XI
A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE
Even their first marten had not given the boys the degree ofsatisfaction they derived from the capture of the wolf pelts. They hadexperienced an adventure, too, that had impressed upon them the needof constant watchfulness, and it was agreed that in future each shouldcarry his rifle, and be assured that it was always in serviceablecondition.
"I'm thinkin', now," observed Andy, as he and David scraped the pelts,"that these must be th' same wolves we heard the day we comes t' SealLake. They've been 'bidin' close by ever since, like as not."
"It's like as not they're th' same," agreed David, "but they werenever 'bidin' so close all this while without showin' themselves. Theymakes their hunt where there's deer, and I'm thinkin' there's deer notfar away."
"Some deer's meat would go fine," suggested Andy.
"'Twould, now," said David. "'Tis strange we've seen no deer footin'anywhere th' whole winter."
"Maybe th' deer are comin' handy, and that's what brings th' wolvesback," said Andy.
"They're like t' be on th' open meshes," said David. "We may see signsof un tomorrow."
"And if we does, we'll have a deer hunt!" exclaimed Andy, expectantly.
"We will that!" declared David, "even if we are a day late gettin'back t' th' Narrows tilt."
The adventure of the evening occupied their conversation until thewolf pelts were scraped and hung to dry. Then David filled the stovewith wood, and blowing out the candle they slipped into their sleepingbags.
"I'm wonderin', now," mused Andy, after they had lain a little whilein silence, "what Pop will say when we tells him about th' wolves."
"He'll say we did fine gettin' three good skins," said David proudly."They're all prime, and worth four dollars each, _what_ever."
"'Tis a fine day's hunt!" enthused Andy, adding: "But I wouldn't wantt' be chased by un again!"
"Aye, 'twere a close call," admitted David. "After this we'll bothcarry our rifles, and we'll be sure they're workin' all right."
"And I'm thinkin'," said Andy, "th' Lard was on th' lookout for us,and He made your rifle go off, Davy, just th' right time."
"Aye," said David, "just th' right time."
"When I said my prayer," continued Andy reverently, "I thanked th'Lard for standin' by us."
"So did I," admitted David, "and I thanked He for th' three wolf skinsand th' two martens. They're a big help toward payin' for Jamie'scure, and we gets un all in _one_ day."
"I wonders," and Andy's voice was filled with awe, "if Mother knowsabout un, and if she's glad?"
"And I wonders, too!" said David, in subdued and reverential voice."If she knows about un, she's wonderful glad, Andy--and--I'm alwaysthinkin, she does see us, Andy, and everything we does. She weretellin' me once, Andy, before she dies, that when th' Lard takes sheaway to be an angel, she'll always keep close to us in spirit. Shewere sayin' she always wants us to know she's close by watchin' us andhelpin' us, even if we can't see her."
"I'm thinkin' then," breathed Andy, looking about him in the darknessas though half expecting to see his mother's form, "she might be rightclose to us now, and--maybe--she's touchin' us. Do you--do you thinkshe _is_, Davy?"
"They's--no knowin'," said David in a half whisper, no less awed bythe thought than was Andy. "I'm thinkin' if th' Lard lets th' angelsdo what they wants t' do, Mother's right here now. Th' Lard wouldnever be denyin' His angels, for He wants th' angels t' be happy, andMother never'd be happy if she couldn't be with us."
The lads lay silent for a little, pondering upon the mystery of lifebeyond the grave. Before their fancy's vision there arose a picture ofthe gentle mother who had been taken from them so long ago, and whohad loved them so well.
"Davy," whispered Andy presently, "you awake?"
"Yes," answered David, "I'm wonderful wakeful."
"I wish," said Andy wistfully, "Mother'd come and put her hand on myforehead and kiss me good night, like she used to, so I'd feel her.I'm--wantin' her wonderful bad--I'm lonesome for she--Davy."
"Maybe she's doin' it, Andy," said David. "Maybe she's kissin' usboth, and touchin' us and lovin' us like she used to do. Maybe she is,Andy, and we don't know it, because th' touch of angels is so light wenever could feel un."
Perhaps she was. Who knows? Who can tell when loved ones beyond thegrave come to caress us and minister to us, and to rejoice and sorrowwith us? Our ears are not attuned to hear their dear voices, our eyeshave not the power to see their glorious presence.
