XXIII
HUNGRY DAYS
Flames were already breaking out between the logs on the side nearestto which stood the stove. Smoke was pouring out of the tilt door in acloud. The boys were dazed and bewildered with their sudden awakening,but the fire was already beyond control, and was so far advanced thatany attempt to salvage their belongings would have proved fruitlessand foolhardy.
The bitter cold of the April night quickly roused them to activity.David rescued their axes, which were sticking into a stump near thetilt door, and their toboggan which fortunately had not been laidagainst the tilt, as was customary, was drawn to a safe distance.Then, using the toboggan for a seat, they drew on their clothing, andstood impotently and silently watching the burning tilt.
"I'm glad we didn't have any o' th' traps stowed in there," remarkedDavid presently.
"Our--our rifles are burned!" choked Andy.
"The rifles! I went and forgot un!" exclaimed David, in consternation."I went and forgot un! I might've pitched un out with th' sleepin'bags!"
"What ever will we do without un?" asked Andy. "We can't do anyhuntin' now!"
"Our snowshoes!" broke in David. "We clean forgot our snowshoes! Wecould have saved un, too, if we'd only thought!"
The snowshoes had been hanging on a peg just outside the tilt door,for trappers do not take snowshoes into warm tilts, where the heatwould injure the babish, or netting. Smoke issuing from the door hadhidden them, and in the bewilderment following their escape the boyshad quite forgotten them. Now, like the rifles, the snowshoes were inthe ruins of the burning tilt, and destroyed.
This was indeed a sad loss. In the woods snow lay a dozen feet deep,and to move about without the assistance of snowshoes was quiteimpossible. The game which Andy had accumulated was in the ruins, savetwo partridges which had been left at the Halfway tilt, and there wasno other food nearer than the Narrows. Deprived of their snowshoesthey could neither visit their rabbit traps nor set new ones.
"How'll we make out now?" asked Andy hopelessly. "We can't travelwithout snowshoes."
"Maybe the snow on the river ice is packed hard enough t' bear us,"suggested David. "Leastways we'll have t' try un. We've got t' get t'th' Narrows tilt, _what_ever."
Silently they lashed their sleeping bags upon the toboggan and madepreparations for a night journey to the Halfway tilt. They could notreconnoiter for a suitable place to build a temporary shelter in thesoft snow of the woods, as Andy had done when he was alone. A stepbeyond the packed snow around the tilt, or the more or less packedpath leading down to the lake, where they had a water hole in the ice,would plunge them to their armpits.
"I'll haul th' flatsled," suggested David, tightening the lashings ofthe toboggan. "You go ahead, Andy, and pick out th' path t' th' waterhole. We can make un all right t' th' lake, and we keeps t' th' hardpath."
Fortunately it was starlight, and though one or the other now andagain stepped off the path, and each time had a brief battle with thedeep snow, they at length emerged upon the white expanse of LakeNamaycush. Here the wind had packed the snow so hard that, though theysank nearly to their knees at every step, walking was not undulydifficult until they reached the river bed.
"'Twon't be so good travelin' here as on th' Lake," said David. "ButI'm thinkin' we'll make un."
David's prediction was correct. In every turn of the river were deepdrifts through which they floundered. Sometimes it became necessary topush the toboggan over these difficult places, using it as a support,working their way foot by foot. Slow and exhausting as it was, theystuck to it with a will, but when day broke they had traveled lessthan a third of the distance to the Halfway tilt.
"I'm fair scrammed!" Andy at length declared. "I've got t' rest.Can't we put on a fire and 'bide here and rest a little while?"
"Aye," agreed David. "'Tis wearisome work. We'll put on a fire andrest, but we mustn't 'bide here too long. We'll have t' reach th' tiltbefore night."
An hour's rest, sitting on the toboggan before a cheerful fire in thelee of the river bank, revived them.
"If we only had our snowshoes, and a bit t' eat!" said Andy, whenDavid suggested that it was time to go. "I'm fair starved!"
"And so be I!" David declared. "'Tis a long time since supper lastevenin'. We'll have th' partridges, _what_ever, when we gets t' th'Halfway tilt."
"It seems like I never can stand un so long," said Andy. "I'm weak forhunger."
Andy was to learn in the days that followed, what real hunger is, buthe was brave enough, and not given to complaint. It is well,sometimes, for all of us to be tried out by the test of experience.Only through experience can we learn the stuff we are made of, andonly through deprivations of the comforts to which we are accustomedcan we learn to appreciate the good things of life. Most of us are tooprone to take things for granted, and to forget that what we have andenjoy are the gifts of a benign Providence.
