CHAPTER XXV
FOR THE WEE LAMB LOST
Beresford, in front of the C.N. Morse & Company trading-post, watchedhis horse paw at the snow in search of grass underneath. It was a signthat the animal was prairie-bred. On the plains near the border grasscures as it stands, retaining its nutriment as hay. The native ponypushes the snow aside with its forefoot and finds its feed. But in thetimber country of the North grass grows long and coarse. When its sapdries out, it rots.
The officer was thinking that he had better put both horse and carioleup for the winter. It was time now for dogs and sled. Even in summerthis was not a country for horses. There were so many lakes that abirch-bark canoe covered the miles faster.
Darkness was sweeping down over the land, and with it the first flakesof a coming storm. Beresford had expected this, for earlier in the dayhe had seen two bright mock suns in the sky. The Indians had toldhim that these sun dogs were warnings of severe cold and probably ablizzard.
Out of the edge of the forest a man on snowshoes came. He was movingfast. Beresford, watching him idly, noticed that he toed in. Thereforehe was probably a Cree trapper. But the Crees were usually indolenttravelers. They did not cover ground as this man was doing.
The man was an Indian. The soldier presently certified his first guessas to that. But not until the native was almost at the store did herecognize him as Onistah.
The Blackfoot wasted no time in leading up to what he had to say."Sleeping Dawn she prisoner of Bully West and Whaley. She say bringher father. She tell me bring him quick"
Beresford's body lost its easy grace instantly and became rigid. Hisvoice rang with sharp authority.
"Where is she?"
"She at Jasper's cabin on Cache Creek. She frightened."
As though the mention of Sleeping Dawn's name had reached him by someprocess of telepathy, Tom Morse had come out and stood in the door ofthe store. The trooper wheeled to him.
"Get me a dog-team, Tom. That fellow West has got Jessie McRae withhim on Cache Creek. We've got to move quick."
The storekeeper felt as though the bottom had dropped out of hisheart. He glanced up at the lowering night. "Storm brewing. We'll getstarted right away." Without a moment's delay he disappeared insidethe store to make his preparations.
Onistah carried the news to McRae.
The blood washed out of the ruddy-whiskered face of the Scot, but hissole comment was a Scriptural phrase of faith. "I have been young, andnow am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken..."
It was less than half an hour later that four men and a dog-trainmoved up the main street of Faraway and disappeared in the forest.Morse broke trail and McRae drove the tandem. Onistah, who had alreadytraveled many miles, brought up the rear. The trooper exchanged placeswith Morse after an hour's travel.
They were taking a short-cut and it led them through dead and downtimber that delayed the party. Tom was a good axeman, and more thanonce he had to chop away obstructing logs. At other times by mainstrength the men lifted or dragged the sled over bad places.
The swirling storm made it difficult to know where they were going orto choose the best way. They floundered through deep snow and heavyunderbrush, faces bleeding from the whip of willow switches suddenlyreleased and feet so torn by the straps of the snowshoes that thetrail showed stains of blood which had soaked from the moccasins.
Onistah, already weary, began to lag. They dared not wait for him.There was, they felt, not a moment to be lost. McRae's clean-shavenupper lip was a straight, grim surface. He voiced no fears, no doubts,but the others knew from their own anxiety how much he must besuffering.
The gale increased. It drove in bitter blasts of fine stinging sleet.When for a few hundred yards they drew out of the thick forest into anopen grove, it lashed them so furiously they could scarcely move inthe teeth of it.
The dogs were whimpering at their task. More than once they stopped,exhausted by the wind against which they were battling. Their eyesturned dumbly to McRae for instructions. He could only drive them backto the trail Morse was breaking.
The train was one of the best in the North. The leader was a largeSt. Bernard, weighing about one hundred sixty pounds, intelligent,faithful, and full of courage. He stood thirty-four inches high at hisfore shoulder. Not once did Cuffy falter. Even when the others quit,he was ready to put his weight to the load.
Through the howling of the wind Beresford shouted into the ear ofMorse. "Can't be far now. Question is can we find Jasper's in thisblizzard."
Morse shook his head. It did not seem likely. Far and near were wordswhich had no meaning. A white, shrieking monster seemed to be hemmingthem in. Their world diminished to the space their outstretched armscould reach. The only guide they had was Cache Creek, along the bankof which they were traveling. Jasper's deserted cabin lay back fromit a few hundred yards, but Tom had not any data to tell him when heought to leave the creek.
