The Snowshoe Trail

by Edison Marshall

  XXVIII

  Bill's eyes were considerably better when he wakened--full in thedaylight. The warm wet cloths had taken part of the inflammation out ofthem, and when he strained to open the lids, he was aware of a little,dim gleam of light. He couldn't make out objects, however, and exceptfor a fleeting shadow he could not discern the hand that he swept beforehis face. Several days and perhaps weeks would pass before the fullstrength of his sight returned.

  His greatest hope at present was that he could grope his way about thecabin and build a fire for Virginia. Whether she wished to get up ornot to-day, the growing chill in the room must be removed. He got up,fumbled on the floor for such of his outer garments as Virginia hadremoved, and after a world of difficulty managed to get them on. He wasamazingly refreshed by the night's sleep and Virginia's nursing. Hiseyes throbbed, of course; his muscles were lame and painful, his headached and his arms and legs seemed to be dismembered, yet he knew thatcomplete recovery was only a matter of hours.

  Building the fire, however, was a grievous task. He felt it incumbentupon him to move with utmost caution so that Virginia would not waken.By groping about the walls he encountered the stove. It was pleasantlywarm to his hands, and when he opened the door he found that hot coalswere still glowing in the ashes. Then he fumbled about the floor forsuch fuel as Harold had provided.

  He found a piece at last, and soon a cheery crackle told him that it hadignited. He grinned with delight at the thought that he, almost stoneblind, had been able to build a fire in a room with a sleeping girl andnot waken her. But his joy was a trifle premature. At that instant hetripped over a piece of firewood and his hands crashed against the logs.

  "Oh, blast my clumsiness!" he whispered; then stood still as death tosee what had befallen. Virginia stirred behind her curtain.

  "Is that you, Harold?" she asked.

  She was wide awake, and further deception was unavailing. "No. It'sBill."

  "Well, what are you doing, up? Did Harold--do you mean to say youbuilt the fire yourself?"

  "That's me, lady----"

  "Then you must have your sight again----" The girl snatched aside thecurtain and peered into his face.

  "No such luck. Coals were still glowing; all I had to do was put in apiece of firewood. But I'm all well otherwise, as far as I can tell.How about you?"

  The girl stretched up her arms. "A little stiff--Bill, I've certainlygained recuperative powers since I came up here. But, Heavens, I've hadbad dreams. And now--I want you to tell me just how this blindness ofyours--is going to affect our getting out."

  It was a serious question, one to which Bill had already given muchthought. "I don't see how it can affect us a great deal," he answeredat last. "I realize you don't know one step of the way down toBradleyburg, and I can't see the way; but Harold knows it perfectly. Ofcourse if we had plenty of food the sensible thing to do would be towait--till I get back my sight. But you know--we haven't scarcelyany food at all. The last of the meat is gone, except one little pieceof jerky. We've got a cup or two of flour and one or two cans. Ofcourse there isn't enough to get down to the settlements on."

  "Then we'll have to use the grizzly--after all?"

  "Of course. Thank God we had him to fall back on. But even with him, Idon't think we ought to wait till I get back my sight. We might haveother delays, and perhaps another softening of the crust. It will bepretty annoying--traveling on grizzly flesh--and pretty awkward tohave a blind man in the party, but--I'll be some good, anyway. MaybeI can cut fuel."

  The girl was deeply touched. It was so characteristic of this man thateven in his blindness he wished to make the difficulties of the journeyjust as light as possible for her.

  "I won't let you do a thing," she told him. "Harold and I can do thework of camp."

  "There won't be much to do, unfortunately; our camping will have to beexceedingly simple. We'll take the sled full of blankets and grizzlymeat and what other little things we need. I don't see why you can'tride on it, too--most of the way; the going is largely downhill andthe crust is perfect. We can skim along. At night we'll have to sleepout--and not get much sleep, either--but by going hard, even onsnowshoes, we can make it through in three days--sleeping out just twonights. Harold and I can build raging fires--he starting them andhelping me with the the fuel cutting. Oh, I know, Virginia, I won't bemuch good on this trip--and those two nights will be pretty terrible.We'll have to take turns in watching the fire. But with blankets aroundour shoulders, acting as reflectors for the heat, we can get some rest."

  "But you are sure Harold knows the way? I couldn't even get as far asthe river, and you are blind----"

  "Harold knows the way as well as I do. I can mush all right, by hangingon the gee-pole. It will be comparatively easy going; the brush iscovered with snow. The only thing that remains is to have Harold goover and get a supply of the grizzly meat. Or, better still, sincehe'll have to take the sled, we can pick it up on the way out. It'sfrozen hard and won't take harm, and it's only a half mile out of ourway."

  As if the invocation of his name were a magic summons, Harold opened thedoor and entered. He carried Bill's loud-mouthed rifle in the hollow ofhis arm.

  "You've been hunting?" Virginia cried. She was pleased that thissweetheart of hers should have risen so early in an attempt to securefresh meat for their depleted larder. It was wholly the manly thing todo.