Many times that day David and Andy declared they "could not walkanother step," but they pushed and floundered bravely on until, in thedusk of evening, they stumbled at last into the friendly shelter ofthe Halfway tilt.
They were almost too weary to build a fire, but hunger conqueredweariness, and presently with a roaring fire in the stove, and one ofthe partridges boiling--for, famished as they were, David insistedthat the other one must be reserved for breakfast--they felt morecheerful. Fortunately they had left some tea in the tilt, and whiletheir supper of half a boiled partridge each and a cup of tea was farfrom satisfying their healthy young appetites, it refreshed them.
"I'm thinkin'," remarked David, as they ate, "we've got a rare lot t'be thankful for. Th' good Lard woke me up just in time last night. IfI'd slept a bit longer we'd both been smothered with th' smoke andburned up."
"'Twere lucky you wakes," agreed Andy.
"I'm thinkin' 'tweren't luck, now," protested David. "I'm thinkin' th'Lard were watchin', and wakes us just th' right time."
"And maybe," suggested Andy, in an awed voice, "'twere like we weresayin'. Maybe Mother was close by, watchin', and maybe she asked th'Lard to waken us."
"Yes," said David, "I been thinkin' o' that too. There's no doubtin'spirits walks about, and shows theirselves, too, sometimes. Uncle HiRoper saw an Injun down t' th' Post one night paddlin' a canoe around.He was an Injun that had been dead fifteen years, _what_ever. Uncle Hiknew he, and called to he, but th' Injun didn't answer because he werejust a spirit. He kept on paddlin' and paddlin' in a circle, and neverspeakin'. It scared Uncle Hi, and he ran in and told Zeke Hodge, andZeke comes out, but he couldn't see th' Injun then. He'd justdisappeared."
"Oh-h!" breathed Andy. "I'd been scared too! But I wouldn't be scaredat Mother's spirit."
"I'd--I'd be glad t' see un," said David.
But if their mother's spirit came that night to look lovingly upon hertwo brave boys, they did not know it. They had rested but a short timethe previous night, and, exhausted from their struggle of nearlytwenty hours with the snow drifts, they quickly fell into sound anddreamless sleep.
It was long past daylight when they awoke, to the sound of shriekingwind, and when David looked out of the tilt door he was met by a cloudof driving snow.
"'Tis a wonderful nasty day," he said.
"Is it too bad t' travel?" asked Andy, anxiously.
"Aye," said David regretfully. "We never could face un. We'll have t'bide here."
"And we only has one pa'tridge t' eat!" mourned Andy.
"Only one pa'tridge," repeated David solemnly.
"Whatever will we do without eatin'?" asked Andy.
"We'll have t' make un do, _what_ever," declared David. "They's noother way."
"I'm fair starved now," said Andy. "All we had t' eat th' whole ofyesterday was half a pa'tridge each."
"We'll make out with un. We've got tea," cheered David. "And maybe th'wind'll pack th' snow so th' travelin'll be better tomorrow--if th'storm breaks. 'Tis like t' be better from this on, anyhow, for th'river's wider."
"If we eats th' pa
'tridge now," Andy calculated, "we won't haveanything t' eat to-night or in th' marnin'!"
"Suppose," David suggested, "we cooks half of un now, and just drinksth' broth for breakfast, and keeps th' meat for night. Then we'll haveth' other half t' eat in th' marnin' before we starts out."
"I'm too hungry t' be waitin' like that," objected Andy. "Let's eatth' meat now and th' broth tonight, and keep th' other half formarnin'!"
David's hunger doubtless cast the deciding vote, for though reasontold him the plan he had suggested was the wiser, his hunger got thebetter of his judgment. And they were still so hungry when the smallportion had been disposed of that in the end they ate the broth aswell.
It was a miserable day for the lads. No matter what they talked abouttheir conversation always drifted back to food. They could not avoidit, for food was the thing uppermost in their minds.
A hundred times that day one or the other went out of doors into thestorm in the hope that they might discover some sign of its abatement,always to be met by the smothering drift, and when they arose thefollowing morning snow was still falling heavily, though the wind hadlost much of its force. They ate the half partridge remaining, but itserved only to whet their appetites.
"Th' snow's fallin' thicker'n ever," announced David, after aninspection late in the afternoon.
