervals of rest all through the day and
the night, and the warm rain never ceased. The snow melted at a
prodigious rate, and Dick thought several times in the night that
he heard the sound of plunging waters. These must be cataracts
from the snow and rain, and he was convinced that he was near the
mountains.
The day came again, the rain ceased, the sun sprang out, the warm
winds blew, and there were the mountains. Perhaps the snow had
not been so heavy on them as on the plain, but most of it was
gone from the peaks and slopes and they stood up, sheltering and
beautiful, with a shade of green that the snow had not been able
to take away.
The sight put fresh courage in Dick's heart, but he was very
weak. He staggered as he plowed through the mixed snow and
mud, and plains and mountains alike were rocking about in a
most uncertain fashion.
In a ravine at the foot of the mountains he saw a herd of about
twenty buffaloes which had probably taken refuge there from the
snowstorm, but he did not molest them. Instead, he shook his
rifle at them and called out:
"I'm too glad to escape with my own life to take any of yours."
Dick's brain was in a feverish state and he was not wholly
responsible for what he said or did, but he began the ascent with
a fairly good supply of strength and toiled on all the day. He
never knew where he slept that night, but he thinks it was in a
clump of pines, and the next morning when he continued, he felt
that he had made a wonderful improvement. His feet were light
and so was his head, but he had never before seen slopes and
peaks and pines and ash doing a daylight dance. They whirled
about in the most eccentric manner, yet it was all exhilarating,
in thorough accord with his own spirits, and Dick laughed aloud
with glee. What a merry, funny world it was! Feet and head both
grew lighter. He shouted aloud and began to sing. Then he felt
so strong and exuberant that he ran down one of the slopes,
waving his cap. An elk sprang out of a pine thicket, stared a
moment or two with startled eyes at the boy, and then dashed away
over the mountain.
Dick continued to sing, and waved his fur cap at the fleeing
elk. It was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life.
The whirling dance of mountain and forest became bewildering in
its speed and violence. He was unable to keep his feet, and
plunged forward into the arms of his brother, Albert. Then
everything sank away from him.