CHAPTER X
THE MUSKEG
A fortnight later the party entered a hollow between two low ranges.The hills receded as they progressed, the basin widened and grew moredifficult to traverse, for the ground was boggy and thickly coveredwith small, rotting pines. Every here and there some had fallen andlay in tangles among pools of mire. A sluggish creek wound through thehollow and the men had often to cross it; and as they plodded throughthe morass they found their loads intolerably heavy. Still, Clarke'sdirections had plainly indicated this valley as their road, and theystubbornly pushed on, camping where they could find a dry spot.
They were wet to the waist, and their temper began to give way underthe strain. When they lay down in damp clothes beside the fire atnights, Blake was annoyed to find his sleep disturbed by a touch ofmalarial fever. He had suffered from it in India, and now it hadattacked him again, in his weakened condition due to the hardships ofthe march. Sometimes he was too hot and sometimes he lay awakeshivering for hours. Saying nothing to his companions, however, hepatiently trudged on, though his head throbbed and he was conscious ofa depressing weakness.
The ground grew softer as they proceeded. The creek no longer keptwithin its banks, but spread in shallow pools; and the rotting treeswere giving place to tall grass and reeds. The valley had turned intovery wet muskeg. It was shut in by hills whose rocky sides were seamedby ravines and covered with banks of stones and short brush, throughwhich it was almost impossible to force a passage.
After making several attempts to get out of the valley, the men ploddedon through the muskeg, tramping down the wiry grass, often stumblingover a partly submerged tree-trunk.
Then one day Blake felt his head reel. He staggered, and dropped downheavily.
"Sorry!" he mumbled. "Malaria!"
His companions gazed at him in dismay. His face was flushed; his eyesglittered; and he lay limply among the grass. He looked seriously ill.Harding, realizing that the situation must be grappled with, resolutelypulled himself together.
"You can't lie there; the ground's too wet," he said. "It's drier onyonder hummock, and we'll have to get you across to it. If you canstand up and lean on us, we'll fix you comfortably in camp in a fewminutes."
Blake did not move. Instead, he lay gazing up at them and mumbling tohimself. With much trouble, they got him to a small, stony knoll,where they made a fire and spread their blankets on a bundle of reedsfor him to lie on. Then he spoke, in a faint and listless voice.
"Thanks! I think I'll go to sleep. I'll feel better to-morrow."
He fell asleep, but his rest was broken, for he moved his limbs andmuttered now and then. It was a heavy, gray afternoon, with a coldwind rippling the leaden pools and rustling the reeds, and the watchersfelt dejected and alarmed. Neither had any medical knowledge, and theywere a very long way from the settlements. Rocky hillsides and wetmuskegs, which they could not cross with a sick companion, shut themoff from all help. Their provisions were not plentiful; and therigorous winter would soon set in.
They scarcely spoke to each other as the afternoon wore away. Whensupper time came, Harding roused Blake and tried to give him a littlefood. He could not eat, however, and soon sank again into a restlesssleep. His companions sat disconsolately beside the fire as nightclosed in. Their clothes were damp and splashed with mud, for they hadhad to cross a patch of very soft muskeg to gather wood among a clumpof rotting spruces. The wind was searching, the reeds clashed andrustled drearily, and even the splash of the ripples on a neighboringpool was depressing. As in turn they kept watch in the darkness theirhearts sank.
The next morning Blake was obviously worse. He insisted irritably thathe would be all right again in a day or two, but the others feltdubious.
"How often must I tell you that the thing will wear off?" he said."You needn't look so glum."
"I thought I was looking pretty cheerful," Harding objected with aforced laugh. "Anyway, I've been working off my best stories for thelast hour, and I really think that one about the Cincinnati man------"
"You overdo the thing," Blake interrupted crossly; "and the way Bensongrins at your thread-bare jokes would worry me if I were well! Do yousuppose I'm a fool and don't know what you think?" He raised himself onhis elbow, speaking angrily. "Try to understand that this is merelycommon malaria! I've had it several times; but it doesn't bother youwhen you're out of the tropics. Why, Bertram--very good fellow,Bertram; so's his father. If anybody speaks against my cousin, let himlook out for me!"
He paused a moment, looking around him dazedly.
"Getting off the subject, wasn't I? Can't think with this pain in myhead and back; but don't worry. Leave me alone; I'll soon be on myfeet again."
Lying down, he turned away from them, and during the next few hours hedozed intermittently.
Late in the afternoon an Indian reached the camp. He carried a dirtyblue blanket and a few skins and was dressed in ragged white men'sclothes. In a few words of broken English he made them understand thathe was tired and short of food, and they gave him a meal. When he hadfinished it, they fell into conversation and Benson, who understood himbest, told Harding that he had been trapping in the neighborhood. Histribe lived some distance off, and though there were some Stonies notfar away, he would not go to them for supplies. They were, he said,quarrelsome people.
Harding looked interested.
"Ask the fellow where the village is!"
