Grit A-Plenty Part 14

kettle we'll have all th' traps set up, and if neither of us sees any deer footin' we'll know there's none about. If there's no deer about, we can come right back t' th' tilt."

"I'm thinkin', now, you hopes we'll see no deer footin'," grinned David, adding understandingly: "'Tis hard gettin' started o' mornings sometimes for me, too, and I'm thinkin' how fine th' tilt'll be to get back to. But I never minds un after I gets started."

"I don't mind after it gets fair daylight," a.s.serted Andy.

As they talked Andy sliced some fat pork into the frying pan, while David stirred baking powder and salt into some flour, poured water into the mixture and proceeded to mix dough. When the pork was fried to their taste, which was far from crisp, Andy removed the slices one by one on the end of his sheath knife and placed them on a tin plate.

A quant.i.ty of hot grease remained in the frying pan, and into this David laid a cake of dough which he had moulded as thin as possible, and just large enough to fit nicely into the pan.

Presently the cake, swollen to many times its original thickness, and deliciously browned, was removed. Another took its place to fry, while the boys turned to their simple, but satisfying, breakfast with amazing appet.i.tes.

When they had finished their meal David fried two additional cakes, which utilized the remaining dough. These, with some tea, a tin tea pail, two cups and a small tin box containing sugar, he dropped into a ruck sack, and the preliminaries for their day's work were completed.

Then the two lads drew on their kersey and moleskin adikys, David slung the ruck sack upon his back, and, each bearing his rifle and a light ax, they pa.s.sed out into the leaden-gray light of the winter morning.

Dawn was fading the stars, which glimmered faintly overhead. The crunch of their snowshoes was the only sound to break the silence.

Rime hung in the air like a feathery veil, and the bushes, thick-coated with frost flakes, rose like white-clad ghosts along the trail.

The air was bitter cold. The boys caught their breath in short gasps as the first mouthfuls entered their lungs. David in the lead, and Andy following, neither spoke until at the end of five minutes' brisk walking they emerged from the cover of the forest upon the edge of a wide, treeless marsh, where they were to part.

"I'll be like t' travel faster than you do, Andy," said David, pausing, "and when I gets to th' clump o' spruce I'll put a fire on and boil th' kettle, and wait, and there'll be a good fire when you gets there."

"And if I gets there first, I'll put a fire on," said Andy, by way of a challenge.

"You'll never beat me there," laughed David. "Your legs are too short."

"You'll see, now," and Andy swung off at a trot along the southerly side of the marsh, while David turned to the northerly course.

That portion of the trail which Andy was to follow skirted the edge of the marsh for a distance of nearly two miles. Then in a circuitous course it wound for some three miles through a scant forest of gnarled, stunted black spruce. Beyond this, and a mile across another marsh, was the thick spruce grove which had been designated as their meeting point, and where they were accustomed to halt to boil their kettle and eat a hasty luncheon on their weekly tour.

The other end of the trail, which David had chosen, was longer by a mile. Its entire distance, from the place where the boys separated, to the clump of spruce trees, lay over exposed marshes. On windy days, with no intervening shelter, this open stretch was always cold and disagreeable, and there was never a time when they were not glad to reach the friendly shelter of the trees. It was usual, in traveling together, as they always had heretofore, to attend the traps on this end of the trail in the forenoon, and those on the end which Andy was now following, in the afternoon.

Though Andy's legs were short, they were hard and sinewy and he swung along at a remarkably good pace. Now and again he stopped to examine a trap; then, breaking into a trot to make up the time lost, he hastened to the next trap. Thus the two miles to the edge of the timber were quickly laid behind him, and he entered the forest just as the sun, rising timidly in the Southeast, cast its first slanting rays upon the frozen world.

Andy stood for a little in the edge of the trees to get his breath and to watch the glorious lighting of the wilderness. The bushes, thick-coated with tiny frost prisms flashing and scintillating in the light as though encrusted with marvelously brilliant gems, were afire with sparkling color. Even the rime in the air caught the fire, and the marsh became a great, transparent opal, of wonderfully dazzling beauty.

"'Tis a fine world t' live in," said Andy to himself. "'Twould be terrible t' be blind and never see all th' pretty sights. Th' great doctor'll cure Jamie, and then he'll see un all again, too. We'll work wonderful hard t' get th' money t' pay for th' cure. We'll _have_ t' get un, _what_ever."

Neither the fox traps on the marsh nor the marten traps in the woods yielded Andy any fur, but as he pa.s.sed from the woods to the last stretch of marsh he comforted himself with the reflection:

"We can't expect fur _every_ day. Two martens and three wolves yesterday made a fine hunt for th' week, even if we gets no more this trip. But Davy's like t' get something, and we're like t' get more before we reaches th' Narrows tilt Friday."

Then he hurried on, for he must needs make good his boast that he would reach the spruce grove before David. No smoke could he see rising above the trees as he approached. David at least had not yet lighted the fire. Andy was jubilant and in high spirits to find that David was not there ahead of him, and had not been there since their visit the previous week.

It was a matter of a few minutes' work to light a fire, and presently Andy had a cozy blaze. Then he broke an armful of spruce boughs, for a seat, and kicking off his snowshoes, settled himself comfortably before the fire to await David's appearance.

"If I had th' kettle, now, I'd put un over," said Andy. "But Davy'll soon be here."

An hour pa.s.sed, and David did not appear. Andy had traveled at such good speed that he had reached the rendezvous a half hour before midday, but David should not have been long behind him. Another hour pa.s.sed. A northeast breeze had sprung up, and the sky had become overcast. Andy observed uneasily that a storm was brewing. He donned his snowshoes, replenished the fire, and walked out a little way in the direction from which David should come, and to the outer edge of the trees. He stood very still, and listened, but there was no sound, and David was nowhere to be seen.