Never since coming into the wilderness had the isolation of the greatsolitudes impressed David and Andy so deeply as now. Their imaginationwas awake. In fancy they could see, reaching away into unmeasuredmiles on every side of the little tilt which sheltered them, thesilent, white, unpeopled wilderness. There was no one to turn to forcompanionship. Even Indian Jake, sleeping soundly, doubtless, in somefar distant camp, seemed no part of their world. The crackling fire inthe stove accentuated the silence that surrounded them. An ill-fittingstove cover permitted flickering rays of light to escape from thestove, and dance in ghostly manner upon the ceiling. Weird shadowsrose and fell in dark corners. There was small wonder that the twolads should be lonely, and heart hungry. It was quite natural that atsuch a time they should long for a mother's gentle caress and lovingsympathy.
All of us are Davids and Andys sometimes. God pity the man thatforgets the tender love and ministry and willing sacrifice of hismother. God pity the man who grows too old to wish sometimes for hismother's love and sympathy and steadfast faith in him when others losetheir faith. What courage it would give him to fight the battles oflife! So long as his mother's memory lives green in a man's heart, andhe feels her dear spirit near him, he cannot stray far from the pathsof rectitude.
But the day's work had been hard, and David and Andy were weary.Presently their eyes closed, and they were lost in the sound anddreamless sleep of robust youth.
There is no dawdling in bed of mornings for the trapper. His day'swork must be done, and the hours of light in this far northern landare all too short. And so, as was their custom, David and Andy, inspite of their previous day's excitement and hard work, were up andhad a roaring fire in the stove a full hour before daybreak.
"I'm wonderful glad," remarked David, as he came in with a kettle ofwater and placed it on the stove, "that we don't have to haul theflat sled with us around th' mesh today. Maybe we'll have a chance t'look for deer."
"We'll hurry over th' trail, and get through settin' up th' trapsearly," said Andy. "'Tis wonderful cozy here in th' tilt, and if wedon't find deer signs 'twill be fine t' get back early."
"I'll tell you, now, what we'll do," suggested David. "I'll take th'n'uth'ard side, and you th' s'uth'ard side, and we'll each go overhalf th' trail instead of both travelin' together over all of un, andwe'll get through in half th' time. We'll meet in th' clump of spruceon th' easterly side of th' mesh, where we always stops t' boil th'kettle."
"That's a fine plan!" exclaimed Andy. "When we gets there t' boil th'kettle we'll have all th' traps set up, and if neither of us sees anydeer footin' we'll know there's none about. If there's no deer about,we can come right back t' th' tilt."
"I'm thinkin', now, you hopes we'll see no deer footin'," grinnedDavid, adding understandingly: "'Tis hard gettin' started o' morningssometimes for me, too, and I'm thinkin' how fine th' tilt'll be to getback to. But I never minds un after I gets started."
"I don't mind after it gets fair daylight," asserted Andy.
As they talked Andy sliced some fat pork into the frying pan, whileDavid stirred baking powder and salt into some flour, poured waterinto the mixture and proceeded to mix dough. When the pork was friedto their taste, which was far from crisp, Andy removed the slices oneby one on the end of his sheath knife and placed them on a tin plate.A quantity of hot grease remained in the frying pan, and into thisDavid laid a cake of dough which he had moulded as thin as possible,and just large enough to fit nicely into the pan.
Prese
ntly the cake, swollen to many times its original thickness, anddeliciously browned, was removed. Another took its place to fry, whilethe boys turned to their simple, but satisfying, breakfast withamazing appetites.
When they had finished their meal David fried two additional cakes,which utilized the remaining dough. These, with some tea, a tin teapail, two cups and a small tin box containing sugar, he dropped into aruck sack, and the preliminaries for their day's work were completed.
Then the two lads drew on their kersey and moleskin adikys, Davidslung the ruck sack upon his back, and, each bearing his rifle and alight ax, they passed out into the leaden-gray light of the wintermorning.
Dawn was fading the stars, which glimmered faintly overhead. Thecrunch of their snowshoes was the only sound to break the silence.Rime hung in the air like a feathery veil, and the bushes,thick-coated with frost flakes, rose like white-clad ghosts along thetrail.
The air was bitter cold. The boys caught their breath in short gaspsas the first mouthfuls entered their lungs. David in the lead, andAndy following, neither spoke until at the end of five minutes' briskwalking they emerged from the cover of the forest upon the edge of awide, treeless marsh, where they were to part.
"I'll be like t' travel faster than you do, Andy," said David,pausing, "and when I gets to th' clump o' spruce I'll put a fire onand boil th' kettle, and wait, and there'll be a good fire when yougets there."
