XXII
For a full moment Bill gave little attention to the deepening clouds ofpungent, biting wood smoke that the wind whipped in through the hole hehad cut in the door. Likely it was just a momentary gust, a shifting inthe air currents, and the wind would soon resume its normal direction.Besides, the discovery that he had just made seemed to hold and occupyall the territory of his thought: he was scarcely aware of the burningpain that the acrid, resinous green-wood smoke brought to his eyes.This was the most bitter moment of his life, and he was lost and remotein his dark broodings. The smoke didn't matter.
He began really to wonder about it when the room grew so smoky thatit no longer received the firelight. The hole in the door was likea flue: the smoke--that deadly green-wood smoke known of old to thewoodsman--streamed through in great clouds. He had shut his eyes atfirst; now he found it impossible to keep them open. The pungentsmoke crept into his lungs and throat, burning like fire. He knewthat it could no longer be disregarded.
It had been part of his wilderness training to respond like lightning ina crisis. Many times on the forest trails life itself had depended uponan instantaneous decision, then immediate effort to carry the decisionout. The fawn that does not leap like a serpent's head at the firstcrack of a twig as the wolf steals toward him in the thicket never livesto grow antlers. The power to act, to summon and focus the full mightof the muscles in the wink of an eye, then to hurl them into a breachhad been Bill's salvation many times. But to-night the power seemedgone. For long seconds his muscles hung inert. He didn't know what todo.
The capacity for mighty and instantaneous effort seemed gone from hisbody. His mind was slow too,--blunted. He could make no decisions.He only seemed bewildered and impotent.
The truth was that Bill had been near the point of utter exhaustion fromhis day's toil in the snow and his labor of building the fire. Thevital nervous fluids no longer sprang forth to his muscles at thecommand of his brain: they came tardily, if at all. The fountain of hisnervous energy had simply run down as the battery runs down in a motor,and it could only be recharged by a rest. But there was a deeper reasonbehind this strange apathy. The last blow--the sight of thephotograph of his father's murderer and its new connection with hislife--had for the time being at least crushed the fighting spirit withinthe man. The fight for life no longer seemed worth while. In hisbitterness he had lost the power to care.
The smoke deepened in the cabin. It seemed to be affecting his power tostand erect. He tried to think of some way to save himself; his mindwas slow and dull.
He knew that he couldn't get out of the cabin. There was only a littlehole in the door; to crawl through it, inch by inch as he had entered,would subject him to the full fury of the flames. Oh, they would searand destroy him quickly if he tried to creep through them! All nightthey had been mocking him with their cheerful crackle; they had onlybeen waiting for this chance to torture him. He had to spring high toenter the little hole at all; there was no way to dodge the flamesoutside. But he might knock the logs apart and put the fire out.
There was only a distance of two paces between him and the door, but heseemed to have difficulty in making these. He reeled against the wall.But when he tried to thrust his arms through to reach the burning logs,the cruel tongues stabbed at his hands.
But in spite of the pain, he reached again. The skin blistered on hishands, and for a long, horrible instant he groped impotently. The flamewas raging by now, two or three pitch-laden spruce chunks blazingfiercely at once, and it seemed wholly likely that the cabin itselfwould catch fire. But he couldn't reach the logs.
He remembered his gloves then and fumbled for them in his pocket. Thesmoke could only be endured a few seconds more. He caught hold the edgeof the opening and tried to spring up. But the flames beat into hisface and drove him down again.
For a moment he stood reeling, trying to think, trying to remember someresource, some avenue of escape. There was no furniture to stand on.If he could cover his face he might be able to leap part way through theopening and knock the burning logs apart. He tried to open his smartingeyes, but the lids were wracked with pain and would not at once respond.He made it at last, but the dense smoke was impervious to his vision.The firelight gave it a ghastly pallor.
His ax! With his ax he could chop the door away. His hand fumbled athis belt. But he remembered now; he lad left his ax outside the cabin,its blade thrust into the spruce log that had supplied his fuel.