When Benson had interpreted the Indian's answer, Harding lighted hispipe and thought keenly for a long time. Rain had begun to fall, andthough they had built a rude shelter of earth and stones to keep offthe wind in place of the tent, which had been abandoned to save weight,the raw damp seemed to reach their bones. It was not the place for afever patient; and Harding was getting anxious. He had led his comradeinto the adventure, and he felt responsible for him; moreover, he had astrong affection for the helpless man. Blake was very ill, andsomething must be done to save him; but for a while Harding could notsee how help could be obtained. Then an idea crept into his mind, andhe got Benson to ask the Indian a few more questions about thelocality. When they were answered, he began to see his way; but hewaited until supper was over before he spoke of his plan.
It was getting dark and raining hard. Blake was asleep; the Indiansitting silent; and the fire crackled noisily, throwing up a waveringlight against the surrounding gloom.
"I suppose I needn't consider you a friend of Clarke's?" Harding began.
"There's no reason why I should feel grateful to him; though I can'tblame him for all my misfortunes," Benson replied.
"That clears the ground. Well, it must have struck you that Clarke'saccount of the whereabouts of the Stony camp doesn't agree with whatthe prospectors and this Indian told us. He fixed the locality fartherwest and a good deal farther off from where we are now. Looks as if hedidn't want us to reach the place."
"He's a scheming brute, but I can't see his object in deceiving us."
"We'll leave that point for a minute. You must admit it's curious thatwhen we asked him for the easiest way he sent us through these hillsand muskegs; particularly as you have learned from the Indian that wecould have got north with much less trouble had we headed farther west."
"That has an ugly look," Benson answered thoughtfully.
"Well, I'm going to put the thing before you as I see it. Clarke haslent you money and has a claim on your homestead, which will increasein value as the settlement grows--and sooner or later they are bound tobring in a railroad. Now, after what you once told me, I don't thinkthere's any reason why you shouldn't pay him off in a year or two, ifyou keep steady and work hard; but while you were in his clutches thatlooked very far from probable."
"You might have put it more plainly--I was drinking myself to death."Benson's face grew stern. "You suggest that that is what the fellowwished?"
"You can form your own opinion. My point is that it would suit him ifyou didn't come back from this trip
. With nobody to dispute hisstatements, he'd prove he had a claim to all you own."
Benson started.
"I believe he would stick at nothing! But I'm only one of the party;what would he gain if you and Blake came to grief?"
"That," said Harding evasively, "is not so clear."
He glanced at his companion searchingly, and seeing that he suspectednothing, he decided not to enlighten him. Benson seemed to haveovercome his craving, but there was a possibility that he might relapseafter his return to the settlement, and betray the secret in his cups.Harding thought Clarke a dangerous man of unusual ability and abnormalcharacter. He had learned from Benson something of Blake's history,and had seen a chance for extorting money from Colonel Challoner.Indeed, Clarke had made overtures to Blake on the subject, with thepretext of wishing to ascertain whether the latter were willing to seekredress, and had met with an indignant rebuff. This much was a matterof fact, but Harding surmised that the man, finding Blake more inclinedto thwart than assist him, would be glad to get rid of him. With Blakeout of the way, the Challoners, father and son, would be at Clarke'smercy; and it unfortunately looked as if his wishes might be gratified.Harding meant, however, to make a determined effort to save his comrade.
"I don't understand what you're leading up to," Benson remarked.
"It's this--I suspect Clarke intended us to get entangled among thesemuskegs, where we'd have no chance for renewing our provisions, and hemisled us about the Stony village, which he didn't wish us to reach.Well, he has succeeded in getting us into trouble; now he has to helpus out. The fellow is a doctor."
Benson looked up eagerly.
"You're going to bring him here? It's a daring plan, because it willbe difficult to make him come."
"He'll come it he values his life," Harding said resolutely. "TheIndian will take me to the village, and perhaps see me through if Ioffer him enough; he seems to have some grudge against the Stonies.I'll have to drop in upon the doctor late at night, when none of hisIndian friends are about."
"But who'll look after Blake? He can't be left."
"That's your part. You'd run more risk than I would, and I'm hispartner."
"I'd hate to stay," Benson protested. "You know how I'm indebted toBlake."
"It's your place," Harding insisted. "Try to arrange the thing withthe Indian."
It took some time, but the man proved amenable. He frankly owned thathe would not have ventured near the Stony camp alone, because of somequarrel between its inhabitants and his tribe, originating, Bensongathered, over a dispute about trapping grounds; but he was ready toaccompany the white man, if the latter went well armed.
"All right; that's settled. We start at daybreak," said Harding."I'll lie down now; it's your watch."
Five minutes later he was sound asleep, and awoke, quietly determinedand ready for the march, in the cold of dawn. He was a man of thecities, bred to civilized life, but he had a just appreciation of therisks attached to his undertaking. He meant to abduct the doctor, whohimself was dangerous to meddle with, from an Indian village where heapparently was held in great esteem. The Stonies, living far remote,had escaped the chastening influence of an occasional visit from thepatrols of the North-West Police; they knew nothing of law and order.Moreover, there was a possibility that Clarke might prove too cleverfor his abductor.
It was certainly a strange adventure for a business man, but Hardingbelieved that his comrade would perish unless help could be obtained.He shook hands with Benson, who wished him a sincere "Good-luck!" andthen, with the Indian leading, struck out through the muskeg toward theshadowy hills.