Part 81 (1/2)

”I'm not sure,” said the Boy.

”I thought you were going it blind.”

”I believe I'd better let Nig have his head,” said the Boy, stopping; ”he's the dandy trail-finder. Nig, old man, I takes off my hat to you!”

They pushed ahead till the half-famished dogs gave out. They camped under the lee of the propped sled, and slept the sleep of exhaustion.

The next morning dawned clear and warm. The Colonel managed to get a little wood and started a fire. There were a few spoonfuls of meal in the bottom of the bag and a little end of bacon, mostly rind. The sort of soup the dogs had had yesterday was good enough for men to-day. The hot and watery brew gave them strength enough to strike camp and move on. The elder man began to say to himself that he would sell his life dearly. He looked at the dogs a good deal, and then would look at the Boy, but he could never catch his eye. At last: ”They say, you know, that men in our fix have sometimes had to sacrifice a dog.”

”Ugh!” The Boy's face expressed nausea at the thought.

”Yes, it is pretty revolting.”

”We could never do it.”

”N-no,” said the Colonel.

The three little Esquimaux horses were not only very hungry, their feet were in a bad condition, and were bleeding. The Boy had shut his eyes at first at the sight of their red tracks in the snow. He hardly noticed them now.

An hour or so later: ”Better men than we,” says the Colonel significantly, ”have had to put their feelings in their pockets.” As if he found the observation distinctly discouraging, Nig at this moment sat down in the melting snow, and no amount of ”mus.h.i.+ng” moved him.

”Let's give him half an hour's rest, Colonel. Valuable beast, you know--altogether best team on the river,” said the Boy, as if to show that his suggestion was not inspired by mere pity for the bleeding dogs. ”And you look rather faded yourself, Colonel. Sit down and rest.”

Nothing more was said for a full half-hour, till the Colonel, taking off his fur hat, and wiping his beaded forehead on the back of his hand, remarked: ”Think of the Siege of Paris.”

”Eh? What?” The Boy stared as if afraid his partner's brain had given way.

”When the horses gave out they had to eat dogs, cats, rats even. Think of it--rats!”

”The French are a dirty lot. Let's mush, Colonel. I'm as fit as a fiddle.” The Boy got up and called the dogs. In ten minutes they were following the blind trail again. But the sled kept clogging, sticking fast and breaking down. After a desperate bout of ineffectual pulling, the dogs with one mind stopped again, and lay down in their b.l.o.o.d.y tracks.

The men stood silent for a moment; then the Colonel remarked:

”Red is the least valuable”--a long pause--”but Nig's feet are in the worst condition. That dog won't travel a mile further. Well,” added the Colonel after a bit, as the Boy stood speechless studying the team, ”what do you say?”

”Me?” He looked up like a man who has been dreaming and is just awake.

”Oh, I should say our friend Nig here has had to stand more than his share of the racket.”

”Poor old Nig!” said the Colonel, with a somewhat guilty air. ”Look here: what do you say to seeing whether they can go if we help 'em with that load?”

”Good for you, Colonel!” said the Boy, with confidence wonderfully restored. ”I was just thinking the same.”

They unlashed the pack, and the Colonel wanted to make two bundles of the bedding and things; but whether the Boy really thought the Colonel was giving out, or whether down in some corner of his mind he recognised the fact that if the Colonel were not galled by this extra burden he might feel his hunger less, and so be less p.r.o.ne to thoughts of poor Nig in the pot--however it was, he said the bundle was his business for the first hour. So the Colonel did the driving, and the Boy tramped on ahead, breaking trail with thirty-five pounds on his back. And he didn't give it up, either, though he admitted long after it was the toughest time he had ever put in in all his life.

”Haven't you had about enough of this?” the Colonel sang out at dusk.

”Pretty nearly,” said the Boy in a rather weak voice. He flung off the pack, and sat on it.

”Get up,” says the Colonel; ”give us the sleepin'-bag.” When it was undone, the Norfolk jacket dropped out. He rolled it up against the sled, flung himself down, and heavily dropped his head on the rough pillow. But he sprang up.

”What? Yes. By the Lord!” He thrust his hand into the capacious pocket of the jacket, and pulled out some broken s.h.i.+p's biscuit. ”Hard tack, by the living Jingo!” He was up, had a few sticks alight, and the kettle on, and was melting snow to pour on the broken biscuit. ”It swells, you know, like thunder!”