The Snowshoe Trail

  V

  Now that they were upon the last hour of the day's ride Virginia beganto be aware of the full measure of her fatigue. She was strained andtired from the saddle, her knees ached, her face burned from the scratchof the spruce needles. Ever she found it more difficult to dodge thestinging blows of the boughs, she was less careful in the control of herhorse. From sheer exhaustion Lounsbury had stopped his complaints.

  The first grayness of twilight had come, like mist, over the distanthills; but the peaks were still bathed in the sunset's glow. She beganto have a real and overwhelming longing for camp and rest. And in themidst of her dejection the dark man in front threw her a smile.

  "It goes hard at first," he told her gently. "But we'll soon be incamp--with a good fire. You'll feel better right away."

  It had not been Virginia's way--or the way of Virginia's class--todepend upon their menials for encouragement; but, strangely, the girlfelt only grateful.

  She was hungry, chilled through by the icy breath of the falling night,half-sick with fatigue. The last mile seemed endless. And she wasalmost too tired to drag herself off the horse when they came to camp.

  Back among the dark spruce, by the edge of a fast-flowing trout stream,Bill had built a cabin,--one of the camps of his trap line. It wasonly a hut, perhaps ten feet long by eight wide; it had no floor and butslabs for a roof, no window and no paneled interior; only the greatlogs, lifted one upon another; yet no luxurious hotel that had been herlodging for the night on previous journeys had ever seemed to her such ahaven; none had ever been such a comfort to her tired spirit. Her heartflooded with joy at the sight of it. Bill smiled and held the door openwide.

  "Sit down on that busted old chair," he advised. "I'll have a fire foryou in a minute."

  A rusted camp stove had been erected in the cabin and she watched,fascinated, his quick actions as he built a fire. With astonishinglyfew strokes he cut down a pitch-laden spruce, trimmed the branches, andsoon came staggering into camp with a four-foot length of the trunkacross his brawny back, grunting like a buffalo the while. This hesplit and cut into lengths suitable for the stove. With his huntingknife he cut curling shavings, and in a moment a delicious warmth beganto flood the cabin. The girl's body welcomed it, it stole into hertissues and buoyed up her spirits. She opened her hands to it as to abeloved friend.

  It was only warmth,--the exhalation from a rusted stove in a crudelyconstructed cabin. Yet to Virginia it was dear beyond all naming. Inone little day on that dreadful trail she had, in some measure at least,got down to essentials; the ancient love of the fire, implanted deeplyin the germ plasm, was wakened and recalled. It was not a love that shehad to learn. The warp and woof of her being was impregnated with it;only in her years of ease she had forgotten what an ancient friend andcomfort it was.

  In her past life Virginia had never known the real meaning of hunger.Her meals were inadvertent; she had them more from a matter of habitthan a realization of bodily craving. But curiously, for the last hourher thought had dwelt on food,--the simple, material substance with noadornment. The dainty salads and ices and relishes that had been hergreatest delight in her city home hadn't even come into her mind, butshe did remember, with unlooked-for fondness, potatoes and meat. Andnow she watched Vosper's supper preparations with an eagerness neverknown before.

  Although Vosper had been hired for cook, Virginia noticed that Bill kepta watchful eye over the preparation of the food; and she felt distinctlygrateful. She saw the grouse in the process of cleaning, and the redstains on Vosper's hands did not repel her at all. She beheld thesmooth cascade of the rice as Bill poured it into the boiling water, herown hand opened a can of dehydrated vegetables that was to give flavorto the dish. She gave no particular thought to the fact that the hourwas revealing her not as an exquisite creature of a higher plane, butsimply a human animal with an empty stomach. If the thought did come toher she didn't care. She only knew she was hungry,--hungry as she hadnever dreamed she could be in all her days.

  The white flesh of the grouse was put with the rice, one bird afteranother, until it seemed impossible that four human beings could consumethem all. In went the seasoning, spaghetti and the vegetables, and noteven Lounsbury railed at the little handful of ashes that floated on topthe mixture. And Virginia exulted from head to toes when Bill passedthe tin plates.

