XII
Virginia found the days much happier than she had hoped. She took areal interest in caring for their little cabin, cooking the meals, evenmending Bill's torn clothes. She had a natural fine sense of flavors,and out of the simple materials that they had in store she preparedmeals that in Bill's opinion outclassed the finest efforts of a Frenchchef. He would exult over them boyishly, and she found an unlooked-forjoy in pleasing him. She had made delicious puddings out of rice andcanned milk and raisins, she knew just the identical number of minutesit required to broil a moose porterhouse just to his taste, and shecould fry a grouse to surpass the most succulent fried chicken everserved in a southern home. All these things pleased her and occupiedthe barren hours. She learned to sew on buttons, wash her own clothes,and keep the cabin clean and neat as a hospital ward.
She liked the hours of sober talk in the evenings. Sometimes they wouldplay through the records, and so well had Bill made his selections thatshe never tired of them. His preference tended toward melodies in theminor, wailing things that to him vaguely reflected the voices of thewild things and the plaintive utterances of the forest: she liked thesoul-stirring, emotional melodies. They worked up a rare comradeshipbefore the first week was done. She had never known a human being towhom she opened her thoughts more freely.
She had her lonesome hours, but not so many as she had expected. Whentime hung heavy on her hands she would take out one of the old magazinesthat Bill had brought up to read on the winter nights, and devour itfrom cover to cover. She had abundant health. The experience seemed tobuild her up, rather than injure her. Her muscles developed, shebreathed deep of the cold, mountain air, and she had more energy thanshe could easily spend.
She fought away the tendency to grow careless in dress or appearance.She kept her few clothes clean and mended, she dressed her hair ascarefully as in her city house. Her skin was clear and soft, but shedidn't know how the wilderness life was affecting her beauty. What Billobserved he did not tell her. Often the words were at his lips, but herepressed them. In the first place he was afraid of speaking toofeelingly and giving away his heart's secret; in the second he had aridiculous fear that such a personal remark might tend to destroy thefine balance of their relationship. She had no mirror, but soon shebecame used to going without one. But one day, on one of their tramps,she caught a perfect image of herself in a clear spring.
She had stopped to drink, but for a few seconds she only regardedherself with speechless delight. She had had her share of beautybefore; now perfect health had brought its marvelous and indescribablecharm. Her hair was burnished and shimmering with life, her skin clearand transparent, her throat had filled out, and her eyes were bright andclear as she had never seen them. She felt no further need ofcosmetics. Her lips were red, and Nature had brought a glow to hercheeks that no human skill could equal.
"Good Heavens, Bill!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me that I wasgetting prettier every day?"
"I didn't know you wanted me to," he replied. "But you are. I've beennoticing it a long time."
"You're a cold, impersonal person!" But at once her talk tripped on toless dangerous subjects.
Their cabin life was redeemed by their frequent excursions into thewild. The study of Nature was constantly more absorbing to the girl.Although the birds had all gone south--except such hardy fowl as theptarmigan, that seemed to spend most of their time buried in thesnow--there was still mammalian life in plenty in the forest. Thelittle furred creatures still plied, nervous and scurrying as ever,their occupations; and the caribou still wandered now and then throughtheir valley as they moved from ridge to ridge. The moose, however,had mostly pushed down to the lower levels.
The grizzlies had gone into hibernation, and their tracks were no longerto be seen in the snow; but the wolf pack still ran the ridges. And oneday they had a miniature adventure that concerned the gray band.
They were climbing a ridge one wintry day, unappalled by the three feetor more of snow, when the girl suddenly touched his arm.
"First blood on caribou," she cried.
His eyes lighted, and he followed her gaze. Lately they had been havinga friendly contest as to who would get the first glimpse of any livingcreature that they encountered in their tramps, and Bill was pleased toadmit that he had been barely holding his own. The girl's eyes werepractically as quick as his and better at long distances, and alwaysthere was high celebration when she saw the game first. But to-day theywere fated for more exciting business.
The caribou were plunging as fast as they could through the snow. Theycame, in caribou fashion, in a long file, each stepping into the tracksof the other, and it was a good woodsman, coming along behind them, thatcould tell whether there were two or ten in the band. An old bull withsweeping horns led the file.
When going is at all easy, the caribou can travel at an incredible pace.Even their swinging trot can carry them from range to range in a singleday; but when they choose to run their fastest, they seem to have wings.To-day, however, the soft snow impeded their speed. They seemed to berunning freely enough, in great bounds, but Bill could tell that theywere hard pressed. He would have liked to have taken one of the youngcows to add to his larder, but they were too far to risk a shot. Thenhe seized the girl by the hand.
"Plow fast as you can up hill," he urged. "I think we'll see someaction."
For he had guessed the impulse behind the wild race. They plungedthrough the snow as fast as they could, then sank almost out of sight inthe drifts. And in a moment Bill pointed to a gray, shadowy band thatcame loping toward them out of the haze.
It was the wolf pack, and they were deep in the hunt. They were great,shaggy creatures, lean and savage, and Virginia felt glad that thisstalwart form was beside her. The wolves of the North, when thestarvation time is on, are not always to be trusted. They lookedghostly and incredibly large through the flurries.
