CHAPTER III
The Snowstorm
Given three good-natured young men, a satisfactory guide, a stretch ofLabrador wild, and no cares of any sort, it is not surprising that thehappy days and weeks followed one another into the maw of Time, untilthe date of departure for home drew near.
"I'd like to stay here forever," declared Blair, as he filled his pipeand stretched luxuriously before the fire. "Civilization has lost allcharm for me."
"Go away with you!" scoffed Peter Boots, "that's a fine, ambitiousspirit to show, and you a rising young author,--or about to become one."
"Not unless you duff in and help, old chap. Our book hangs on yourefforts, I've pretty well done my part of it."
"And I'll do mine, don't worry. I'm a procrastinator and a put-offer,but I'll get there! Now, cut out the book till we get home. These lastfew days up here must be given over to Nature as she is snowed under!"
It was the last week in September, but snow-squalls were frequent,winds were high and rains were cold and sleety.
Joshua had been urging the homeward journey for several days, but themen were loath to go, until now, a more severe bit of weather hadpersuaded them. Even as they sat round the fire, with storm coats drawnhigh up around their ears, the sleet-squalls drove against their facesand the gale howled among the snowy trees.
Peter loved the life, the outdoor days and tented nights, but his mindonce made up to leave, his volatile spirit turned toward home.
"A couple of days more staving round in the snowdrifts and I'll beready," he announced, and Joshua began to pack up.
The guide growled a little at the reluctance of his party to start.
"You men wait too long, and you'll be sorry," he warned. "This windwon't only let up for a little spell at a time,--mostly it'll blow likesomethin' let loose! And if a big snow comes,--and it's likelyto,--we'll be in a fix."
"Now, now, old man," began Shelby, "don't growl. We've been a prettygood sort, haven't we? We're going home, aren't we? Why croak at us?"
"That's all right, sir, but meantime this Northwest wind keeps up itsforce, and--well, it means business."
"All right, we'll get the better of its business deal," prophesiedPeter, and he and Blair went off for a hike.
As they started, the sun shone clear, and though the temperature wasbelow thirty, the two men strode along, happy with sheer physical joy ofliving.
"This is the life!" said Peter, flapping his arms, and watching hisbreath congeal in frosty clouds.
"Yes," Blair agreed, "to a certain point----"
"Freezing point?"
"I guess that's right! I like it all as well as you do, but it's nicestwhen the sun shines. And by Jiminy, she's clouding over again!"
Clouds meant cold,--a raw, penetrating chill that seemed to strike tothe marrow, and the pair were glad to turn back toward camp.
"What do you think most about, when you think of home?" asked Blair,idly.
"Carly Harper," replied Peter, speaking from the fullness of his heart.
"Good Lord! So do I!" exclaimed Blair, his tone that of surprise only.
Peter turned and looked at him. "Not a chance for you, old chap," hesaid. "Little Carly is waiting for me. Yeo, ho, lads, ho,--Yeo, ho!"
"Oh, I say! Really?" Blair's consternation was almost comic.
"Yes, sir! Fair warning,--keep off!"
"Engaged?"
"Same as."
"Meaning she hasn't said a positive yes?"
"Meaning that, if you like."
"Then it's fair field and no favor! We're too good friends tomisunderstand, but let's call it a case of may the best man win."
"All right, but I'll win and you can be best man at the wedding, how'sthat?" Peter's eyes shone with good humor, and his happy face left Blairlittle room for doubt as to Peter's own view of the case. What Carlyherself thought was another matter.
But the two were too good friends to quarrel, and moreover, each knewthe other too well to mistrust him for a minute. It would, indeed, be afair field where they were concerned.
"I didn't know you'd gone so far," said Blair, ruefully, "of course,there's no chance for me."
"I hope not," returned Peter, cheerfully. "But when we get back we'llsoon find out."
"Perhaps find out that she's 'gone with a handsomer man,'" suggestedBlair.
"Not impossible. I suppose there are such."
But a disinterested observer, looking at Peter's fine, strong face, withits radiant coloring, brought out by the sharp air, might not haveagreed.
And then conversation became abstract, for the wind rose to a piercinggale and it was all they could do to keep their balance and fight theirway along.
