CHAPTER XIX
WHEN THE ICE GOES SOFT
The snows were fading fast before the rain and sleet of the big thaw.Often, at night, the softening winds shifted, to drive in raw from thenorth, again tightening the land with frost. But each day, as Mayneared, the sun swung higher and higher, slowly scattering the snow toflood the ice of myriad lakes and rivers. Already, Marcel had thrilledto the trumpets of the gray vanguards of the Canadas. On fair days thesun flashed from white fleets of "wavies," bound through seas of Aprilskies to far Arctic ports.
With May the buds of birch and poplar began to swell, later to lightwith the soft green of their young leaves the sombre reaches of uplandjack-pine and spruce. Rimming the rivers with red, the new shoots of thewillows appeared. At dawn, now, from dripping spires, white-throats andhermit thrush, fleeter than the spring, startled the drowsing forestwith a reveille of song.
One afternoon in May on his return from picking up a line of traps to becached for use the following winter, Marcel went to the neighboringpond to lift his net. For safety on the rapidly sponging ice he wore hissnow-shoes and carried a twelve-foot spruce pole. He had reset the netand was lashing an anchor line to a stake when suddenly the honeycombedshell crumbled beneath his feet.
As he sank, he lunged for the pole he had dropped to set the net, butthe surface settled under his leap carrying him into the water. Fightingin the mush ice for the pole almost within reach, to his horror he foundhis right foot trapped. He could not move farther in that direction. Thesnow-shoe was caught in the net.
Marcel turned back floundering to the edge of firm ice, where he heldhimself afloat. Fast numbing with cold, as he clung, caught like abeaver in a trap, he knew that it was but a matter of minutes. Fleur, ifonly Fleur were there! But Fleur was hunting in the "bush."
With a great effort he braced himself on his elbows, got his frozenfingers between his teeth, and blew the signal, once heard, his dog hadnever failed to answer.
To the joy of the man slowly chilling to the bone, a yelp sounded in theforest. Rallying his ebbing strength, again Marcel whistled. ShortlyFleur appeared on the shore, sighted the master and bounded through thesurface slop out to the fishing hole. Reaching Marcel, the husky seizeda skin sleeve of his capote and arching her great back, fought theslippery footing in a mad effort to drag him from the water. But the netheld him fast.
"De stick, Fleur! De stick dere!" Marcel pointed toward the pole.
Sensing his gesture, the dog brought the pole to the ice edge. Then withthe pole bridging the hole, its ends on firm ice, Marcel worked his wayto the submerged net, but the sinkers had hopelessly tangled the mesheswith his snow-shoe. Under his soggy capote was his knife. His stifffingers fumbled desperately with the knot of his sash but failed toloose it. Again Fleur seized his sleeve and pulled until she rolledbackward with a patch of the tough hide in her teeth.
The situation of the trapped man seemed hopeless. The chill of the waterwas fast numbing his senses. Already his heart slowed with the torpor ofslow freezing. With difficulty now he kept the excited Fleur fromplunging beside him into the mush ice.
Then with a final effort he got his free leg with its snow-shoe, overthe pole, and seizing the husky's tail with both hands, cried:
"Marche, Fleur! Marche!"
Settling low between wide-spread fore-legs, the dog dug her nails intothe soft ice and hurled her weight into a fierce lunge. As her feetslipped, the legs of the husky worked like piston rods showeringMarcel's face with water, her nails gouging the ice, while she foughtthe drag of the net.
At last, something gave way, Marcel felt himself move. Slowly the greatdog drew her master over the pole and upon the ice with the net stillanchored to his right foot.
Still gripping Fleur's tail in his left hand, with the other he finallyreached his knife and groping in the icy water slashed the heel thong ofthe caught shoe. Free, Marcel limped to his camp, Fleur, now leapingbeside him, now marching proudly with his sleeve in her teeth.
The heat of the fire and the hot broth soon started the blood of thehalf-frozen Frenchman, who lay muffled in a blanket. Near him sprawledthe husky, who had sensed only too acutely on the ice the dangermenacing her master and would not now leave his sight, but with head onpaws watched the blanketed figure through eyes which spoke the thoughtsshe could not express: "Jean may need Fleur again. She will stay withhim by the fire."
Once too often, Marcel mused, he had gambled with the rotten spring ice,and now had barely missed paying for his rashness. To drown in a holelike a muskrat, after pulling out of the starvation days with a cacheheavy with meat and fish, was unthinkable. But, after all, what did itmatter? Life would be of small value now with Julie out of it.
The Whelps of the Wolf Page 20