  It was well for Virginia's peace of mind that no one told her how muchshe ate. In her particular set it wasn't a mark of breeding to eat tooheartily; and an entire grouse, at least two cups of the stew andseveral inch-thick slices of bread with marmalade would have beenconsidered a generous meal even for a harvest-hand.

  As soon as the meal was done she felt ready for bed. Bill ventured intothe darkness with an ax over his shoulder, but not until his return didshe understand his mission. His arms were heaped with fragrant spruceboughs. These he laid on the cot in the cabin, spreading the blanketshe had provided for her over them. He placed the pillow and turned downthe blanket corners.

  "Any time you like," he told her gently. "Vosper is putting up thelinen tent for we three men, and I'll build a fire in front of it tokeep us warm while we smoke. You must be tired."

  She smiled wanly. "I am tired, Bronson," she confessed. "And thankyou, very much."

  She didn't notice the wave of color that flowed into his bronzed cheeksand the strange, jubilant light in his eyes. She only knew that she waswarm and full-fed, and the wind would bluster and threaten around hercabin walls in vain.

  For a long hour after Virginia was asleep Bill sat by the firesidealone, his pipe glowing at his lips. Lounsbury had gone to hisblankets, Vosper was splitting wood for the morning's fire. Asoften, late at night, he was held and intrigued by the mystery abouthim,--the little, rustling, whispered sounds of living things in thethicket, the silence and the darkness and the savagery.

  He knew perfectly the tone and spirit of these waste places: theirmight, their malevolence, their sadness, their eternal beauty. He hatedthem and yet he loved them, too. He had felt their hospitality, yet heknew that often they rose in the still night and slew their guests.They crushed the weak, but they lent their own strength to the strong.And Bill felt that he was face to face with them as never before.

  He was going to plumb their secret places,--not only for the missingman, but for the lost mine he had sought so long. He must not onlyfight his own battles, but he had in his charge a helpless, tender thingof whom his body must be a shield. Never, it seemed to him, had he metthe wilderness night in just this mood,--threatening, vaguelysinister, tremulous and throbbing with impending drama.

  "You've got something planned for me, haven't you?" he asked his forestgods. "You've got your trap all set, and you're going to test me asnever before. And Heaven give me strength to meet that test!"

  At that instant he started and looked up. The stars were obscured, thefirelight died swiftly in unfathomable darkness, the tops of the sprucewere lost in gloom. A flake of wet snow had fallen and struck his hand.

  * * * * *

  All night long the storm raged over the spruce forest; lashing rain thatbeat and roared on the cabin roof, then the unutterable silence offalling snow. The camp fire hissed and went out, the tent sagged withthe load, the horses were wet and miserable in the glade below.Virginia slept fitfully, waking often to listen to the clamor of thestorm, then falling into troubled dreams. Bill lay at the tent mouthfor long hours, staring into the darkness.

  In the morning the face of the wilderness was changed. Every bough,every spruce needle, every little grass blade had its load of snow. Thestreams were higher, a cold and terrible beauty dwelt in the forest.The sky was still full of snow, dark flakes against the gray sky, andthe clouds were sullen and heavy. Bill rose before daylight to buildthe fire at the tent mouth.

  This was no work for tenderfeet, striking a blaze in the snow-coveredgrass. But Bill knew the exact course to pursue. He knew just how tolay his kindling, to protect the blaze f
rom the wind, to thrust afragment of burning candle under the shavings. Soon the blaze wasdancing feebly in the darkness. He piled on fuel, and with Vosper's aidstarted breakfast preparations.

  When the meal was nearly ready he knocked at the cabin door. "Yes?"Virginia called.

  Bill hesitated and stammered. He didn't exactly know whether or not hewas stepping outside the bounds of propriety. "Would you like to haveme come in and build a fire for you to dress by?" he asked.

  Virginia considered. Few were the eyes, in her short days, that hadbeheld her in bed; but to save her she could not think of a reason whythis kind offer should not be accepted. She was down to the realities;besides, the room was disagreeably chilly. She snuggled down and drewthe blankets about her throat.

  "Come ahead," she invited.

  With scarcely a glance at her he entered and built a fire, and a fewminutes later he brought in her steaming breakfast. The door was openthen, and she saw the snow without.

