Even after the dogs were harnessed and ready to start the following morning Martin hesitated.
“There’s a storm brewing,” he said. “The moon and the stars showed it last night, and I can feel it in the air this morning. But we may be able to get across before it strikes us, and I suppose we’ve got to chance it.”
To Larry the old hunter’s apprehensions seemed absurd. The sun was glaring brightly over the tree tops, and across the glistening crust of the open plain the trees on the other side could be seen as a low gray line, apparently close at hand. Surely those trees would be reached before any storm settled over this clear day.
The hauling was much easier, too, on the smooth, level crust, so different from the rough woodlands. Indeed, Larry’s toboggan seemed to move so lightly that the boy stopped and examined his load after he had been traveling a few minutes. He found, to his surprise, that fully half his load had been transferred to Martin’s toboggan. The discovery made his heart go out anew to the old man now rushing ahead in feverish haste over the crust, and he put every ounce of strength into keeping up the pace.
At the end of two hours the gray line ahead had become broad and well-defined, while the line of trees behind them had dwindled to a low gray streak on the horizon. But meanwhile the sun had turned to a dull red ball and the wind had shifted into their faces. It took no practiced eye now to see that a storm was approaching. But no one unfamiliar with an arctic blizzard could conceive the fury of such a storm as the one that broke half an hour later.
Squarely in their faces the wind struck them with such force that even the dogs turned instinctively to avoid it, and to shield themselves from the cutting, sand-like snow that was driven before it. The temperature, too, dropped with inconceivable rapidity, and the cold penetrated Larry’s thick clothing so that his skin tingled despite the fact that he was exerting himself to the utmost, and a moment before had been hot from his efforts. He closed his eyes for a moment to shield them, and instantly the lashes were frozen together. Unable to proceed he turned his back to the blast to rub them open, and when he succeeded in doing so he found that Martin’s sledge was completely blotted out by the storm, so that he was not sure even of its location.
In a panic he realized the seriousness of his situation and rushed forward in a frenzied effort to overtake his leader, shouting as he struggled with the load. But his voice scarcely carried to the struggling Kim, being drowned in the howl of the storm. He still had enough command of his senses to remember that the wind was blowing from dead ahead. But now, for some reason he did not understand, Kim refused to face the blast squarely, but persisted obstinately in turning almost at right angles to the left. In vain Larry shouted, and kicked at the dog in desperation with his snow-shoe, but the wind caught the clumsy framework, tripping the boy face downward into the icy snow which cut and bruised his face.
Choking and gasping for breath he struggled to his feet again now forcing his way forward blindly in the vague hope of stumbling upon the elusive Martin. He was numb with the cold and exhausted by his violent efforts; and while he strove to face the blast, he found himself turning instinctively from it, while Kim, with seeming perversity strained at the traces, first in one direction and then another.
For a few minutes this struggle continued, and then a feeling of irresistible drowsiness came over the boy. Standing with his back to the wind he no longer felt the keen bite of the cold; and as he was able to accomplish nothing by trying to go forward, he crouched down behind the toboggan, mindful of Martin’s oft-repeated instructions to keep moving to avoid freezing, but too much overcome to heed it.
Meanwhile the old hunter was in a far more distressed state of mind. When the storm struck he had turned and shouted to Larry to keep close to the tail of his toboggan, meanwhile fumbling to get his compass from his pocket, for he knew that only the needle could hold him to his course. It was just at this time that Larry’s lashes had frozen together, and he had stopped to rub them open, so that he did not overtake Martin’s sledge as the old man expected. And when the old hunter looked up from fumbling with the compass a moment later, the storm had blotted out the boy completely.
Instantly the old man brought his dog about to return to the other sled, which was at most thirty yards away; but the heavy load, clogged by the snow, moved slowly, and by the time he reached what he felt sure must be the spot where Larry had stood the boy had vanished. He was indeed only a few feet away, struggling desperately with Kim who instinctively was striving to reach the other toboggan; but in that storm an object thirty feet away was as completely blotted out as if the interval had been miles instead of feet.