"And if I gets there first, I'll put a fire on," said Andy, by way ofa challenge.
"You'll never beat me there," laughed David. "Your legs are tooshort."
"You'll see, now," and Andy swung off at a trot along the southerlyside of the marsh, while David turned to the northerly course.
That portion of the trail which Andy was to follow skirted the edge ofthe marsh for a distance of nearly two miles. Then in a circuitouscourse it wound for some three miles through a scant forest ofgnarled, stunted black spruce. Beyond this, and a mile across anothermarsh, was the thick spruce grove which had been designated as theirmeeting point, and where they were accustomed to halt to boil theirkettle and eat a hasty luncheon on their weekly tour.
The other end of the trail, which David had chosen, was longer by amile. Its entire distance, from the place where the boys separated, tothe clump of spruce trees, lay over exposed marshes. On windy days,with no intervening shelter, this open stretch was always cold anddisagreeable, and there was never a time when they were not glad toreach the friendly shelter of the trees. It was usual, in travelingtogether, as they always had heretofore, to attend the traps on thisend of the trail in the forenoon, and those on the end which Andy wasnow following, in the afternoon.
Though Andy's legs were short, they were hard and sinewy and he swungalong at a remarkably good pace. Now and again he stopped to examine atrap; then, breaking into a trot to make up the time lost, he hastenedto the next trap. Thus the two miles to the edge of the timber werequickly laid behind him, and he entered the forest just as the sun,rising timidly in the Southeast, cast its first slanting rays upon thefrozen world.
Andy stood for a little in the edge of the trees to get his breath andto watch the glorious lighting of the wilderness. The bushes,thick-coated with tiny frost prisms flashing and scintillating in thelight as though encrusted with marvelously brilliant gems, were afirewith sparkling color. Even the rime in the air caught the fire, andthe marsh became a great, transparent opal, of wonderfully dazzlingbeauty.
"'Tis a fine world t' live in," said Andy to himself. "'Twould beterrible t' be blind and never see all th' pretty sights. Th' greatdoctor'll cure Jamie, and then he'll see un all again, too. We'llwork wonderful hard t' get th' money t' pay for th' cure. We'll _have_t' get un, _what_ever."
Neither the fox traps on the marsh nor the marten traps in the woodsyielded Andy any fur, but as he passed from the woods to the laststretch of marsh he comforted himself with the reflection:
"We can't expect fur _every_ day. Two martens and three wolvesyesterday made a fine hunt for th' week, even if we gets no more thistrip. But Davy's like t' get something, and we're like t' get morebefore we reaches th' Narrows tilt Friday."
Then he hurried on, for he must needs make good his boast that hewould reach the spruce grove before David. No smoke could he seerising above the trees as he approached. David at least had not yetlighted the fire. Andy was jubilant and in high spirits to find thatDavid was not there ahead of him, and had not been there since theirvisit the previous week.
It was a matter of a few minutes' work to light a fire, and presentlyAndy had a cozy blaze. Then he broke an armful of spruce boughs, for aseat, and kicking off his snowshoes, settled himself comfortablybefore the fire to await David's appearance.
"If I had th' kettle, now, I'd put un over," said Andy. "But Davy'llsoon be here."
An hour passed, and David did not appear. Andy had traveled at suchgood speed that he had reached the rendezvous a half hour beforemidday, but David should not have been long behind him. Another hourpassed. A northeast breeze had sprung up, and the sky had becomeovercast. Andy observed uneasily that a storm was brewing. He donnedhis snowshoes, replenished the fire, and walked out a little way inthe direction from which David should come, and to the outer edge ofthe trees. He stood very still, and listened, but there was no sound,and David was nowhere to be seen.
Andy reluctantly returned to the fire to wait. He was growing anxiousand concerned. Surely David should have appeared before thisunless--and Andy grew frightened at the thought--unless some accidenthad happened to him.
During the next half hour Andy's concern became almost panic. He beganto picture David attacked and destroyed by a pack of wolves! Orperhaps his rifle had been accidentally discharged, and injured orkilled him! Andy had heard of such accidents more than once. Whateverthe reason for David's delay, it was serious. No ordinary thing wouldhave prevented him from keeping his appointment.
Andy could stand the suspense no longer. He arose, slipped his feetinto his snowshoes, and at a half run set out upon the trail in thedirection from which David should have come.