  Her face was a little pale and her voice was strained when she spokeagain. "What does it mean?" she asked.

  "What? The snow?"

  "Yes. Does it mean that winter has come?"

  "No. When winter does come, there never is any question about it--andit really isn't due for another month. If I thought it was real winterI'd advise going back. But I think it's just an early snowfall--tomelt away the first warm day."

  "But isn't there danger--that by going farther we'd be snowed in?"

  "Even if winter should close down, and we find the snow deepening to thedanger point, it wouldn't be too late to turn back then. Of coursewe've got to keep watch. A week or so of steady snow might make thesemountains wholly impassable--the soft, wet snow of the Selkirks can'teven be manipulated with snowshoes to any advantage. We'd simply haveto wait till the snow packed--which might not be for months. But wecan go on a few days, at least, and ride safely back through two feet ofsnow or more. Of course--it depends on how badly you want to go on."

  "I want to go--more than anything in the world."

  "Then we will go on. I've already sent Vosper to get the horses."

  He turned to his work. Lounsbury, his mood still unassuaged, calledfrom his bed. "Bring me my breakfast here, Bronson," he commanded."Lord, I've had a rotten night. This bed was like stones. I can'tcompliment you on your accommodations."

  Bill brought him his breakfast, quietly and gravely. "They're not myaccommodations," Bill replied. "They're God Almighty's. And I made itjust as comfortable for you as I can."

  "I think you could have provided folding cots, anyway. I've a greatmind to turn back." He looked into the snow-filled sky. "By George, Iwill turn back. There's no sense in going any farther in this wildgoose chase. It's a death trip, that's all it is--going out in thissnow. Tell Miss Tremont that we're starting back."

  Bill stood straight and tall. "I've already talked that over with MissTremont," he answered quietly. "She has given the order to go on."

  The fleshy sacks under Lounsbury's eyes swelled with wrath. "She has,has she? I think she's already told you that I'm financing this trip,not her, and I've told you so too. I'm doing the hiring and giving theorders."

  "In that case, it's your privilege to order me to turn back, and ofcourse I will obey. You will owe me, however, for the full thirtydays."

  For a moment a spectator would have eyed Lounsbury with apprehension; toall appearances he had swollen past the danger mark and was about toexplode. "You'd hold me up, would you--you--you--I'd like to seeyou get it."

  Bill eyed him long and grimly. There was a miniature flake of fire ineach of his dark eyes and a curious little quiver, vaguely ominous, inhis muscles. There was also a grim determination in the set of hisfeatures. "I'd get it all right," he assured him. Then his voicechanged, friendly and soft again. "But you'd better talk it over withMiss Tremont, Mr. Lounsbury. The snow is likely only temporary. I'llsee that you turn back before it gets too deep for safety."

  They folded the tent and packed the horses, and shortly after eight Billled the way deeper into the forest. The snow-swept trees, the whiteglades between, the long line of pack horses following in the wake ofthe impassive form of Bill made a picture that Virginia could neverforget. And ever the snow sifted down upon them, ever heavier on thebranches, ever deeper on the trail.

  If the record of the wild things had been clear in yesterday's mud itwas an open book to-day. Everywhere the trail was criss-crossed withtracks. In that first mile she saw signs of almost every kind of livingcreature that dwelt in this northern realm. Besides those of the largermammals, such as bear and moose and caribou, she saw the tracks of thosetwo savage hunters, the wolverine and lynx. The latter is nothing morenor less than an overgrown tomcat, except for a decorative tuft at hisears, and like all his brethren soft as flower petals in his step; butbecause he mews unpleasantly on the trail he has a worse reputation thanhe deserves. But not so with the wolverine. Many unkind remarks havebeen addressed to him, but no words have ever been invented--even themarvelous combinations of expletives known to the trapper--properly todescribe him. The little people of the forest--the birds in theshrubbery and the squirrels in the trees and the little digging rodentsin the ground--fear him and hate him for his stealth and his cunning.Even the cow caribou, remembering his way of leaping suddenly fromambush upon her calf, dreads him for his ferocity and his strength; andthe trapper, finding his bait stolen from every trap on his line, callsdown curses upon his head. But for all this unpopularity he continuesto prosper and increase.

