Part 24 (1/2)
”That's why you left the Indian there when we came away, eh? To keep a fire.”
”Shoor! and I thought I shall kill you and go back alone so n.o.body shall make for the rescue. Then I should have the great laugh.”
Captain bared his head to the cold outside the tent. He was dazed by the thought of it. The man was crazed by abuse. The camp had paid for its folly!
Then a hope sprang up in him. It was too late to go on and return with the deer; that is, too late for George, and he thought only of him; of the big, brave man sitting alone in the cabin, shunned by the others, waiting quietly for his coming, tracing the relentless daily march of the disease. Why didn't the Jew die so he could flee back?
He had promised not to desert him, and he could not break his word to a dying man, even though the wretch deserved d.a.m.nation. But why couldn't he die? What made him hang on so? In his idle hours he arranged a pack for the start, a.s.sembling his rations. He could not be hampered by the sled. This was to be a race--he must travel long and fast. The sick man saw the preparations, and cried weakly, the tears freezing on his cheeks, and still he lingered, lingered maddeningly, till at last, when Captain had lost count of the days, he pa.s.sed without a twitch and, before the body had cooled, the northward bluffs hid the plodding, snow-shoed figure hurrying along the back trail.
He scarcely stopped for sleep or food, but gnawed raw bacon and frozen bread, swinging from shoe to shoe, devouring distance with the steady, rhythmic pace of a machine. He made no fires. As darkness settled, rendering progress a peril, he unrolled his robe, and burrowed into some overhanging drift, and the earliest hint of dawn found him miles onward.
Though the weather was clear, he grew numbed and careless under the strain of his fatigue, so that the frost bit hungrily at his features. He grew gaunt, and his feet swelled from the snow-shoe thongs till they puffed out his loose, sealskin boots, and every step in the morning hours brought forth a groan.
He was tortured by the thought that perhaps the Indian had carelessly let go the fire in Klusky's cabin. If so, the precious potatoes would freeze in a night. Then, if the native rebuilt it, he would arrive only to find a mushy, putrifying ma.s.s, worse than useless.
The uncertainty sickened him, and at last, as he sighted the little hamlet, he paused, bracing his legs apart weakly.
He searched fearfully for traces of smoke above Klusky's cabin.
There were none. Somehow the lone shack seemed to stare malignantly at him, as he staggered up the trail, and he heard himself muttering.