  "Of course. I figured we needed meat. I carried Bill's rifle because Idon't trust the sights of mine. They were a yard off that day I shot atthe caribou."

  "Did you see any game?"

  Harold's eyes met hers an narrowed, ever so slightly. But his answerwas apt. "I saw a caribou--about two miles away. There didn't seem achance in the world to hit it, but considering our scarcity of meat, Itook that chance. Of course, I didn't hit within ten feet of him;Bill's gun isn't built for such long ranges. I shot--four times."

  Bill did not reply. He was thinking about those same four shots. Itwas incomprehensible that they should have made such an impression uponhim.

  "And for all that Bill hasn't got his sight back yet, we're going tostart down to-morrow," Virginia went on in a gay voice. She glancedonce at Bill, but she did not see the world of despair that came intohis face at the delight with which she spoke. "You and I will taketurns pulling the sled; Bill will hang on to the gee-pole. And Billsays you know the way. We're going to dash right through--camp outonly two nights."

  "I know the way all right," Harold answered. "What about food?"

  "It's only a half-mile out of the way to Bill's mine. There we're goingto load the sled with grizzly meat."

  It was in Harold's mind that their journey would be far different--downto the Twenty-three Mile cabin and to the Yuga rather than over GrizzlyRiver. But for certain very good reasons he kept this knowledge tohimself. His lips opened to tell them that the wolves and coyoteshad already devoured the carcass of the bear; but he caught himself intime. It would be somewhat hard to explain how he had learned thatfact, in the first place; and in the second, there was a real danger tohis plot if this revelation were made. Likely they would suggest that,to conserve what little food they had, they start at once. The time hadnot yet come to unfold this knowledge.

  He nodded. The day passed like those preceding,--simple meals, a fewhours of talk around the fire, such fuel cutting as was necessary tokeep the cabin snug and to provide a supply for the night. This wastheir last day in Clearwater,--and Virginia could hardly accept thetruth.

  How untrue had been her gayety! In all the white lies of her past, allthe little pretenses that are as much a part of life in civilization asbuildings and streets, she had never been as false to herself as now.She had never had to act a part more cruel,--that she could feel joyat the prospect of her departure.

  She could deceive herself no longer. The events of the previous day hadopened her eyes--in a small measure at least--and her thoughtsgroped in vain for a single anticip
ation, a single prospect that couldlighten the overpowering weight of her sadness. And the one hope thatcame to her was that strange sister of despair,--that back in her oldlife, in her own city, full forgetfulness might come to her.

  Wasn't it true that she would say good-by to the bitter cold and thesnow wastes? Was there no joy in this? Yet these same solitudes hadbrought her happiness that, though now to be blasted, had been arevelation and a wonder that no words could name or no triumphs of thefuture could equal. The end of her adventure,--and she felt it mightas well be the end of her life. Three little days of bitter hardship,Bill tramping at her side,--and then a long, dark road leading nowhereexcept to barren old age and death.

  Never again would she know the winter forest, the silence and themystery, and the wolf pack chanting with infinite sadness from the hill.The North Wind, a reality now, would be a forgotten myth: she wouldforget that she had seen the woodland caribou, quivering withirrepressible vigor against the snowfields. The thrill, theexhilaration of battle, the heat of red blood in her veins would bestrangers soon: the whole adventure would seem like some happy,impossible dream. Never to hear a friendly voice wishing her goodmorning, never a returning step on the threshold, the touch of a stronghand in a moment of fear! She was aghast and crushed at the realizationthat this man was going out of her life forever. She would leave him tohis forests,--their shadows hiding him forever from her gaze.

  She found it hard to believe that she could fit into her old niche.Some way, this northern adventure had changed the very fiber of hersoul. She could find no joy at the thought of the old gayeties she hadonce loved, the beauty and the warmth. Was it not true that Haroldwould go out beside her, the lover of her girlhood? His uncle wouldstart him in business; her course with him would be smooth. But herhands were cold and her heart sick at the thought.

  As the hours passed, the realization of her impending departure seemedto grow, like a horror, in her thoughts. She still made her patheticeffort to be gay. It would not do for these men to know the truth, soshe laughed often and her words were joyous. She fought back the tearsthat burned in her eyelids. She could only play the game; there was noway out.

  She could conceive of no circumstances whereby her fate would bealtered. She knew now, as well as she knew the fact of her own life,that she had been trapped and snared and cheated by a sardonic destiny.For the moment she wished she had never fought her way back to the cabinwith Bill after yesterday's adventure, but that side by side in thedrifts, they had yielded to the Shadow and the cold.

  Through the dragging hours of afternoon, Harold seemed restless anduneasy. He smoked impatiently and was nervous and abstracted in thehours of talk. But the afternoon died at last. Once more the shadowslengthened over the snow; the dusk grew; the first, bright stars thrustthrough the gray canopy above them. Virginia went to the work ofcooking supper,--the last supper in this little, unforgettable cabinin the snow.

  Both Bill and Virginia started with amazement at the sound of tappingknuckles on the door. Harold's eyes were gleaming.