CHAPTER VI
At this crushing news, Fred left his post and went back with Maurice,who explained what had happened.
They had found a good camping-ground, where wood was abundant, and hadtried to light a fire. But the remaining matches proved to have beenbadly dampened; the heads were pasty or entirely soaked off. One byone they fizzled and went out. As a last hope, Maurice had hurriedback to their night camp for fire, only to find that the wet log hadsmouldered down and gone dead out.
The spot was about two thirds of a mile away, south from the river. Agreat windrow of hemlocks and jack-pines had fallen together, andafforded plenty of wood. On one of the logs sat Macgregor, with hiselbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands, the picture of despair;and at his feet was a litter of bark and kindling, and a dozen burntmatches.
They all sat down together in silence, and nobody found a word ofcomfort.
It was a brilliantly clear day, but the temperature had certainly notrisen to zero, and a slight, cutting wind blew from the west. The sunshone in an icy blue sky, but there was no heat in its rays.
"If we only had a cartridge," said Fred, "we might make a fire with thegun flash."
They all made another vain search of their pockets, in the faint hopeof finding a cartridge or an overlooked match head.
"If we don't find some way to make a fire before sunset," saidMacgregor gloomily, "we'll have to attack the cabin to-night. I reallydon't believe we could live through a night without fire, with nothingto eat, especially as we had no sleep last night."
"Surely if we went up to the cabin, they'd give us some fire," Mauriceprotested. "They wouldn't let us die in the snow."
"That's just what they count on us to do," said the Scotchman bitterly.
No one said anything about renewing the guard on the cabin. Nothingseemed to matter much--nothing except the cold. The morsels ofhalf-raw food they had eaten that morning did not keep them from beingravenously hungry again, and an empty stomach is poor protectionagainst Arctic cold.
Like the rest of them, Fred was heavily clad, but the cold seemed tofind his skin as if he were naked. He began to feel numb to the bone,lethargic, incapable of moving. Then he realized his danger, forcedhimself awake, and tried to think of some expedient for making a fire.
Flints could not be found under three feet of snow. Aburning-glass--if they only had one! It should have been included inthe outfit.
And then an idea flashed upon him. He jumped up suddenly.
"Wait here for me, fellows!" he cried.
He rushed off toward the river, and came back in a few minutes with apiece of clear ice, almost as large as his palm, and an inch or twothick. He slipped off his mittens, and began to rub it between hishands, so as to melt it down with the heat of his skin.
"See what it is? Burning-glass!" he exclaimed.
"But you can't make a burning-glass of _ice_!" said Maurice.
"Why not? Anyhow, I'm going to try."
But before he had worked the ice long, he had to stop, for his handsseemed freezing. While he beat and rubbed them, Maurice, incredulousbut willing, took the lump of ice, and shaped it down while the heatlasted in his hands. He then passed it on to Macgregor, who in turnhanded it to Fred again. He finally succeeded in melting and curvingit roughly into the proper shape.
He tried it on the back of his hand. An irregular but small andintensely hot spot of light concentrated itself there.
"I do believe it will work!" Peter cried.
They hastily collected a handful of fine, dry hair moss from the firbranches, and peeled filmy shreds of birch bark. Fred brought the"glass" to bear on the little heap. His numbed hands trembled so thathe could hardly hold it still. For some time there was no result.Then a thin thread of smoke began to arise. The boys held theirbreath. The hair moss suddenly sparkled and flamed. A shred of barkcaught. Peter interposed a large roll. It flared up.
"Hurrah! We've got it!" cried Macgregor. "Fred, you've saved ourlives, I do believe."
They piled on twigs, branches, and heavy lumps of wood, and soon had abrisk fire going. Better still, they were now assured of having alwaysthe means of making one--at least, whenever the sun shone.
The magical influence of the fire gave back to them a little of theircheerfulness. They warmed themselves thoroughly, and then started tohave another look at the outlaws, and to see whether they could findany small game. For now that they no longer suffered from the cold,their stomachs cried loudly for food.
Leaving the empty rifles by the fire, they armed themselves with clubsand poles for hunting, and had good hopes of being able to knock over apartridge or a hare. But the grouse seemed to have turned wild. Theysaw only two at a great distance. No hares showed themselves, norcould they find any trace of porcupines on the trees.