Martin knew that in a very short time the boy, struggling aimlessly in the storm, would be overcome and frozen, and he realized that his chance of finding him was desperate, as he could neither hear nor see anything two yards ahead. His only hope lay in the sagacity of the dog. So without a moment’s hesitation at the terrible risk he was taking he cut the traces freeing the dog from his sled, and, leaving the load of precious supplies standing where it was, sent the animal ahead, holding the leash to restrain it. Guided by the compass he began walking in narrowing circles, trusting to the dog to find its mate should they pass near it. If he succeeded he could weather the storm by the aid of the supplies on the boy’s toboggan. If he failed?—well, the storm would shorten the end mercifully; and the boy would have gone on before him.
For half an hour he fought his circular course through the storm, Jack plodding ahead, crouched down to resist the blast. Then the animal suddenly straightened up on its legs, and plunged off to one side barking excitedly, and jerking Martin after him. A few short leaps brought them to where Larry lay curled down behind the toboggan.
Kim, who had been curled up beside the boy, sprang up to meet his mate, jerking Larry about in his excitement, as they were still fastened together in harness. But even this violent shaking only roused the boy for a moment, who dropped back into a doze immediately.
The situation confronting Martin was desperate. Larry was rapidly freezing, and as the nearest shelter of the woods was several miles away, it was useless to attempt to reach it. The only alternative was to try to make such shelter as he could with the supplies on Larry’s sled. Fortunately in distributing the packs the day before he had put the tent on Larry’s toboggan, and now he conceived a plan for using it, although it would be sheer madness to attempt to pitch it in a gale that almost blew the dogs off their feet at times.
First of all he pulled out Larry’s fur sleeping bag and, crouching behind the load, managed to get the stupified boy into it, twisting the top of the bag over his head so that the boy’s own breath would help warm him. Then he took out the tent, standing with his back to the blast and with the toboggan load in front of him, he gradually worked it over one end of the load and under the sled.
It will be remembered that this tent was made with the floor cloth sewn firmly to the side walls so that it was in effect a great bag. Martin worked the opening of this bag around the sled, fighting fiercely against the gale, and then forced the sled into the bottom, turning it at right angles to the wind. In this way he formed a barrier on the inside of the low tent. Then he pushed Larry in his sleeping bag inside, and he and the dogs crawled in and huddled together. Next he gathered together the loose edges of the opening of the tent and tied them with the guy ropes, thus shutting out the storm on every side and amply protected on the side where the wind was fiercest by the loaded sled.
The old hunter, accustomed to severe cold, and heated by his exertions, was warm and comfortable for the moment, at least, in this nest; and the dogs found their lodgings so agreeable that they licked the snow from between their toes, and soon curled up for a nap. But Larry still remained motionless, and when Martin felt inside the bag he found his face cold. Evidently the little warmth left in the boy’s body was not sufficient to warm him back to life, even in the sleepng bag.
Closing the bag again to retain what warmth there was inside, Martin ripped open the lacings of the sled, and fumbling about found Larry’s tin cup, a tin plate, and the little box containing the cubes of “solid alcohol.” Placing one of these on the bottom of an overturned tin plate the old hunter struck a match and lighted it, keeping the dish between his outspread knees to prevent the dogs knocking against it, and using his rifle as a tent pole to raise the canvas as high as possible. It was a hazardous thing to do, as they were all crowded into a space so small there was scarcely room for all of them to curl up together, to say nothing of space for starting a fire. But Larry’s case was desperate: Martin must find some way of warming him. And even a very tiny flame in that closely packed space would soon do this.
As the little blue flame grew larger and flickered upwards, the dogs instinctively drew away from it, crowding close to the tent walls, in this way leaving Martin a little more elbow room. It also gave him an opportunity carefully to work loose part of the fastening so as to make an opening a few inches long on the leeward side of the tent for ventilation. For as the tent cloth was practically air tight the flame and the breath from four pairs of lungs quickly made the atmosphere stifling. But Martin did not wait for this warmth alone to start up the boy’s flagging circulation. He scooped a tin cup full of snow, reaching through the ventilating slit, and holding this over the flame, melted and warmed it.
Each little cube was supposed to burn for ten minutes, and give out an amount of heat entirely disproportionate to its size. But the first cube had burned itself out and a second one was half consumed before Martin secured half a cup of steaming hot water. Meanwhile Larry had not roused, although his face was warmer and he was breathing more naturally. A few sips of the hot water forced between his lips, however, roused him quickly; and by the time he had swallowed the contents of the cup the color had come back to his cheeks.
