Man-Size
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CHAPTER XXXIII
INTO THE LONE LAND
Into Northern Lights the pursuers drove after a four-day traverse.Manders, of the Mounted, welcomed them with the best he had. No newshad come to him from the outside for more than two months, and afterhis visitors were fed and warmed, they lounged in front of a roaringlog fire while he flung questions at them of what the world and itsneighbor were doing.
Manders was a dark-bearded man, big for the North-West Police. Hehad two hobbies. One was trouble in the Balkans, which he was alwaysprophesying. The other was a passion for Sophocles, which he read inthe original from a pocket edition. Start him on the chariot race in"Elektra" and he would spout it while he paced the cabin and gesturedwith flashing eyes. For he was a Rugby and an Oxford man, though bornwith the wanderlust in his heart. Some day he would fall heir to agreat estate in England, an old baronetcy which carried with it manorsand deer parks and shaven lawns that had taken a hundred years togrow. Meanwhile he lived on pemmican and sour bannocks. Sometimeshe grumbled, but his grumbling was a fraud. He was here of choice,because he was a wild ass of the desert and his ears heard only thecall of adventure. Of such was the North-West Mounted.
Presently, when the stream of his curiosity as to the outside began todry, Beresford put a few questions of his own. Manders could give himno information. He was in touch with the trappers for a radius of ahundred miles of which Northern Lights was the center, but no word hadcome to him of a lone traveler with a dog-train passing north.
"Probably striking west of here," the big black Englishman suggested.
Beresford's face twisted to a wry, humorous grimace. East, west, ornorth, they would have to find the fellow and bring him back.
The man-hunters spent a day at Northern Lights to rest the dogs andrestock their supplies. They overhauled their dunnage carefully,mended the broken moose-skin harness, and looked after one of theanimals that had gone a little lame from a sore pad. From a Frenchhalf-breed they bought additional equipment much needed for the trail.He was a gay, good-looking youth in new fringed leather hunting-shirt,blue Saskatchewan cap trimmed with ribbons, and cross belt of scarletcloth. His stock in trade was dog-shoes, made of caribou-skin by hiswife, and while in process of tanning soaked in some kind of liquidthat would prevent the canines from eating them off their feet.
The temperature was thirty-five below zero when they left the post andthere were sun dogs in the sky. Manders had suggested that they hadbetter wait a day or two, but the man-hunters were anxious to be onthe trail. They had a dangerous, unpleasant job on hand. Both of themwanted it over with as soon as possible.
They headed into the wilds. The road they made was a crookedpath through the white, unbroken forest. They saw many traces offur-bearing animals, but did not stop to do any hunting. The intensecold and the appearance of the sky were whips to drive them fast. Inthe next two or three days they passed fifteen or twenty lakes. Overthese they traveled rapidly, but in the portages and the woods theyhad to pack the snow, sometimes cut out obstructing brush, and againhelp the dogs over rough or heavy places.
The blizzard caught them the third day. They fought their way throughthe gathering storm across a rather large lake to the timber'sedge. Here they cleared away a space about nine feet square and cutevergreen boughs from the trees to cover it. At one side of this,Morse built the fire while Beresford unharnessed the dogs and thawedout a mess of frozen fish for them. Presently the kettles werebubbling on the fire. The men ate supper and drew the sled up as abarricade against the wind.
The cold had moderated somewhat and it had come on to snow. All nighta sleety, wind-driven drizzle beat upon them. They rose from anuncomfortable night to a gloomy day.
They consulted about what was best to do. Their camp was in a poorplace, among a few water-logged trees that made a poor, smoky fire. Ithad little shelter from the storm, and there was no evidence of fairweather at hand.
"Better tackle the next traverse," Morse advised. "Once we get acrossthe lake we can't be worse off than we are here."
"Righto!" assented Beresford.
They packed their supplies, harnessed the dogs, and were off. Into thestorm they drove, head down, buffeted by a screaming wind laden withstinging sleet that swept howling across the lake. All about them theyheard the sharp reports of cracking ice. At any moment a fissure mightopen, and its width might be an inch or several yards. In the blindinggale they could see nothing. Literally, they had to feel their way.
Morse went ahead to test the ice, Cuffy following close at his heels.The water rushes up after a fissure and soon freezes over. The dangeris that one may come to it too soon.
This was what happened. Morse, on his snowshoes, crossed the thinlyfrozen ice safely. Cuffy, a step or two behind the trail-breaker,plunged through into the water. The prompt energy of Beresford savedthe other dogs. He stopped them instantly and threw his whole weightback to hold the sled. The St. Bernard floundered in the water for afew moments and tried to reach Morse. The harness held Cuffy back.Beresford ran to the edge of the break and called him. A second or twolater he was helping to drag the dog back upon the firm ice.
In the bitter cold the matted coat of the St. Bernard, froze stiff.Cuffy knew his danger. The instant the sled, was across the crack, heplunged at the load and went forward with such speed that he seemedalmost to drag the other dogs with him.