Skulking within sight of the cabin, they perceived one of the Frenchmencarrying in logs of wood for the fire--some of those that Fred himselfhad cut. Mitchell stood by, smoking his pipe, with a rifle under hisarm. Fred fancied he could smell frying venison as the door was opened.
Plainly the outlaws were on the alert still. The boys crouched, unseenand unheard, among the hemlocks; but if they had been armed, they couldeasily have picked off the two men at the door. And they had come tosuch a state of rage and desperation that they would very likely havedone it.
They found no comfort in the fact that the robbers showed noinclination to leave the place. The boys were perplexed at theirstaying, but probably the men had no reason to hurry, and, findingthemselves comfortably placed, had decided to remain where they werewhile the extreme cold snap lasted.
In spite of the cold, the boys remained on watch for some time afterthe men had gone indoors. Suddenly Peter laid his hand on Fred'sshoulder, and nodded backward.
A deer had come out of the thickets within thirty yards of where theylay,--a fine, fat buck,--and stood looking uneasily, sniffing, andcocking its ears in their direction. Then, without showing anyparticular alarm, it walked on, and passing within twenty yards ofthem, disappeared again.
They had to let it go; it was perhaps the cruelest moment they hadlived through.
Deer might be out of the question, but if they were to keep alive, itwas absolutely necessary that they should find something, and theyseparated in order to look for small game.
In the course of an hour or two they all straggled back to the campfire, half frozen and empty-handed. Macgregor indeed had seen apartridge, but his muscles had been so benumbed that he missed histhrow.
After warming themselves, they made another expedition--all butMaurice, who had neuralgic pains in his face, and who remained by thefire. But again Peter and Fred came back without game.
The sun had set by this time, and it was hopeless to try again. Ahungry night was inevitable, but they tried so to arrange matters thatat any rate they would be warm. They gathered all the wood that theycould break off or lift. Then with their snowshoes they dug down tothe ground, heaping the snow up in a rampart behind them, and piled inbalsam twigs, and trusted that in this pit they would be able to sleep.
It grew dark rapidly, and the wind rose. The fire, flaring andsmoking, drove smoke and sparks into their faces until their eyesstreamed. It made the leeward side of the fire almost unbearable,whereas the windward side was freezingly cold.
The temperature was perhaps not quite so low as the night before, butthe gale made it far more disagreeable. Regardless of smoke andsparks, they had to sit as near the fire as they dared, or riskfreezing. Sleep was impossible.
All three of them were faint and sick with starvation, but the plightof Maurice was the most wretched. His neuralgia had grown agonizing;his face was badly swollen, and he sat with his head buried in hisarms, and his inflamed cheek turned to the heat.
Much as they sympathized with him, they could do nothing to relievehim, except to try to keep up the fire. This task caused them endlesstrouble. The high wind made it burn furiously fast, and the
smallbranches they had gathered were licked up like magic. They had thoughtthere was enough fuel for the night, but soon after midnight Fred andPeter were foraging about in the deep snow and the storm for a freshsupply.
Toward morning their endurance broke down. They piled on all the restof the wood, and went to sleep huddled up by the fire, reckless whetherthey froze or not.
Fred was awakened from a painful and uneasy slumber by Peter's shakinghis arm.
"Your ears are frozen," the Scotchman was saying. "Rub them with snowat once."
While asleep, Fred had fallen back beyond the range of heat. It wasbroad daylight, and snowing fast. The fire was low. All of them werecovered with white, and Maurice was still asleep, sitting up, with hishead fallen forward on his knees.
Never in his life did Fred feel so unwilling to move. He did not feelcold; he hardly felt anything. All he wanted was to stay as he was andbe let alone.
But Macgregor insisted on rousing him, dragged him up, protesting, andrubbed snow on his ears. Fred was very angry, but the scuffle set hisblood moving again. His ears were not badly frozen, but the skin cameoff as he rubbed them. They bled, and the blood froze on as it ran,and made him a rather ghastly spectacle.
