Part 44 (1/2)
Charly made no answer, though the dusky-skinned Siwash grunted, and in a few more minutes they silently commenced their meal, which was promptly finished. They struck the tent, and packed it with their sleeping-bags and provisions upon the sled, and then, taking up the traces, set out across the ice. The light had grown clearer now, and the snow was thinning, but it still whirled about them, and lay piled in drawn-out wreaths to lee of every hummock or ragged ridge. They floundered knee-deep, and in the softer places the weight upon the traces grew unpleasantly heavy. That, however, was not a thing any of them felt the least desire to complain of, and it was indeed a matter of regret to them that they were not harnessed to a heavier burden. There was a snow-wrapped desolation in front of them, and they had lost a number of small comforts and part of their provisions in making a landing. Whether the provisions could be replaced they did not know.
The small supply of food was an excellent reason for pus.h.i.+ng on as fast as possible, and they stumbled and floundered forward until late in the afternoon. The ice became more rugged and broken as they proceeded. The snow had ceased, but the drifts which stretched across their path were plentiful, and they were in the midst of one when it seemed to Wyllard, who was leading, that they were sinking much deeper than usual. The snow was over the tops of his long boots, the sled seemed very heavy, and he could hear his comrades floundering savagely. There was a cry behind him, and he was jerked suddenly backwards for a pace or two until he flung himself down at full length in the snow. After that he was drawn back no further, but the strain upon the trace became almost insupportable, and there was still a furious scuffling behind him.
In a moment or two, however, the strain slackened, and looking round, he saw Charly waist-deep in the snow. Charly struggled out with difficulty, holding on by the trace, but the sled had vanished, and it was with grave misgivings that Wyllard scrambled to his feet. They hauled with all their might, and after a tense effort, that left them gasping, dragged the sled back into sight. Part of its load, however, had been left behind in the yawning hole.
Charly went back a pace or two cautiously until he once more sank to the waist, and they had some trouble in dragging him clear. Then he sat down on the sled, and Wyllard stood still looking at the holes in the snow.
”Did you feel anything under you?” he asked at length in a jarring voice.
”I didn't,” said Charly simply. ”It was only the trace saved me from dropping through altogether, but if I'd gone a little further I'd have been in the water. Kind of snow bridge over a crevice. We broke it up, and the sled fell through.”
Wyllard turned and flung the tent, their sleeping-bags, and the few packages which had not fallen out of the sled, after which he hastily opened one or two of them. His companions looked at them with apprehension in their eyes until he spoke again.
”The provisions may last a week or so, if we cut down rations,” he said.
He could not remember afterwards whether anybody suggested it, and he believed that the same idea occurred to all of them at once, but in another moment or two they set about undoing the traces from the sled, and making them secure about their bodies. For half an hour they made perilous attempt after attempt to recover the lost provisions, and failed. The snow broke through continuously beneath the foremost man, but it did not break away altogether, and they could not tell what lay beneath it when they had drawn him out of the hole. When it became evident that the attempt was useless, sitting on the sled, they held a brief council.
”I guess we don't want to go back,” said Charly. ”It's quite likely we've crossed a good many of these crevices, and the snow's getting soft. Besides, Dampier will have hauled off and headed for the inlet by now.”
He spoke quietly, though his face was grave. Pausing a moment, he waved his hand. ”It seems to me,” he added, ”we have got to fetch the inlet while the provisions last.”
”Exactly,” agreed Wyllard. ”Since the chart shows a river between us and it, the sooner we start the better. If the thaw holds, the stream will break up the ice on it.”
The Indian, who made no suggestion, grunted what appeared to be concurrence, and they silently set to work to reload the sled. That done, they took up the traces and floundered on again into the gathering dimness and a thin haze of driving snow. Darkness had fallen when they made camp again, and sat, worn-out and aching in every bone, about the sputtering lamp inside the little straining tent. The meal they made was a very frugal one, and they lay down in the darkness after it, for half their store of oil had been left behind in the crevice. They spoke seldom, for the second disaster had almost crushed the courage out of them, and it was clear to all that it would be only by a strenuous effort that they could reach the inlet before their provisions quite ran out. They slept, however, and rising in a stinging frost next morning set out again on the weary march, but it was slow traveling, and at noon they left the tent and poles behind.
