Northern Diamonds Part 3

Maurice had collapsed into a dead sleep in the snow. Peter shook him awake, and between them they managed to arouse Fred with great difficulty. Still half asleep they swallowed the rich, steaming mess from the kettle. It set their blood moving again, but they were too thoroughly worn out to think of building a camp. They crept into their sleeping-bags, b.u.t.toned the naps down over their heads and went to sleep regardless of consequences.

Fred awoke to find himself almost steaming hot, and in utter darkness and silence. All his muscles ached, and he could not imagine where he was. A weight held him down when he tried to move, but he turned over at last and sat up with an effort. A glare of white light made him blink. He had been buried under more than two feet of snow.

It was broad daylight. All the world was white, and a raging snowstorm was driving through the forest. The tree-tops creaked and roared, and the powdery snow whirled like smoke. Fred felt utterly bewildered.

There was no sign of the camp-fire, nor of the toboggan, nor of any of his companions, nothing but a few mounds on the drifted white surface.

Finally he crawled out of his sleeping-outfit and dug into one of these mounds. Two feet down he came upon the surface of a sleeping-bag, and punched it vigorously. It stirred; the flap opened, and Macgregor thrust his face out, blinking, red and dazed.

"Time to get up!" Fred shouted.

Mac crawled out and shook off the snow, looking disconcerted.

"Snowed in, with a vengeance!" he remarked. "Where's the camp--and where's Maurice?"

After prodding about they located the third member of their party at last, and dug him out. As for the camp, there was none, and they could only guess at where the toboggan with their stores might be buried.

"This ends our skating," said Maurice. "It'll have to be snowshoes after this. Good thing we got so far last night."

"No thanks to me!" Fred remarked. "I was the expert skater; I believe I said I'd set the pace, and I was the first to cave in. I hope I do better with the snowshoes."

"Neither snowshoes nor skates to-day," said Peter. "We can't travel till this storm blows over. Nothing for it but to build a camp and sit tight."

After groping about for some time they found the toboggan, unstrapped the snowshoes, and used them as shovels to clear away a circular place.

In doing so they came upon the black brands of last night's fire, with the camp kettle upon them where they had left it. Fred ploughed through the snow and collected wood for a fresh fire, while Peter and Maurice set up stakes and poles and built a roof of hemlock branches to afford shelter from the storm. It was only a rude shed with one side open to face the fire, but it kept off the snow and wind and proved fairly comfortable. Fred had coffee made by this time, and it did not take long to fry a pan of bacon. They seated themselves on a heap of boughs at the edge of the shelter and ate and drank. They all were stiff and sore, but the hot food and coffee made a decided improvement.

"What surprises me," remarked Maurice, "is that we didn't freeze last night, sleeping under the snow. But I never felt warmer in bed."

"It was the snow that did it. Snow makes a splendid nonconductor of heat," replied Macgregor. "Better than blankets. I remember hearing of a man who was caught by a blizzard crossing a big barren up north with a train of dogs. The dogs wouldn't face the storm; he lost his directions; and finally he turned the sledge over and got under it with the dogs around him, and let it snow. He stayed there a day and a half, asleep most of the time, and wouldn't have known when the storm was over, only that a pack of timber wolves smelt him and tried to dig him out. They ran when they found out what was there, but he bagged two of them with his rifle."

"I don't believe even timber wolves would have wakened me this morning.

I never was so stiff and used up in my life," Maurice commented on this tale of adventure.

"Yes, we need the rest," said Mac. "We overdid it yesterday, and we couldn't have gone far to-day in any case."

"But meanwhile that man at the cabin may be dying," exclaimed Fred.

"If he's dead it can't be helped," responded the Scotchman. "We're doing all that's humanly possible. But if he's alive, don't forget that he can't get away while this storm lasts, any more than we can."

"Well, it looks as if the storm would last all day," said Fred, gazing upwards.

The blizzard did last all that day, reaching its height toward the middle of the afternoon, but it was not extremely cold, and the boys were fairly comfortable. They lounged on the blankets in the shelter of the camp, and recuperated from their fatigue, discussing their chances of still reaching the cabin in time to do any good. None of them could guess accurately how far they had come in that terrible night, but at the worst they could not think the cabin more than forty miles farther. This distance would have to be traveled on snowshoes, however, not skates, and none of the boys were very expert snowsh.o.e.rs.

It would be certainly more than one day's tramp.

Toward night the wind lessened, though it was still snowing fast. The boys piled on logs enough to keep the fire smouldering all night in spite of the snowflakes, and went to sleep under cover of the hemlock roof. Maurice awoke toward the middle of the night, and noticed drowsily that it had stopped snowing, and that a star or two was visible overhead.

Next morning dawned sparkling clear and very cold, with not a breath of wind. Everything was deep and fluffy with the fresh snow, and when the sun came up the glare was almost blinding. It would be good weather for snowshoe travel, and the boys all felt fit again for another hard day.