Fortunately the shore was near, not more than three or four milesaway. Within half an hour land was reached. A forest came down to theedge of the lake. From the nearer trees Morse sliced birch bark. Anabundance of fairly dry wood was at hand. Before a roaring fire Cuffylay on a buffalo robe and steamed. Within an hour he was snuggling acontented nose up to Beresford's caressing hand.
Fagged out, the travelers went to bed early. Long before daybreak theywere up. The blizzard had died down during the night. It left behinda crusted trail over which the dogs moved fast. The thermometer hadagain dropped sharply and the weather was bitter cold. Before thelights of an Indian village winked at them through the trees, theyhad covered nearly forty miles. In the wintry afternoon darkness theydrove up.
The native dogs were barking a welcome long before they came jinglinginto the midst of the tepees. Bucks, squaws, and papooses tumbledout to see them with guttural exclamations of greeting. Some of theyoungsters and one or two of the maidens had never before seen a whiteman.
A fast and furious melee interrupted conversation. The wolfish dogsof the village were trying out the mettle of the four strangers. Thesnarling and yelping drowned all other sounds until the gaunt hordeof sharp-muzzled; stiff-haired brutes had been beaten back by savageblows from the whip and by quick thrusts of a rifle butt.
The head man of the group invited the two whites into the largest hut.Morse and Beresford sat down before a smoky fire and carried on adifficult dialogue. They divided half a yard of tobacco among the menpresent and gave each of the women a small handful of various-coloredbeads.
They ate sparingly of a stew made of fish, the gift of their hosts.In turn the officers had added to the menu a large piece of fat moosewhich was devoured with voracity.
The Indians, questioned, had heard a story of a white man travelingalone through the Lone Lands with a dog-train. He was a giant of afellow and surly, the word had gone out. Who he was or where he wasgoing they did not know, but he seemed to be making for the greatriver in the north. That was the sum and substance of what Beresfordlearned from them about West by persistent inquiry.
After supper, since it was so bitterly cold outside, the man-huntersslept in the tepee of the chief. Thirteen Indians too slept there. Twoof them were the head man's wives, six were his children, one was agrandchild. Who the rest of the party were or what relation they boreto him, the guests did not learn.
The place was filthy and the air was vile. Before morning both theyoung whites regretted they had not taken chances outside.
"Not ever again," Beresford said with frank disgust after they had setout next day. "I'll starve if I
have to. I'll freeze if I must. But,by Jove! I'll not eat Injun stew or sleep in a pot-pourri of nitchies.Not good enough."
Tom grinned. "While I was eatin' the stew, I thought I could standsleepin' there even if I gagged at the eats, and while I was tryin' tosleep, I made up my mind if I had to choose one it would be the stew.Next time we're wrastlin' with a blizzard, we'll know enough to bethankful for our mercies. We'll be able to figure it might be a lotworse."
That afternoon they killed a caribou and got much-needed fresh meatfor themselves and the dogs. Unfortunately, while carrying thehind-quarters to the sled, Beresford slipped and strained a tendonin the left leg. He did not notice it much at the time, but after anhour's travel the pain increased. He found it difficult to keep pacewith the dogs.
They were traversing a ten-mile lake. Morse proposed that they camp assoon as they reached the edge of it.
"Better get on the sled and ride till then," he added.
Beresford shook his head. "No, I'll carry on all right. Got to grinand bear it. The sled's overloaded anyhow. You trot along and I'lltag. Time you've got the fires built and all the work done, I'll loafinto camp."
Tom made no further protest. "All right. Take it easy. I'll unload andrun back for you."
The Montanan found a good camp-site, dumped the supplies, and leftCuffy as a guard. With the other dogs he drove back and met theofficer. Beresford was still limping doggedly forward. Every step senta shoot of pain through him, but he set his teeth and kept moving.
None the less he was glad to see the empty sled. He tumbled on and letthe others do the work.
At camp he scraped the snow away with a shoe while Morse cut spruceboughs and chopped wood for the fire.
Beresford suffered a good deal from his knee that night. He did notsleep much, and when day came it was plain he could not travel. Thecamp-site was a good one. There was plenty of wood, and the shape ofthe draw in which they were located was a protection from the coldwind. The dogs would be no worse for a day or two of rest. Thetravelers decided to remain here as long as might be necessary.
Tom went hunting. He brought back a bag of four ptarmigan late inthe afternoon. Fried, they were delicious. The dogs stood round ina half-circle and caught the bones tossed to them. Crunch--crunch--crunch. The bones no longer were. The dogs, heads cockedon one side, waited expectantly for more tender tidbits.
"Saw deer tracks. To-morrow I'll have a try for one," Morse said.
The lame man hobbled down to the lake next day, broke the ice, andfished for jack pike. He took back to camp with him all he couldcarry.
On the fourth day his knee was so much improved that he was able totravel slowly. They were glad to see that night the lights of FortDesolation, as one of the Mounted had dubbed the post on account ofits loneliness.