"It just seems like I can't stand un, I'm so hungry!" declared Andy."Suppose now we start tomorrow marnin', _what_ever. I'm thinkin' wemight make un," he added hopefully.
"We never could make un," David objected. "We'd perish. We'll have t''bide here till th' weather clears. I'm as famished as you be, Andy,b'y, but we'll have t' put up with un."
"It seems like I'd just die o' hunger!" mourned Andy.
"Sometimes men goes without eatin' for a week," consoled David, "andit don't kill un if they don't give up to un. There'll be some wayout. Pop says there's a way out'n every fix if you sticks to it anddon't get scared or give up."
"Aye," said Andy, with new courage, "I were thinkin' of that th' timeI were caught out above th' big mesh, and then I makes a shelter andI'm all right."
The thought consoled them both, and though still they talked of food,it was now in the manner of planning great feasts when they shouldreach home.
"We'll have Margaret cook us a fine big mess o' pork, and we'll eatall we wants, with bread and molasses t' go with un," suggested David.
"Oh, but won't that be eatin' now!" enthused Andy. "And there'll beplenty o' trout, too, when we gets out, and salmon'll be runnin' th'middle o' July! I could eat half a salmon now if I had un!"
The wind had died out, though all that night the snow fell, but inmid-forenoon of the following day the clouds lightened, and shortlyafter noon the sun broke out, warm and brilliant.
"We can start now!" exclaimed Andy, "and we'll make th' narrows tiltbefore midnight, _what_ever, and have a good supper."
"We can try un," said David dubiously, "but I'm fearin' we'll find th'fresh snow more than we can manage. There's been no wind for a day t'drive un off th' ice, and yesterday and last night it snowed wonderfulhard."
David was correct. They had found the river bed badly clogged on theirjourney down from the Lake Namaycush tilt. Now it was vastly worse.They sank to their waists, the moment they attempted to leave thetilt, and finally, quite satisfied that travel was impossible, theyretreated disconsolate and discouraged to the tilt.
"We'll starve now," said Andy, in a tone almost of resignation."There's no way out."
"'Tis a wonderful bad fix," David admitted.
"I'm growin'--wonderful weak--in th' knees," Andy confessed.
"I feels a weakness, too," said David, "but not so much hunger asyesterday."
"'Tis queer, now, but I'm not feelin' th' hunger so bad, either. But Ifeels sleepy and weak," Andy agreed. "I wonders, now, why 'tis? I werethinkin' we'd grow hungrier and hungrier, till we couldn't stand un."
"'Tis strange," admitted David, "not bein' so hungry. But I feels likeI could eat anything that could be et, and I'm sleepy, too."
That is the way with folk who starve. While there's a bit of food tobe had the appetite remains keen, and troublesome, but when the foodis gone, a day or two of fastin' finds the appetite waning, and theeyes growing heavy and drowsy, and over the body steals lassitude andweariness.
David and Andy were prisoners, but it was not their nature to give upand resign themselves to their fate until every expedient had beentried. Thomas had said there was a way out of every fix. This was abad fix--the worst they had ever been in, they were sure, but if therewas a way out of it they must try to discover the way.
"There _must_ be a way, now, Davy!" Andy declared, after a longdiscussion. "Pop says there's _no_ fix so bad we can't get out of unif we only thinks out how."
"If we had any lashin'," suggested David, "we might fix up somethin'that would do for snowshoes. But there's no deerskin, and there'snothin' else, I'm thinkin', would do."
"There's th' rope on th' flatsled," said Andy hopefully.
"That wouldn't make th' net for one snowshoe," objected David.
"Let's get some sticks and bend un into snowshoe frames, and maybewe'll think o' some way t' net un," suggested Andy. "'Twill be_tryin'_, whatever!"
"Aye," agreed David, "'twill be doin' somethin', but I'm seein' no wayt' make th' nettin'."
And so, though it seemed futile enough so far as solving their problemwas concerned, they cut the necessary sticks close by the tilt door,and set about their task. With an Indian crooked knife David squaredand trimmed the sticks into shape, and, steaming them over the kettle,rendered them pliable. Then they bent and tied them.
All that afternoon and next forenoon they worked unceasingly at theirtask, and at length the frames of two pairs of bear's paw snowshoes,each snowshoe with one crossbar to stiffen it, were ready for netting.
But think as they would, that seemed the end. There were no deerskinthongs, and not even rope with which to improvise the netting. Theboys were steadily growing weaker, and they had almost decided thatafter all they were in a "fix" from which there was no possibleescape, when Andy made a suggestion that revived their hope.