They came within a hundred yards, then their keen senses whispered awarning. Just for an instant they stood motionless in the snow, headsraised and fierce eyes grazing.
Bill raised his rifle. He took quick aim at the great leader, and thereport rang far through the silences. But the entire pack sprang awayas one.
"I can't believe that I missed," Bill cried. He started to take aimagain.
But no second shot was needed. Suddenly the pack leader leaped high inthe air and fell almost buried in the snow. His brethren halted,seemingly about to attack the fallen, but Bill's shout frightened themon. The great, gaunt creature would sing no more to the winter stars.
He was a magnificent specimen of the black wolf, head as large as thatof a black bear, and a pelt already rich and heavy. "We'll add a fewmore from time to time," Bill told her, "and then you can have a coat."
In these excursions Virginia learned to use her pistol with remarkableaccuracy. Her strength increased: she could follow wherever Bill led.Sometimes they climbed snowy mountains where the gales shrieked likedemons, sometimes they dipped into still, mysterious glens; they trackedthe little folk in the snow, and they called the moose from the thicketsbeside the lake.
They did not forget their graver business. Ever Virginia kept watch fora track that was not an animal track, a blaze on a tree that was notmade by the teeth of a porcupine or grizzly, a charred cook rack overthe ashes of a fire. But as yet they had found no sign of humanwayfarers other than themselves. There were no cut trees, no blazedtrails, no sign of a habitation. Yet she didn't despair. She had begunto have some knowledge of the great distances of the region: she knewthere were plenty of valleys yet unsearched.
Bill never ceased to search for his mine. He looked for blazes too, fora sign of an old camp or a pile of washings beside a stream. When hefound an open stream he would wash the gravel, and it seemed to him hecombed the entire region between the two little tributaries of GrizzlyRiver indicated on his map. But with the deepening snow search was evermore difficult. Unlike Virginia, he was almost rea
dy to give up.
The spirit of autumn had never shown her face again: winter had come tostay. Every day the snow deepened, the cold in the long nights was moreintense. Travel was no longer possible without snowshoes, but the hidestretched in the cabin was almost dry and ready to cut into thongs forthe webs. The less turbulent stretches of Grizzly River were frozenfast: the actual crossing of the stream was no longer a problem. Beyondit, however, lay only wintry mountains, covered to a depth of five feetor more with soft and impassable snow; and until the snow crusted, thejourney to Bradleyburg was as impossible as if they had been cast awayon another sphere.
Even the rapids of the river had begun to freeze. Often the cloudsbroke away at nightfall and let the cold come in,--stabbing,incredible cold that meant death to any human being that was caughtwithout shelter in its grasp. The land locked tight: no more could Billhunt for his mine in the creek beds. The last of the moose went down totheir yarding grounds, and even the far-off glimpse of a caribou was ararity. The marmots had descended into their burros, the snowshoerabbit hopped, a lonely figure in the desolation, through the drifts.Such of the other little people that remained--the weasel and theptarmigan--had turned to the hue of the snow itself.
But now the snowshoe frames were done, wrought from tough spruce, andthe moose hide cut into thongs and stretched across to make the webs.For a few days Bill and Virginia had been captives in the cabin, andthey held high revels in celebration of their completion. Now theycould go forth into the drifts again.
It did not mean, however, that the time was ripe for them to take theirsled and mush into Bradleyburg. The snow was still too soft for longjaunts. They had no tent or pack animals, and they simply would have towait for the most favorable circumstances to attempt the journey withany safety whatever. In the soft snow they could only make, at themost, ten miles a day; the sled was hard to drag; and the bitter cold ofthe nights would claim them quickly. It was not merely an alternativeor a convenience with them to wait for the crust. It was simplyunavoidable. Worst of all, the early winter storms were not done; and asevere blizzard on the trail would put a swift end to their journey.
But once more Virginia could search the snow for traces of her lover.And after the jubilant evening meal--held in celebration of thecompletion of the snowshoes--the girl stood in the cabin doorway,looking a long time into the snow-swept waste.
It was a clear, icy night, and the Northern Lights were more vivid andbeautiful than she had ever seen them. Bill thought that she waswatching their display; if he had known the real subject of herthoughts, he would not have come and stood in the doorway with her. Hewould have left her to her dreams.
The whole forest world was wan and ghostly in the mysterious light. Thetrees looked strange and dark, perspective was destroyed, the farmountain gleamed. The streamers seemed to come from all directions, metwith the effect of collision in the sky, and filled the great dome withuncanny light. Sometimes the flood of radiance would spread and flutterin waves, like a great, gorgeous canopy stirred by the wind, andfragments and balls of fire would spatter the breadth of the heavens.As always, in the face of the great phenomena of nature, Bill was deeplyawed.
"We're not the only ones to see it," Virginia told him softly."Somewhere I think--I feel--that Harold is watching it too.Somewhere over this snow."
Bill did not answer, and the girl turned to him in tremulous appeal.
"Won't you find him for me, Bill?" she cried. "You are so strong, socapable--you can do anything, anything you try. Won't you find himand bring him back to me?"
The man looked down at her, and his face was ashen. Perhaps it was onlythe effect of the Northern Lights that made his eyes seem so dark andstrange.
The Snowshoe Trail Page 12
