The Promise Part 46

But the cry was cut off at his lips. The terrific force of the shifting gusts hurled the sound back into his throat so that it came to his own ears faint and far. Again and again he called, and each time the feeble effort was drowned in the dull roar of the storm.

An unreasoning rage at the futility of it overcame him and he plunged blindly ahead, unheeding, stumbling, falling, rising to his feet and staggering among the tumbled rocks at the foot of the bluff--and then almost in his ear came the sharp, quick sound of a rifle-shot and another and another, at a second apart--the distress signal of the Northland.

CHAPTER XLII

BUCKING THE STORM

Bill Carmody wheeled against the solid rock wall and frantically felt his way along its broken surface. His groping hands encountered a cleft barely wide enough to admit the pa.s.sage of a man's body.

With a final effort he called again; instantly the high, clear tones of the boy's voice rang in his ears from the depths of the rock cavern, and the next moment small hands were tugging at his armpits.

"Oh! Bill, I knew you would come!" a small voice cried close to his ear. "It was my last three shots. I've been shooting every little while for hours and hours. Hold on! We've got to take off your snowshoes; they won't come through the door."

A few minutes later the man sat upon the hard floor of the cave which reeked of the rank animal odor of a long-used den. The place was bare of snow and he leaned back against a soft, furry body while the boy rattled on:

"I killed the _loup-cervier_! I chased him in here and shot him right square through the head. And he never kicked--just slunked down in a heap and dropped his rabbit. And now, if we had some matches, we could build a fire--if we had some wood--and cook him. I'm hungry--aren't you?"

The boy's utter disregard of the real seriousness of their plight, and the nave way in which he accepted the coming of his friend as a matter of course, irritated the man, who listened in scowling silence.

"Blood River Jack _was_ right," Charlie went on. "I thought he just wanted a chance to sleep for a day. Pretty good storm, isn't it? Say, Bill, how did he know it was going to snow?"

"Look here, young man," Bill replied wrathfully, "do you realize that we are in a mighty bad fix, right this minute? And that it is your fault? And that there was only about one chance in a thousand that I would find you? And that if we ever get out of this, and your Uncle Appleton don't give you a darn good whaling, I _will_?" The man felt a small body press close against him in the darkness.

"Honest, Bill, I'm sorry," a subdued voice answered. "I thought Jack was fooling, and I _did_ want to show 'em I could kill something bigger than a rabbit. You aren't mad, are you, Bill? I hope Eth won't worry; we'll prob'ly have to stay here all night, won't we?"

"All night! Won't worry! Don't you know that this is a _regular_ blizzard--the kind that kills men at their own doors--and that it may last for a week? And here we are with no fire-wood, and nothing to eat!

The chances are mighty good that we'll never see camp again--and you pipe up and hope your sister won't worry!"

Charlie leaned over closer against Carmody's body.

"Why, we've _got_ to get back, Bill!" he said, and his voice was very earnest now. "We're all Eth's got--you and me--and she _needs_ us."

The boy felt a sudden tightening of the muscles beneath the heavy mackinaw, and the quick gasp of an indrawn breath. A big arm stole about his shoulders. The harshness was gone from Bill's voice, and when he spoke the sound fell softly upon the culprit's ears.

"Sure, kid, we'll get back. Buck up! We've got a fighting chance, and that's all we need--men like you and me. Life up here is a hard game, kid, but we're no quitters! This is just one of the rough places in the long, long trail.

"And, say, kid--just man to man--I want you always to remember _that_--she needs you--and some day she may need you _bad_. This St.

Ledger may be all right, but----"

"St. Ledger!" The voice of the boy cut sharply upon the darkness. "Say, Bill, you aren't going to marry Blood River Jack's sister, are you?"

"What!"

"Why, Blood River Jack's sister, you know, that helped fish you out of the river."

"Lord! _No!_ What ever put that into your head?"

"Blood River Jack told us when we were coming out about you--only we didn't know it was _you_, then. And he said that his sister was pretty, and she loved you, and she went down the river with you for three or four days, or something. And Eth thinks you love this half-breed girl.

And, maybe, if you did marry her, Eth would marry St. Ledger; but she don't love him."

Bill sat suddenly erect, and the arm about the boy's shoulder tightened and shook him roughly.

"Look here! How do you know? I read an account of their engagement 'way along last winter."

"That was a _dang lie_! 'Cause I was in the den when she called St.

Ledger up about it. She gave him the darndest talking to he ever got, and she told him she never would marry him as long as she lived. And Eth _does_ love you! And you ought to heard her stick up for you when old----"

The boy stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering his uncle's injunction of silence. "There's an old dead tree right close to the door of the cave," he added hastily. "We might get some wood off that."

"What were you saying?" inquired Bill. "Never mind the wood."

"Nothing--I forget, I mean. Come on, let's get some wood--I'm hungry."

And in spite of his most persistent efforts, not another word could Bill Carmody get out of the youngster, except the mournful soliloquy that:

"I bet Uncle Appleton _will_ whale me--anyway, he couldn't whale as hard as you."

In the thick blackness of the storm the man groped blindly near the snow-choked entrance to the den, guided in his search for the dead tree by the voice of the boy from the interior.

It was no easy task to twist off the dead limbs and carry them one by one to the cavern where the boy piled them against the wall. At length, however, it was accomplished, and Bill crept in and whittled a pile of fine shavings.

A few minutes later the flicker of a tiny flame flashed up, the shavings ignited, and the narrow cavity lighted to the crackle of the fire. Together they skinned the rabbit which the dead lynx had dropped, and soon they were busily engaged in roasting it over the flames.

The two were far from comfortable. Despite the fact that the fire had been built as near as possible to the entrance, the smoke whipped back into their faces. The air became blue and heavy, they coughed, and tears streamed from their eyes at the sting of it.

"I'm thirsty," said the boy, as he finished his portion of the rabbit.

"I guess we'll have to eat snow; there's nothing to melt it in."

"Never eat snow," the man cautioned as his eyes swept the barren interior.

"Why not?"

"It will burn you out. I don't know why, but when a man starts eating snow, it's all off."

Directly in front of him, in the rock floor, was a slight depression, and with a stick Bill sc.r.a.ped the fire close to this natural basin and filled it with dry snow. At the end of ten minutes the snow had melted, leaving a pool of filthy, black water.

"It's the best we can do," laughed the man as the boy made a wry face as he gulped down a swallow of the bitter floor-washing.

They set about skinning the _loup-cervier_, and spread the pelt upon the floor for a robe.

"We'll have to tackle the cat for breakfast," grinned Bill.

"Oh, this is fun!" cried the boy. "It's like getting cast away and living in a cave, like you read about." But the humor of the situation failed to enthuse Bill, who lighted his pipe and stared moodily into the tiny fire.

The two spent a most uncomfortable night, their brief s.n.a.t.c.hes of sleep being interrupted by long hours of wakefulness when they huddled close to the small blaze.