Andy reluctantly returned to the fire to wait. He was growing anxious and concerned. Surely David should have appeared before this unless--and Andy grew frightened at the thought--unless some accident had happened to him.

During the next half hour Andy's concern became almost panic. He began to picture David attacked and destroyed by a pack of wolves! Or perhaps his rifle had been accidentally discharged, and injured or killed him! Andy had heard of such accidents more than once. Whatever the reason for David's delay, it was serious. No ordinary thing would have prevented him from keeping his appointment.

Andy could stand the suspense no longer. He arose, slipped his feet into his snowshoes, and at a half run set out upon the trail in the direction from which David should have come.

XII

ALONE IN THE STORM-SWEPT FOREST

As Andy ran he looked eagerly for signs of David. Snow had fallen during the preceding week, and fresh tracks would have been easily distinguishable. The acc.u.mulation of a single night's rime would have sufficed for that. Therefore David could not have pa.s.sed this way without leaving a boldly marked trail upon the snow, and in attending to the traps this was indeed the only route he could have taken.

In one of the traps a mile from the spruce grove was a handsome cross fox. Andy paused to kill it, and put it out of misery, then hurried on. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances he would have been elated at the capture of the fox, for it bore a valuable pelt. Now he scarcely gave it a thought, so great was his anxiety for David's safety. In another trap was a dead rabbit, but he pa.s.sed it without stopping.

Andy had followed the trail for upwards of three miles when, rounding a clump of willow brush he came suddenly upon David's snowshoe tracks.

An examination disclosed the fact that David had come to this point and then turned about and retraced his steps toward the tilt. This was peculiar, and Andy was perplexed, but a hundred yards farther on came the explanation, when he discovered the tracks of a band of caribou crossing the trail at right angles and leading in a northerly direction, with David's tracks following them. The discovery lifted a load of anxiety from Andy's heart. David was hunting caribou, and no doubt safe enough. There was no further cause for worry.

An examination of the trail disclosed the fact that there were seven caribou in the band. They had pa.s.sed this way since early morning, for no rime had acc.u.mulated upon the tracks. David, upon encountering them had doubtless hurried on to summon Andy, but upon reconsideration had turned about to follow the caribou at once, rather than chance their escape through the delay that this would occasion. He had doubtless hoped to find them feeding near by. Indeed they could not have been far in advance of David.

With the relief of his anxiety for David's safety, Andy felt keenly disappointed, if not resentful, that he had not been permitted to join David in the caribou hunt. This was an experience to which he had looked forward. It had been agreed that if signs of caribou were discovered they should hunt them together, and in his disappointment Andy felt quite sure that an hour's delay would not have made much difference in the probabilities of success.

"Anyhow," said he after a few minute's indecision, "I'll follow. If Davy's killed un he'll need me to help he, and if they've gone too far and he hasn't killed un, I'll meet he comin' back."

The trail made by David and the caribou led Andy in a winding course over the marsh for a distance of nearly two miles, and then plunged into the forest. The rising wind was shifting the snow in little rifts over the marsh, and before Andy entered the forest the first flakes of the threatened storm began to fall.

Under the shelter of the trees the snow was light and soft. Because of this traveling became more difficult, and Andy was forced to reduce his trot to a fast walk. For a time the trail continued to lead almost due north. Then it took a turn to the westward. At the point of the turn the caribou had stopped and circled about, and in taking their new course had traveled more rapidly. Something had evidently aroused their suspicions of lurking danger. The gait at which they had traveled, however, indicated that they were not yet thoroughly frightened, or else were uncertain of the direction in which the suspected danger lay.

"They got a smell of something that startled un," observed Andy, "and 'tweren't Davy. Th' wind were wrong for that. They never could have smelled he with th' wind this way."

Snow was now falling heavily, but the trail was still plain enough. A half mile farther on the caribou tracks made another sharp turn, this time to the southward, turning about toward the marsh. There was no doubt now that they had been frightened. Their trail evidenced that here they had broken into a run.

"Whatever it were that scared un," said Andy, "it scared un bad here, and they've gone where Davy could never catch up with un."

Just beyond the place where the caribou had made the last turn, another trail came in from the north. Andy examined it carefully, and though the rapidly acc.u.mulating snow had now nearly hidden the distinguishing marks, he had no difficulty in recognizing the new trail as one made by wolves.

"That's it!" he exclaimed. "'Twere wolves scared un! They didn't get th' scent rightly back there, but here they got un, and I hopes they'll get away safe!"

A further examination disclosed the fact that David had stopped, too, and examined the tracks. He had doubtless concluded that continued pursuit of the caribou was useless, for his tracks, now nearly covered by the fresh snow, turned toward the marsh in a direction that would lead him back by a short cut to the point in the fur trail where he had left it to follow the caribou.

"He's gone back to finish th' last end of th' trail," said Andy.

"He'll be fearin' something has happened t' me when he don't find me at th' spruce trees. I'll have t' hurry."

David's tracks were becoming fainter and fainter with every step, and Andy had not gone far when the last trace of them was lost. He knew the general direction, however, that David would take, and was not greatly concerned or alarmed until he suddenly realized that darkness was settling. Until now he had lost all count of pa.s.sing time.

He had also been too deeply engrossed in the caribou trail, and in overtaking David, to give consideration to the storm. Now, with the realization that night was falling, he also awoke to the fact that the wind had risen into a gale, and that with every moment the storm was gathering new strength. He could hear it roaring and lashing the tree tops overhead. A veritable Arctic blizzard was at hand.