”In another few days,” said Wyllard, ”we'll leave the sled.”
They made the beach that afternoon, though the only sign of it was the fringe of more ragged ice and the white slope beyond. A thin haze hung about them heavy with rime, and they could not see more than a quarter of a mile ahead. When darkness fell they sc.r.a.ped out a hollow beneath what seemed to be a snow-covered rock, and sat upon their sleeping-bags.
The cooking-lamp gave little heat. Having eaten, they huddled close together with part of their aching bodies upon the sled, but none of them slept much that night, for the cold was severe.
The morning broke clear and warmer, and Wyllard, climbing to the summit of the rock, had a brief glimpse of the serrated summits of a great white range that rose to the west and south. It, however, faded like a vision while he watched it, and turning he looked out across the rolling wilderness that stretched away to the north. Nothing broke its gleaming monotony, and there was no sign of life anywhere in the vast expanse.
They set out after breakfast, breaking through a thin crust of snow, which rendered the march almost insuperably difficult, and they had made a league or two by the approach of night. The snow had grown softer, and the thawing surface would not bear the sled, which sank in the slush beneath. Still, they floundered on for a while after darkness fell, and then lay down in a hollow. A fine rain poured down on them.
Somehow they slept, and, though this was more difficult, got upon their feet again when morning came, for of all the hard things the wanderer in rain-swept bush or frozen wilderness must bear, there is none that tests his powers more than, in the early dawn, the bracing of himself for another day of effort. Comfortless as the night's lair has been, the jaded body craves for such faint warmth as it afforded, and further rest; the brain is dull and heavy, and the aching limbs appear incapable of supporting the weight on them. Difficulties loom appallingly large in the faint creeping light, courage fails, and the will grows feeble.
Wyllard and his companions felt all this, but it was clear to them that they could not dally, with their provisions out, and staggering out of camp after a very scanty meal they hauled the sled through the slush for an hour or so. Then they had stopped, gasping, and the Indian slipped out of the traces.
”We've hauled that thing about far enough,” said Charly, who dropped the traces, too, and slipped away from the sled.
Wyllard stood looking at them for a moment or two with anxious eyes. It was evident that they could haul the hampering load no further, and he was troubled by an almost insupportable weariness.
”In that case,” he said, ”you have to decide what you'll leave behind.”
They discussed the subject for some minutes, partly because it furnished an excuse for sitting upon the sled, though none of them had much doubt as to the result of the council. It was unthinkable that they should sacrifice a sc.r.a.p of the provisions. Then, when each man had lashed a light load upon his shoulders with a portion of the cut-up traces, they set out again, and it rained upon them heavily all that day.
During the four following days they were buffeted by a furious wind, but the temperature had risen, and the snow was melting fast, and splas.h.i.+ng knee-deep through slush and water they made progress. While he stumbled along with the pack-straps galling his shoulders, Wyllard was conscious of little beyond the unceasing pain in his joints and the leaden heaviness of his limbs. The recollection of that march haunted him like a horrible nightmare long afterwards, when each sensation and incident emerged from the haze of numbing misery. He remembered that he stormed at Charly, who lagged behind now and then in a fit of languid dejection, and that once he fell heavily, and was sensible of a half-conscious regret that he was still capable of going on, when the Indian dragged him to his feet again. They rarely spoke to one another, and noticed nothing beyond the strip of white waste, through which uncovered brown patches commenced to break, immediately in front of them, except when they crossed some low elevation and looked down upon the stretch of dull gray water not far away on one hand. The breeze had swept the ice away, and that was rea.s.suring, because it meant that Dampier would be at the inlet when they reached it, though now and then a horrible fear that their strength would fail them or that their provisions would run out first, crept in.
Their faces had grown gaunt and haggard, and each scanty meal had been cut down to the smallest portion which would keep life and power of movement within them. Still, though the weight of it hampered him almost intolerably, Wyllard clung to the one rifle that they had saved from the disaster at the landing and a dozen cartridges. This was a folly about which he and Charly once had virulent words.