Suddenly he saw himself face to face with seemingly certain death. Itwas curious that he did not feel more fear, greater revulsion. It wasalmost as if it didn't matter. While the steady sinking of the burninglogs lessened, in some degree, the danger of the cabin igniting--a fewinches of snow against the door remaining unmelted--the smoke cloudswere swiftly and surely strangling him. Already his consciousness wasdeparting. He leaped for the opening again and fell sprawling on thedirt floor. He started to spring up----
But he suddenly grew inert, breathing deeply. There was still air closeto the ground. Strange he hadn't thought of it before,--just to liestill, face close to the dirt. It pained him to breathe; his eyesthrobbed and burned, but at least it was life. He pressed his face tothe cool earth.
Yet unconsciousness was sweeping him again. He would feel himselfdrifting, then with all the faltering power of his will he wouldstruggle back. But perhaps this sweet oblivion was only sleep. Hisnerves were crying for rest. Once more he floated, and the hours ofnight crept by.
When Bill wakened again, the last pale glimmer of the lighted smoke wasgone. He was bewildered at first, confusing reality with his dreams,but soon the full memory of the night's events swept back to him. Hisfaculties had rallied now, his thought was clearer. The few hours thathe had rested had been his salvation.
Yet it was still night. He raised his hands before his eyes but couldnot see even their outline. And the cabin was still full of smoke. Butit seemed somewhat less dense now, less pungent. But the smarting inhis eyes was more intense.
The fire had evidently burned down and out. He struggled to open hiseyes, then gazed around the walls in search of the opening in the door.But he could not see the reflection of an ember. He fought his way tohis feet.
His fumbling hands encountered the log walls; he then groped about tillhe found the plank door. His gloved hands smarted, but their sense oftouch did no seem blunted. He had never known a darker night! Now thathe found the hole in the door, it was curious that he could not see onestar gleaming through. But perhaps clouds had overspread.
A measure of heat against his face told him that coals were stillglowing under the ashes, yet he might be able to creep through. It wasworth a trial: the smoke in the cabin was still almost unbearable. Hismuscles were more at his command now; with a great lurch he sprang upand thrust head and shoulders through the opening.
The hot ashes punished his face, and his hand encountered hot coals ashe thrust them through. Yet with a mighty effort he pushed on until hiswrists touched the icy snow. He knew that he was safe.
He stood erect, scarcely believing in his deliverance. And the snow hadcrusted during the night; it would almost hold him up without snowshoes.As soon as the light came, he could mush on toward his Twenty-three Milecabin. It would be a cold and exhausting march, but he could make it.The night was bitter now, assailing him like a scourge the moment heleft the warm cabin; and the temperature would continue to fall untilafter dawn. The wind still blew the snow dust--a stinging lash fromthe north and west--and it had brought the cold from the Bering Sea.
It was curious that a cloudy night could be so cold. Yet when he openedhis eyes he could not see the gleam of a star. The red coals of thefire, too, were smothered and obscured in ashes. He stepped towardthem, intending to rake them up for such heat as they could yield.Presently he halted, gazing with fascinated horror at the ground.
He was suddenly struck with a ghastly and terrible possibility. He couldnot give
it credence, yet the thought seemed to seize and chill him likea great cold. But he would know the truth in a moment. It was alwayshis creed: not to spare himself the truth. Surely it would simply be aninteresting story--this of his great fear--when he returned with hisbackload of supplies to Virginia. Something to talk about, in thepainful and embarrassed moments that remained before Virginia and herlover went out of his sight forever.
His hand groped for a match. In his eagerness it broke off at hisfingers as he tried to strike it. But soon he found another.
He heard it crack in the silence, but evidently it was a dud! Thedarkness before his eyes remained unbroken.
Filled with a sick fear, he removed his glove and passed his hand overthe upheld match. There was no longer a possibility for doubt. Thetiny flame smarted his flesh.
"Blind!" he cried. "Out here in the snow and the forest--blind!"
It was true. The pungent wood smoke had done a cruel work. Until timeshould heal the wounds of the tortured lenses, Bill was blind.
The Snowshoe Trail Page 22