  Virginia saw where a marten and a squirrel had come to death grips inthe snow: the tracks and an ominous red stain told the story plainly.The squirrel had attempted to seek safety in flight, but the marten waseven swifter in the tree limbs than the squirrel himself. The littleanimal had made a flying leap to the ground,--a small part of a secondtoo late. The marten, Bill explained, were no longer numerous. Furbuyers all over the world were paying many times their weight in goldfor the glossy skins.

  "Marten can catch squirrel, but fisher can catch marten," is an oldsaying among the trappers; and as they rode Bill told her some of hisadventures with these latter, beautiful fur bearers. The fisher, itseemed, hunted every kind of living creature that he could master exceptfish. When the names of the animals were passed around, Bill said, theotter and the fisher got their slips mixed, and the misnomer hadfollowed them through the centuries. He showed her the tracks of theermine and, now that they were reaching the high altitudes, the trail ofthe ptarmigan in the snow. Mink, fox, and coyote had hunted each othergayly through the drifts, and all three had hunted the snowshoe rabbitand field mouse; a half-blind gopher had emerged from his den to viewthe morning and had ducked quickly back at the sight of the snow; an owlhad snatched a Canada jay from her perch and had left a few clottedfeathers when the daylight had driven him from his feast.

  The rigors of the day's travel were constantly increasing. The wet snowsteaming on their sides sapped the vitality of the horses; to keep themat a fair pace required a constant stream of nervous energy on the partof their riders. Virginia found it almost impossible to dodge thesnow-laden branches. They would slap snow into her face, down her neckand into her sleeves: it sifted into her eyes and hair and chilled herhands until they ached. The waterproof garments that she wore werepriceless after the first mile.

  Lounsbury had an even more trying time. His clothes soaked through atonce, and the piercing, biting cold of the northern fall went into him.He was drenched, shivering, incoherent with wrath when they stopped fornoon. He was not enough of a sportsman to take the consequences of hisarrogance in good spirit. He didn't know the meaning of that ancientlaw,--that men must take the responsibility of their own deeds andwith good spirit pay for their mistakes. He didn't know how to smile atthe difficulties that confronted him. That ancient code ofself-mastery, of taking the bitter medicine of life without complaintclear to the instant of death was far beyond his grasp. "You've madee
verything just as hard for us as you could," he stormed at Bill. "If Iever get back alive I'll get your guide's license snatched away from youif I never do another thing. You don't know how to guide or pick atrail. You brought us out here to bleed us. And you'll pay for it whenI get back."

  Bill scarcely seemed to hear. He went on with his work, but when thesimple meal was over and the packing half done, he made his answer. Hedrew a cloth sack from one of the packs, swung it on his shoulder, andstepped over to Lounsbury's side.

  "There's a couple of things I want to tell you," he began. He spoke ina quiet voice, so that Virginia could not hear.

  Lounsbury looked up with a scowl. "I don't know that I want to hearthem."

  "I know you don't want to hear 'em, but you are going to hear 'em justthe same. I want to tell you that first I'm doing everything any humanbeing can to make you more comfortable. You can't take Morris chairsalong on a pack train. You can't take electric stoves, and you can'tboss the weather. It's your own fault you didn't provide yourself withproper clothes. And I'm tired of hearing you yelp."

  Lounsbury tried to find some crushing remark in reply. He onlysputtered.

  "I can only stand so much, and then it makes me nervous," the guide wenton, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I don't care what you do when you getback to town. I just don't want you pestering me any more with yourcomplaints. I've stood a lot for Miss Tremont's sake--she probablywouldn't like to see anything happen to you. But just a few more littleremarks like you made before lunch, and you're apt to find yourselfstanding in mud up to your knees in one of these mud holes--wrong endup! And that wouldn't be becoming at all for an American millionaire."

  Lounsbury opened his mouth several times. The same number of times heshut it again. "I see," he said at last, clearly.

  "Good. And here's some clothes of mine. They're not handsome, andthey'll not fit, but they'll keep you dry."

  He dumped the larger portion of his own waterproofs on the ground atLounsbury's feet.