CHAPTER XXIX
TEN MILES
Docak, when flurried, generally forgot his broken English, and spokein his own tongue. Before Fred could divine his intention he hadslipped off one of his mittens, grasped a handful of snow, andthrowing one arm about the boy's neck, began rubbing his nose asthough he meant to rub it out of existence.
The watchful native was on the watch for the first sign of freezing inthe case of his companions, and, discovering that the youngest memberwas becoming a victim without himself or friends suspecting it, heresorted to heroic measures, with no unnecessary delay.
Fred understood what it all meant, and, like the sensible boy he was,submitted with good grace, though the vigorous handling to which thatorgan was subjected made it hard for him to keep from protesting. Notonly that, but, when the Esquimau, pausing to inspect his work, said:
"All right," Fred thanked him.
Jack and Rob, who looked grinningly on, while the performance lasted,now asked Docak whether they were in need of a similar manipulation.He took another look at the faces, and gave Rob's a slight rubbing,but said nothing more was needed.
It was a piece of thoughtfulness on the part of the native, for whichhe deserved to receive gratitude. But for him Fred Warburton, andprobably the others, would have suffered injuries from which theynever could have recovered.
Having rested but a brief while, Docak moved on, and the dismalprocession wound its way slowly through the snow, which clogged theirfeet and obstructed their path to that extent that more than once thehardy guide had to come to a full halt that he might decide in whatway to flank the obstacle.
The blizzard had played fantastic tricks with the snow. In many placesit was drifted to a depth of six or eight feet, through which, as maybe supposed, it was the severest labor to force a path. In others,again, it had swept the crust entirely clear of the new layer, so thatthey walked as easily as when making their way from the coast.Unfortunately, these bare places, as they may be called, were not onlyfew and far apart, but of such slight extent that their aid countedfor little.
There is nothing more cheering than the certainty that we areapproaching our goal, even though the rate of progress is more tardythan we wish. As the afternoon drew to a close Fred was positive theyhad made fully twenty miles. Rob believed it was more, but, to be onthe safe side, fell in with his friend's figures. When Jack wasappealed to he declined to hazard a guess, saying he preferred to waittill the halt for the night, when he would leave it to Docak.
"He'll tell you within a quarter of a mile," added the sailor, "and hewon't make a mistake. I can let you know one thing, howsumever, myhearties, and that is that you'll find it a good deal less than youthink."
"I don't know about that," said Rob; "Fred and I have calculated thematter pretty closely."
"You may think so, but you haven't. We have worked hard enough totramp a hundred miles, but we haven't been able to use it in the bestway."
Another fact, which might mean a good deal or little, was that amarked moderation in the temperature took place in the course of theafternoon. What this portended was left to the Esquimau to determine.Toiling through the snow was not favorable to conversation, and it wasdropped.
With only short halts the party pushed onward, until night begansettling over the dreary landscape. They would have kept on had notthe darkness been impenetrable. The sun had not shown itself duringthe day, and the obscurity was so dense that not a solitary startwinkled overhead.
"Besides," as the boys concluded, "the rest of the distance is sobrief that we can afford to leave it until morning, by which time wewill be fully rested. Inasmuch as it is necessary to pass a night onthe road, one spot is as good as another."
Camping at such times is simple. They were in the middle of a snowywaste, without tree or rock to shelter. Starting a fire, of course,was out of the question. A slight wind was blowing, and though lessrigorous than that of the preceding night, it was necessary to protectthemselves from its force while they were idle.
For a few minutes Docak acted like a man seized with convulsions orthe St. Vitus' dance. He leaped about, kicked, and swung his arms, thesnow flying in a storm from him, until, at the end of a few minutes,he had scooped out a bowl-like space, large enough to hold the party.In doing this he cleared the way down to the lower crust only, whichwas strong enough to bear their weight. To have dug to the groundwould have been too laborious, and no special advantage was to begained by doing so.
This completed, he carefully spread his bear-skin on the hard surface,and the four seated themselves back to back. They had camped for thenight.
The discomforts of this primitive method were less than would besupposed. There is warmth in snow, as you are well aware, cold being anegative existence, and, so long as they were below the surface, theycould not be reached by the wind that swept across the dismal waste.Then, too, the change in the temperature was in the right direction asaffecting their comfort, so there was little fear of suffering beforemorning.
When they were adjusted for the night, Rob asked the question of Docakwhich had been in his mind for hours:
"How far have we got toward home?"
Fred was confident the answer would be twenty miles; while Rob wasquite hopeful it would be more. Judge, therefore, their consternationwhen the reply struck their ears:
"Purty near ten mile--not quite--purty near."
The hopes of the boys sank to zero. Jack, knowing they had placedtheir estimate too high, still believed it greater than was the fact.
Ten miles! Barely a third of the distance between the cavern and thefirst place that could offer refuge.
They had used a day in advancing thus far. At that rate two more days,and possibly nights, remained ere the terrible task would be ended.They had eaten the last mouthful before starting, leaving behind somefood which they might have brought, but which was not deemednecessary.
It was not the prospect of hunger that appalled them. In such a severeclimate they could go a couple of days without food, and not suffergreatly, though the draught upon their strength would be trying to thelast degree.
The great question was whether the task they had essayed was apossible one. Recalling the terrific exertions of the day, theirexhaustion, and the repeated rests that were necessary, they mightwell doubt their ability, though it need not be said there was nothought of giving up so long as life and strength held out.
"Ten miles," repeated Fred Warburton; "are the Esquimau miles the sameas our English, or aren't they double their length?"
"I don't know about that," said Rob; "they must get their ideas fromthe Danes, who have a system of measurement different from ours, butit don't matter in this instance."
"Why not?"
"When we set out, and after reaching the hills, Docak told us we werethirty miles from home; he tells us now that we are ten miles less."
"Not quite ten mile--purty near," interrupted the native.
"Well, calling it ten miles, we have come about one-third of the wayto the coast. No matter what system of measurement is followed wecan't figure out that we have gone further than that."
"And not quite that far," suggested Jack, who was not lessdisappointed than they, but was quicker to rally.
"It isn't the thing calculated to make a chap feel good to learn athing like that," he added; "but all we've got to do is to buckle downto it and we'll get there one of these days, with fair sailing and nomore squalls."
"It is those squalls or blizzards, Jack, that are the real dangerbefore us."
It was Rob who made this remark, and his friends knew he spoke thetruth.