* * * * *
"I said this here wind was bound to ease up some time and it has," saidJoshua, with decided satisfaction, the morning of the start for home."We ought to make good goin' to-day, and maybe get ahead of our ownschedule."
"That's the trick," said Shelby, "always get ahead of your own schedule,and you're bound to succeed. Come on, Peter, here we go."
The leave-taking was a bit silent, for all three had become attached tothe camp, and they gave long farewell glances backward.
Then off they went, and throwing sentiment aside, turned their thoughtsand their talk to the coming journey.
For home was yet a long way off. Many days' traveling before theyreached the mail boat and then many more before they could lift New YorkHarbor.
"And I'm glad of it," declared Peter. "The longer we are on the homestretch, the better I'll be pleased."
"Granting we don't miss the boat," added Blair. "When I start out I wantto arrive."
It was about three days later that a big storm set in. Relentlessly itblew and snowed and the gales were almost unbreastable.
"Don't dare stop," said Joshua, in his usual laconic way; "the winter'sset in, and any day may be worse'n the day before. Old Merk is down totwenty-four, and we want to peg ahead,--that's what we want to do."
They did,--by day,--and by night they enjoyed the rest and warmth ofcamp, but still, Joshua urged them ahead continually.
He parceled out longer days and shorter nights, until even strong Peterbegan to feel the strain.
Shelby was of a wiry sort, and stood hard going well; Blair was apatient, plodding nature and wouldn't have complained if he had droppedin his tracks; but Peter was impulsive and impatient, and he growledfrankly.
"We'll get there, Eli," he said to the guide; "don't hustle us so."
"Got to do it, Mr. Crane. I know more about this here winter that'sclosing in on us, than you do. It's a bit early, but it's sure!"
So on they went, through snow that was wet and heavy, through icy sleetthat stung and cut their faces, through roaring winds that choked theirlungs, but full of indomitable courage and perseverance and ofunimpaired good nature.
And yet a week of this traveling at last began to tell on their_morale_. Not that they grew testy or irritable, but the silences werelonger, the repartee less gay, and even buoyant Peter's spirits droopeda little.
Joshua then took a turn as comforter.
"The worst'll soon be over," he reassured them. "Two days will get us toBig Lake, and once we finish that, we'll be well on our way."
So on they pushed, heavily laden, traveling slowly, but all well andsound in wind and limb.
It was the middle of October, when a bright sunny day beamed on them andtheir spirits rose in consequence.
But Joshua did not smile. "Weather breeder," he said, laconically, andlooked gloomy.
The others knew better than to call him a pessimist, for when Joshuapredicted weather, it came.
And come it did. Not a squall; there was little if any wind, but asnowfall. A steady, straight down snow that was so thick, so dense, theycould scarce see one another's forms.
"Keep a-going," directed Joshua; "and for the land's sake, don't get farapart. Stay close together, single trail, and close!"
Thus they
went on, the guide first, then Shelby, then Blair, then Peter.There was no reason for the order they took, it merely happened that itwas so.
They kept close, as directed, but the going was hard. If one stumbled,one must recover quickly and hasten ahead not to lose sight of theothers.
And the snow continued. Soft, white, feathery flakes, more and morethickly falling every moment. Joshua plowed ahead, the others followed,and each had all he could do to keep his eyes clear enough to see theman in front.
Which is how it happened that when Peter stumbled and fell, and foundhimself unable to rise, the others had no knowledge of it.
As the big man went down, he essayed to rise quickly, but his right legrefused to move.
"Broken!" he said to himself, as one noting a trivial occurrence."Queer, to break a leg, falling in a bed of soft snow!"
But that was exactly what he had done, and realizing it, he set up ayell that would have made a North American Indian envy its force andvolume.
But for all the good it did, it might as well have been a whisper. Thewind, though not violent, was against him, and carried the sound awayfrom the plodding travelers. His friends could not hear it. Not lookingback, as indeed, they had no thought of doing, they did not miss theirfallen comrade and on they toiled, ignorant of the fact that they werethree instead of four now.
And Peter,--big, strong Peter Crane,--brave, intrepid Peter Boots,--satthere in the furious snowstorm, unable to rise, but with brain and mindvividly alive to what had happened.
Quick of thought, always, he now traced with lightning rapidity, justwhat the future held for him--and such a short future, atthat--unless----
His only hope lay in his lung power.