After breakfast, therefore, they packed the supplies upon the toboggan, unscrewed the steel runners, and put on the new snowshoes.

"We'd better stick to the river," Peter remarked. "It may make it a little farther, but it gives us a clear road, and if we follow the river we can't miss the cabin."

"No danger of going through air-holes in the ice?" queried Fred.

"Not much. An air-hole isn't generally big enough to let a snowshoe go through. We'll pull you out if you do. Come along."

Off they went again. But they had not gone far before discovering that travel was going to be less easy than they had thought. The snow was light and the snowshoes sank deep. They moved in a cloud of puffing white powder, and the heavy toboggan went down so that it was difficult to draw it. Without the smooth, level road of the river they could hardly have progressed at all.

They braced themselves to the work and plodded on, taking turns at going first to break the road. The sun shone down in a white dazzle.

There was no heat in it, but the glare was so strong that they had to pull their caps low over their eyes for fear of snow-blindness--the most deadly enemy of the winter traveler in the North. During the forenoon they thought they made hardly more than ten miles, and at noon they halted, made a fire and boiled tea.

The hot drink and an hour's rest made them ready for the road again.

Twice that afternoon they had to make a long detour through the woods to avoid unfrozen rapids, and once the brush was so dense that they had to cut a way for the toboggan with the axe. Once, too, the ice suddenly cracked under Fred's foot, and he flung himself forward just in time to avoid the black water gushing up through the snowed-over air-hole.

The life of the wilderness was beginning to emerge after the storm.

Along the sh.o.r.es they saw the tracks of mink. Once they encountered a plunging trail across the river where several timber wolves must have crossed the night before, and late in the afternoon Maurice shot a couple of spruce grouse in a thicket. He flung them on the toboggan, and they arrived at camp that night frozen into solid lumps.

It was plainly impossible to reach the cabin that day. Peter, who was keenly on the lookout, failed to recognize any of the landmarks.

"We'd better camp early, boys," he said. "We can't make it to-day, and there's no use in getting snowshoe cramp and being tied up for a week."

They kept on, however, till the sun was almost down. A faint but piercing northwest breeze had arisen, and they halted in the lee of a dense cedar thicket close to the river. A huge log had fallen down the sh.o.r.e, and this would make an excellent backing for the fire during the night.

Drawing up the toboggan, the boys took off their snowshoes and began to shovel out a circular pit for the camp. The snow had drifted deep in that spot. Before they came to the bottom the snow was heaped so high that the pit was shoulder-deep. It was all the better for shelter, and they cut cedar poles and roofed one side of it, producing a most cozy and sheltered nook.

Fred continued to pull cedar twigs for bedding, while Peter and Maurice unpacked the toboggan and lighted the fire against the big log. Now that it was laid bare this log proved to be indeed a monster. It must have been nearly three feet in diameter, and was probably hollow, but would keep the fire smouldering indefinitely. Fred plucked the frozen grouse with some difficulty, cut them up and put them into the kettle to thaw out and stew.

This consumed some time, and it was rather late when supper was ready.

A bitterly cold night was setting in. The icy breeze whined through the trees, but the sheltered pit of the camp was a warm and cozy place, casting its firelight high into the branches overhead.

Snowshoe cramp had attacked none of the boys, but the unaccustomed muscles were growing stiff and sore. By Macgregor's advice they all took off moccasins and stockings and ma.s.saged their calves and ankles thoroughly, afterwards roasting them well before the fire. One side of the big log was a glowing red ember now, and they piled fresh wood beside it, laid the rifles ready, and crept into their sleeping-bags under the shelter.

Fred did not know how long he had slept when he was awakened by a sort of nervous shock. He raised his head and glanced about. All was still in the camp. His companions lay motionless in their bags. The fire had burned low, and the air of the zero night cut his face like a knife. He could not imagine what had awakened him, but he felt that he ought to get up and replenish the fire and he was trying to make up his mind to crawl out of his warm nest when he was startled by a sort of dull, jarring rumble.

It seemed to come from the fire itself. Fred uttered a scared cry that woke both the other boys instantly.

"What's the matter? What is it?" they both exclaimed.

Before Fred could answer, there was a sort of upheaval. The fire was dashed aside. Smoke and ashes flew in every direction, and they had a cloudy glimpse of something charging out through the smoke--something huge and black and lightning quick.

"Jump! Run!" yelled Peter, scrambling to get out of his sleeping-bag.

At the shout and scramble the animal wheeled like a flash and plunged at the side of the pit, trying to reach the top with a single leap. It fell short, and came down in a cloud of snow.

Fred had got clear from the enc.u.mbering bag by this time, and floundered out of the pit without knowing exactly how he did it. He found Maurice close behind him. Peter missed his footing and tumbled back with a horrified yell, and Maurice seized him by the leg as he went down and dragged him back bodily.

Before they recovered from their panic they bolted several yards away, plunging knee-deep in the drifts, and then Peter stopped.

"Hold on!" he exclaimed. "It isn't after us!"