Cuffy solved the problem for him. The St. Bernard stopped, refusedthe trail Beresford and Morse were beating down in the deep snow. Heraised his head, seemed to scent a haven, whined, and tried to plungeto the left.
McRae came forward and shouted to his friends. "We'll gi'e Cuffy hishead. He'll maybe ken mair than we do the nicht."
The trail-breakers turned from the creek, occasionally stopping tomake sure Cuffy was satisfied. Through heavy brush they forced a wayinto a coulee. The St. Bernard led them plump against the wall of acabin.
There was a light inside, the fitful, leaping glow of fire flames.The men stumbled through drifts to the door, McRae in the lead. TheScotchman found the latch and flung open the door. The other twofollowed him inside.
The room was empty.
At first they could not believe their eyes. It was not reasonable tosuppose that any sane human beings would have left a comfortable houseto face such a storm. But this was just what they must have done. Thestate of the fire, which was dying down to hot coals, told them it hadnot been replenished for hours. West and Whaley clearly had decidedthey were not safe here and had set out for another hiding-place.
The men looked at each other in blank silence. The same thought wasin the mind of all. For the present they must give up the pursuit.It would not be possible to try to carry on any farther in sucha blizzard. Yet the younger men waited for McRae to come to hisdecision. If he called on them to do more, they would make a try withhim.
"We'll stay here," Angus said quietly. "Build up the fire, lads, andwe'll cast back for Onistah."
Neither of the others spoke. They knew it must have cost the Scotchmana pang to give up even for the night. He had done it only because herecognized that he had no right to sacrifice all their lives in vain.
The dogs took the back trail reluctantly. The sled had been unloadedand was lighter. Moreover, they followed a trail already broken exceptwhere the sweep of the wind had filled it up. McRae cheered them totheir work.
"Up wi' ye, Koona! Guid dog. Cha, cha! You'll be doin' gran' work,Cuffy. Marche!"
Morse stumbled over Onistah where he lay in the trail. The Blackfootwas still conscious, though he was drowsing into that sleep which isfatal to Arctic travelers caught in a blizzard. He had crawled onhands and feet through the snow after his knees failed him. It musthave been only a few minutes after he completely collapsed that theyfound him.
He was given a gulp or two of whiskey and put on the sled. Again thedogs buckled to the pull. A quarter of an hour later the party reachedthe cabin.
Onistah was given first aid. Feet and face were rubbed with snow torestore circulation and to prevent frost-bite. He had been rescued intime to save him from any permanent ill effects.
In the back of all their minds lay a haunting fear. What had becomeof Jessie? There was a chance that the blizzard had caught the partybefore it reached its destination. Neither West nor Whaley was aninexperienced musher. They knew the difficulties of sub-Arctic traveland how to cope with them. But the storm had blown up with unusualswiftness.
Even if
the party had reached safety, the girl's troubles were notended. With the coming of darkness her peril would increase. As longas Whaley was with West there was hope. The gambler was cold-bloodedas a fish, but he had the saving sense of sanity. If he meant toreturn to Faraway--and there was no reason why he should not--he darednot let any harm befall the girl. But West was a ruffian unmitigated.His ruthless passion might drive him to any evil.
In front of the fire they discussed probabilities. Where had the twofree traders taken the girl? Not far, in the face of such a storm.They canvassed places likely to serve as retreats for West.
Once McRae, speaking out of his tortured heart, made an indirectreference to what all of them were thinking. He was looking somberlyinto the fire as he spoke.
"Yea, the darkness hideth not from Thee, but the night shineth as theday: the darkness and the light are both alike to Thee."
He found in his religion a stay and comfort. If he knew that undercover of darkness evil men do evil deeds, he could reassure himselfwith the promise that the hairs of his daughter's head were numberedand that she was under divine protection.
From a pocket next his shirt he drew a small package in oilskin. Itwas a Bible he had carried many years. By the light of the leapingflames he read a chapter from the New Testament and the twenty-thirdPsalm, after which the storm-bound men knelt while he prayed that Godwould guard and keep safe "the wee lamb lost in the tempest far fraethe fold."
Morse and Beresford were tough as hickory withes. None in the Northwoods had more iron in the blood than they. Emergencies had testedthem time and again. But neither of them was ashamed to kneel with thebig rugged Scotchman while he poured his heart out in a petition forhis lass. The security of the girl whom all four loved each in his ownway was out of the hands of her friends. To know that McRae had founda sure rock upon which to lean brought the younger men too somemeasure of peace.
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