He yelled, screamed, whistled, hooted, and put all of his strength andnerve force in his desperate efforts to reach the ears of his comrades.
But it was impossible. The cruel wind drove his voice away from those itwas meant to reach, the snowflakes filled his open mouth as he shouted;and as hope failed, strength failed and Peter faced his fate.
Strong, able-bodied, save for the broken leg, he tried to crawl along.The result was pitiful, for he merely floundered in the deep mass ofsoft whiteness. His share of the luggage was heavy packs, nothing ofwhich he could make a flag of distress or even build a fire. He felt forhis matches, and lighting a cigarette, waved it aloft, almost smiling athis tiny beacon.
Then came despair. His mind seemed to grow more alert as his body wasovercome by the cold. His blood boiled, even as it froze in his veins.He felt abnormally acute of intellect, and plead with himself to thinkof something,--to invent something that would save his life.
Yet he knew there was no hope. The fast-falling snow obliterated alltracks almost instantly. Even though the others missed him, they couldnever find him, and,--this thought struck a new chill through hisveins,--in a short time the snowfall would even obliterate him!
What a death! Helpless; unable even to meet it standing, he must liethere, and let the snow bury him alive!
He could maintain a half-sitting posture,--but what use? Why not liedown flat and get it over quickly? Yet he must hold on as long aspossible, for the men might come back,--he began to think what theywould do--but, he was sure they would not miss him until too late to doanything. If the snow would only let up. It was such a pity to have hiswhereabouts hidden by a foolish fall of snow! As Peter grew colder hegrew calmer. His senses mercifully became numbed at last, and as theactual moment of his freezing to death came nearer and nearer, he caredless and less. A state of coma is a blessing to many dying men, and intothis state Peter gently drifted, even as the snow drifted over andcovered his stiff, silent form.
* * * * *
And his friends trudged on; not that it could be calledtrudging,--rather, they plodded, stumbled, pitched, fought and merelyachieved progress by blindly plunging ahead.
It was nearly a half hour after Peter's fall that Blair, accidentallyturned round by a gust of wind, called out an exasperated "Halloo!"which gained no response.
"Halloo!" he repeated, "Peter! how goes it?"
Still no return call, and Blair called to those ahead.
They turned, and, huddling together in the storm, they looked at oneanother with scared faces.
"I warned you to keep close together," began Joshua, but forbore tochide, as he saw the dumb agony in the eyes of the other two men.
"Turn back," said Shelby, "and quickly. How long do you suppose he hasbeen gone? Has he missed the track? What happened, Joshua?"
"He must have fallen," the guide replied. "Or maybe just strayed off,blinded by the snow, and he's wandering around yet. He has a compass andhe knows where to head for. Small use our trying to turn back and findhim. He's 'way off by this time,--or, maybe, he ain't. Maybe he's closebehind,--we couldn't see him ten yards off in this snow."
"I never saw such a thickness of white!" exclaimed Blair. "I've heardthat when snow is so white and feathery, it doesn't last long."
"This snow does," returned Joshua, "and I tell you, Mr. Shelby, there'sno use turning back. We'd just waste our time,--maybe our lives----"
"But, man, we can't go without Crane!" Shelby cried. "I won't go on andleave him to his fate!"
"'Tain't likely he's in any real danger," said Joshua, almost believinghis own statement. "If it was one of you two, now, I'd feel morealarmed. But Mr. Crane,--he's got a head on him, and a compass, and heknows the route we're taking,--he went over it with me before westarted. Lord knows I'd be the first one to go to his rescue, if it wasrescue he needed, but I don't think it is."
"Rescue or not," said Blair, "I will not go on without Peter. You two dowhat you like. I'm going to turn back and hunt for him."
"So am I," declared Shelby, and the two turned to face the backwardtrail.
"All foolishness," muttered Joshua, "but of course, I'll go along."
It was all foolishness, there was no doubt of that. The snow had coveredall signs of their own tracks, there was no road to follow, no landmarksto go by. Though Joshua had pursued his route by compass, he could notretrace it surely enough to find a lost man.