The hot water warmed his tingling body like magic, and by the time the third cube was burned out his cheeks were pink and even the tips of his fingers warm. But Martin was not satisfied with this. He dug out some lumps of pemmican, heated them in the flame, and fed him the bits as they became warm, occasionally taking a mouthful himself, and giving some to the dogs as a reward for good behavior. By the time the last cube had burned itself out they had all made a hearty meal, and Larry was feeling like himself again, warm and comfortable in the fur bag.
But now Martin found himself in a dilemma. His own sleeping bag was somewhere on his sled lost in the blizzard; and while his clothing was warm, he soon realized that it would not be enough protection to keep him from freezing in a few hours, now that the cubes were all gone. There was only one thing to be done: he must wedge himself in beside the boy and share his warm bag until the storm subsided. Luckily for him the bag was a full-sized one like his own. So that by dint of much wriggling and squeezing he managed to crawl in beside the boy and pull the folds over his head, although it was such a tight fit that neither of them could move when it was finally accomplished.
They were warm, however, and other discomforts were a minor consideration. And in a few moments all hands were sleeping soundly while the storm raged about their little tent. All the rest of that day and well into the night it roared incessantly. Then gradually it began to abate in fury, and finally “blew itself out” as Martin said. By sunrise there was scarcely a breath of air stirring, but everything creaked and sparkled in the cold.
Getting out of the bag proved to be almost as hard a task as getting into it, but the old hunter finally worked his arms free and then crawled out, pulling the boy after him. Both were stiff and lame from lying in the cramped position, but they were soon limbered up by dancing about to keep warm while they gnawed at the frozen pemmican and packed the sled.
Fortunately the fury of the wind had swept the plain clear of new snow as fast as it had fallen on the glassy crust, so that the few elevations on its surface were easily seen. One of these a quarter of a mile away proved to be Martin’s sled, clear of snow on the windward side, with a long pointed bank slanting off to leeward. So that in half an hour’s time they had recovered it, harnessed the dogs, and were making their way as quickly as possible to the edge of the woods for which they were aiming the day before.
The distance proved to be short—only a scant three miles. But Larry was still weak, and was tottering and almost exhausted when they finally wallowed through the snowbanks at the edge of the great spruce forest. He had said nothing to Martin of his weakness, but the old man had been watching him out of the corner of his eye and was well aware of his condition.
As soon as they reached an open space among the trees, therefore, Martin stopped and made a roaring fire, while Larry sat on his sled and rested, watching the old man brewing tea and cooking a hot meal. His legs ached and his head swam a little, although he was beginning to feel more like his old self by the time their breakfast was over. But the thought of the weary hours of toil through the woods was almost intolerable; and he was ready to cry for joy when Martin announced that he “was going to look around for a camp,” leaving the boy to toast his shins by the fire. “And I may find something to shoot while I’m looking,” the old hunter added as he started on his search.
In half an hour Martin returned fairly beaming at his success. He had found no game, but he had stumbled upon a camping place which he announced was “the best in all Canada.” “And these woods are full of game, too,” he added.
The camping place which Martin had discovered was indeed an ideal, as well as a very unusual one. It was a natural excavation under the south side of an overhanging ledge of rock which was so protected from the wind that only a thin layer of snow covered its rock floor. A roaring fire built at the entrance warmed the hollowed out space like a great room, and Larry found that the old hunter had started such a fire and left it to warm things up while he returned for the toboggans. It seemed a sylvan paradise to the exhausted boy.
The hunter watched the boy slyly as they stood in the warm glow by the fire. “Perhaps you’d rather go on than to stop here over to-morrow,” he suggested with a twinkle in his eye.
For answer the boy threw off his heavy coat, went over to his toboggan, and began unfastening Kim and unpacking his load. And Martin with a little laugh followed his example.
“You’ll stay and keep house to-morrow,” he explained as he worked, “while I go out and have a try at some of this fresh meat that is running loose around here. We need a supply to take the place of what we’ve eaten in the last week, and I never saw a likelier place for getting it, judging by the signs.”
All the afternoon the tireless old man worked laying in a supply of fuel and making things snug, not allowing the boy to help, but making him “tend camp” lying on a pile of warm furs beside the fire.