DRAGGED HIM UP, PROTESTING, AND RUBBED SNOW ON HIS EARS]
Maurice was awakened by the disturbance, and sat up stiffly. Hedeclared that his neuralgia was much better.
They built up the fire again, and sat beside it, shivering. Fred feltutterly incapable either of action or of thought, and even his hungerhad grown numbed. Maurice obviously felt no better, and Macgregor, whoseemed to retain a little energy, looked at them both with a face ofthe gravest concern. Presently he rose, put on his snowshoes, took along pole, and started away with an air of determination.
Maurice and Fred remained sitting by the fire in a sort of lethargy,and exchanged hardly a word. Macgregor was gone almost an hour; thenhe came back at a run, covered with snow, and carrying a dead hare. Heskinned the animal, cleaned it, cut it into pieces, and set it toroast. At the odor of the roasting meat, the boys' appetites revived,and they began to take the fragments from the spits before they werehalf cooked. The scorched, unsalted meat was even more tasteless andnauseating than that of the grouse, but they all bolted it voraciously,and washed it down by eating snow.
Almost immediately afterward they were taken with distressing crampsand vomiting, which left both Maurice and Fred in a state of weakcollapse. Macgregor suffered least, perhaps because he had eaten lessincautiously. He alone bore the burden of the rest of that day. Hebrought wood, kept the fire up, and propped Fred and Maurice up onpiles of hemlock branches. There were some small pieces of the hareremaining, and he finally made the boys chew them, and swallow thejuice. It seemed to do them good; at any rate, the nausea did notreturn. Then the Scotchman spoke.
"Look here," he said, "we've got to do it this very night--get backinto the cabin, I mean. We've gone almost too far now, and by anotherday we'll be too weak to move."
"But how'll we do it, Peter?" asked Fred weakly.
"There's only one way. We'll wait till after midnight, when they'll beasleep, and then burst in the door, aim our rifles at them, and gethold of their guns before they can recover their wits."
"They'll have the door barricaded. We'll be shot down before we canbreak in."
"I know it's a long chance, but we're living by a succession ofmiracles as it is. It can't last, and I'd as soon be shot as frozen todeath. I'm most afraid of the dogs. They'll make an awful uproar, andprobably spring at us as soon as we get in."
As far as Fred was concerned, he felt ready for the attempt, or rather,perhaps, that it made no difference what he did. Maurice alsoassented, but their force seemed a pitifully small one with which tooppose four able-bodied, well-armed men.
It was then late in the afternoon. Peter began to work energeticallyat gathering wood enough to last until they should try their desperatechance, and Fred and Maurice tried to help him. It had stopped snowingand had cleared. The night promised to be intensely cold.
Suddenly, faint and far, but very distinct, the sound of a rifle-shotresounded through the trees. They listened, and looked at one another.
"One of those ruffians has gone hunting," Maurice remarked.
"So he has," said Peter. "And see here," he added, with a suddenlybrightening face, "this gives us a chance. Let's ambush that fellow ashe comes in. We'll knock him down and stun him. That'll make one lessagainst us, and we'll have his rifle and cartridges. Perhaps he'llhave something to eat on him. Boys, it doubles our chances."
The plan did look promising. At any rate, it would, if successful,give them a firearm. The shot must have been fired fully a mile away;but they put on their snowshoes at once, and hastened in the directionof the cabin.
The light was failing fast as they stopped about two hundred yards fromthe hut, trying to guess just where the returning hunter would pass.It was very still, and they would be able to hear his footsteps for along way.
But they waited for nearly half an hour, and the woods were dusky whenat last their strained ears caught the regular creak, crunch, andshuffle of snowshoes in the distance. They were posted too far to theright, and they had to run fifty yards in order to cross the man'spath. There they crouched behind the hemlocks, in great fear lesttheir enemy had heard their steps. But in another minute they caughtsight of him. The man was alone, muffled in a great _capote_, carryinga rifle over his shoulder, and something on his back--possibly hisgame. His face was indistinguishable, but he looked like one of theFrench Canadians.
On he came with a steady stride, now in sight, and now concealed by thethickets. He passed within ten feet of the ambush where the boyscrouched palpitating.
"Now! Tackle him!" Macgregor cried.
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