However, they persisted; they dashed at snow-covered mounds only to findthem hummocks or rocks. They hallooed and shouted; they stared into thesnowy distance, hoping to discern smoke; but though their big, strongPeter was less than half a mile away from them, they could get no hintof his presence.
Night came on. They built their camp fire of enormous dimensions, hopingagainst hope that it might attract the lost man.
None slept, save for a few fitful dozes from sheer exhaustion and grief.Joshua stolidly insisted that Peter was undoubtedly all right, andthough they could scarcely believe it, this comforted the other two.
Next morning they held council. Joshua was all for going on and givingup the search for Crane.
Blair, too, felt it a useless waste of time to remain, but Shelby beggedfor a few hours.
"If the storm abates just a little----" he began.
"It won't," declared Joshua. "It's a little mite less windy but thissnowfall's only just begun. It won't quit for days,--lessen it turns torain,--and then the goin''ll be a heap worse."
It didn't seem as if the going could be much worse. Already the men haddifficulty in moving because of their wet, half-frozen clothing.Available wood was buried under the snow, their strength was becomingimpaired, and all things pointed to even worse weather conditions.
Reluctantly Shelby and Blair agreed to Joshua's plans, realizing thatPeter might be all right and on his homeward journey, and further delaymight result in their own loss of life. For the outlook was menacing,and Joshua's knowledge and advice were sincere and authoritative.
And still it snowed. Steadily, persistently, uninterruptedly. Thereseemed a permanency about that soft, downward moving mass that forebodeddanger and defeat to any one who remained to dare it further.
And so they started again, half glad to go, half unwilling to leave. Itwas the terrible uncertain
ty that told on them. They shrank from facingthe thought of what it would mean if they didn't find Peter, and forcedthemselves to believe that they would meet him.
Their objective point was a trapper's log house on the shore of thelake.
They reached it, tired, footsore, but full of hope for good news. Aquick glance round the tiny interior, consisting of but two rooms,showed no smiling-faced Peter.
A few words from Joshua to the trappers gave no cause for rejoicing, andfurther conversation and explanation revealed the fact that theexperienced trappers had no doubt as to Peter's fate.
Nor did they blame Joshua in any way. Had he stayed for a longer search,they averred, there would have been four dead men instead of one.
And then both Shelby and Blair realized that Joshua's expressedhopefulness of finding Peter safe at the end of their journey was merelyby way of urging them to move on, knowing the result if they did not.
They also realized that he was right. The opinions and assertions of theexperienced trappers could not be gainsaid. The two came to know thatthere was but one fate that could have overtaken their comrade and thatthere was no hope possible.
If Shelby had a slight feeling that Blair ought to have looked backoftener, he gave it no voice, for he knew he himself had never lookedback with any idea of watching over Blair. To be sure the last one ofthe four was in the most dangerous position, but Peter had come last bymere chance, and no one had given that point a thought.
They surmised something must have disabled him. Perhaps a cramp or afainting spell of exhaustion. But it was necessarily only surmise, andone theory was as tenable as another.
Long parleys were held by Blair and Shelby as to what was best to bedone. It proved to be impossible to persuade any one to start on asearch for the body of Crane. The winter had set in and it was ahopeless task to undertake in the snows of the wild. No, they were told,not until March at the earliest, could a search be undertaken, and therewas small chance of finding the body until later spring melted the snow.It was to be an especially bad winter, all agreed, and no pleas, bribesor threats of the men could move the natives from their decision.
Then, they debated, should they go home, or wait till spring?
The latter plan seemed foolish, for it was now nearly November and towait there idly for five or six months was appalling. Moreover, itseemed their duty to go home and report Peter's loss to his father, evenif they returned in the spring to search for the body of their chum.
The last boat left for Newfoundland the middle of November, and theyconcluded that if there was no news of Peter by that time they wouldsail on it. "I feel cowardly to go," said Shelby, whose brain was weary,working out the problem of duty. "Yet, why stay?"
"It's right to go," Blair said, gravely. "You see, Mr. Crane must be_told_,--not written to."
"One of us might go,--and one stay," Shelby suggested.
"No use in that," Blair said, after a moment's consideration; "theremaining one couldn't do anything."
"You men talk foolishness," said Joshua, gravely. "Mr. Peter Crane is bythis time buried under eight feet of snow. You can do nothing. You'dboth better go home."
So they went