Northern Diamonds Part 10

"They're almost certain to. We must keep watch on the cabin," said Fred.

"We must hope they don't," added Peter. "We'd have to follow them--follow them till we dropped or captured them. For they'd be taking away our lives with them."

In view of this danger, they sent Maurice at once to reconnoiter the place, which was not more than a quarter of a mile distant. He was gone nearly half an hour, and on his return reported that smoke was rising from the cabin, but that there were no signs that the men intended to depart.

And he had had a stroke of luck. A couple of partridges had flown up and perched stupidly on a log, so close to him that he had been able to knock one of them over with a cleverly thrown club.

In less than a minute that partridge's feathers were scattered on the snow, and it was cut up and roasting on sharp sticks before the fire.

Too ravenous to wait until it was thoroughly cooked, the boys began to eat it, but Maurice made a wry face at his second mouthful.

"No salt!" he remarked.

The half-cooked flesh was nauseous without salt, and hungry though they were, they got it down with difficulty. It did them good, however, and they all felt more capable of facing the situation.

"The first thing we must do," said Peter, "is to find a better camping-place, put up some sort of shelter, and gather plenty of wood."

"Why, you don't expect to live like this long?" cried Fred, looking startled.

"It's hard to say. You know we're fearfully handicapped. Our only chance is to get those fellows off their guard, for if we strike once and fail, we'll probably never get another chance. We must lie low, and make them think that we've gone away, or that we're dead. We'll put our new camp half a mile away, or more, and one of us must keep watch near the cabin from sunrise to sunset."

It sounded disheartening, but they could think of no other plan.

Eventually, Maurice went to stand guard, while Fred and Macgregor searched for a camp-site.

They could not find what they wanted. Dead timber in any quant.i.ty was scarce. At the end of a couple of hours Fred went to relieve Maurice, and found him walking round and round a tree in order to keep from freezing.

"I thought I might get a chance to collar the axe," said Maurice, with chattering teeth. "But they've carried it inside. They've taken in the rest of the venison, too, and they've even got the dogs inside the shanty. Afraid we'd shoot them, I suppose."

Maurice tramped off to aid Peter in his search, while Fred stamped about in the trees. No one was in sight about the hut, but after a long time one of the French Canadians came out and went down to the river with a pail for water.

It made Fred's blood boil to think of the warmth and comfort in that cabin, from which they had been so treacherously turned out. He puzzled his brain to devise some plan of retaliation, but he could think of nothing except setting fire to the place, and that would destroy the supplies of friend and foe alike.

His feet grew numb, and he adopted Maurice's plan of running round in a circle. He fancied that his ears and nose were frosted, and he rubbed them with snow. A long time pa.s.sed; he wondered what had become of his companions. It was nearly noon when Maurice hurried up with his face full of consternation. "The fire is out," he said, "and we've used the last match!"

CHAPTER VI

At this crus.h.i.+ng news, Fred left his post and went back with Maurice, who explained what had happened.

They had found a good camping-ground, where wood was abundant, and had tried to light a fire. But the remaining matches proved to have been badly dampened; the heads were pasty or entirely soaked off. One by one they fizzled and went out. As a last hope, Maurice had hurried back to their night camp for fire, only to find that the wet log had smouldered down and gone dead out.

The spot was about two thirds of a mile away, south from the river. A great windrow of hemlocks and jack-pines had fallen together, and afforded plenty of wood. On one of the logs sat Macgregor, with his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hands, the picture of despair; and at his feet was a litter of bark and kindling, and a dozen burnt matches.

They all sat down together in silence, and n.o.body found a word of comfort.

It was a brilliantly clear day, but the temperature had certainly not risen to zero, and a slight, cutting wind blew from the west. The sun shone in an icy blue sky, but there was no heat in its rays.

"If we only had a cartridge," said Fred, "we might make a fire with the gun flash."

They all made another vain search of their pockets, in the faint hope of finding a cartridge or an overlooked match head.

"If we don't find some way to make a fire before sunset," said Macgregor gloomily, "we'll have to attack the cabin to-night. I really don't believe we could live through a night without fire, with nothing to eat, especially as we had no sleep last night."

"Surely if we went up to the cabin, they'd give us some fire," Maurice protested. "They wouldn't let us die in the snow."

"That's just what they count on us to do," said the Scotchman bitterly.

No one said anything about renewing the guard on the cabin. Nothing seemed to matter much--nothing except the cold. The morsels of half-raw food they had eaten that morning did not keep them from being ravenously hungry again, and an empty stomach is poor protection against Arctic cold.

Like the rest of them, Fred was heavily clad, but the cold seemed to find his skin as if he were naked. He began to feel numb to the bone, lethargic, incapable of moving. Then he realized his danger, forced himself awake, and tried to think of some expedient for making a fire.

Flints could not be found under three feet of snow. A burning-gla.s.s--if they only had one! It should have been included in the outfit.

And then an idea flashed upon him. He jumped up suddenly.

"Wait here for me, fellows!" he cried.

He rushed off toward the river, and came back in a few minutes with a piece of clear ice, almost as large as his palm, and an inch or two thick. He slipped off his mittens, and began to rub it between his hands, so as to melt it down with the heat of his skin.

"See what it is? Burning-gla.s.s!" he exclaimed.

"But you can't make a burning-gla.s.s of _ice_!" said Maurice.

"Why not? Anyhow, I'm going to try."

But before he had worked the ice long, he had to stop, for his hands seemed freezing. While he beat and rubbed them, Maurice, incredulous but willing, took the lump of ice, and shaped it down while the heat lasted in his hands. He then pa.s.sed it on to Macgregor, who in turn handed it to Fred again. He finally succeeded in melting and curving it roughly into the proper shape.

He tried it on the back of his hand. An irregular but small and intensely hot spot of light concentrated itself there.

"I do believe it will work!" Peter cried.

They hastily collected a handful of fine, dry hair moss from the fir branches, and peeled filmy shreds of birch bark. Fred brought the "gla.s.s" to bear on the little heap. His numbed hands trembled so that he could hardly hold it still. For some time there was no result.

Then a thin thread of smoke began to arise. The boys held their breath. The hair moss suddenly sparkled and flamed. A shred of bark caught. Peter interposed a large roll. It flared up.

"Hurrah! We've got it!" cried Macgregor. "Fred, you've saved our lives, I do believe."

They piled on twigs, branches, and heavy lumps of wood, and soon had a brisk fire going. Better still, they were now a.s.sured of having always the means of making one--at least, whenever the sun shone.

The magical influence of the fire gave back to them a little of their cheerfulness. They warmed themselves thoroughly, and then started to have another look at the outlaws, and to see whether they could find any small game. For now that they no longer suffered from the cold, their stomachs cried loudly for food.

Leaving the empty rifles by the fire, they armed themselves with clubs and poles for hunting, and had good hopes of being able to knock over a partridge or a hare. But the grouse seemed to have turned wild. They saw only two at a great distance. No hares showed themselves, nor could they find any trace of porcupines on the trees.

Skulking within sight of the cabin, they perceived one of the Frenchmen carrying in logs of wood for the fire--some of those that Fred himself had cut. Mitch.e.l.l stood by, smoking his pipe, with a rifle under his arm. Fred fancied he could smell frying venison as the door was opened.

Plainly the outlaws were on the alert still. The boys crouched, unseen and unheard, among the hemlocks; but if they had been armed, they could easily have picked off the two men at the door. And they had come to such a state of rage and desperation that they would very likely have done it.

They found no comfort in the fact that the robbers showed no inclination to leave the place. The boys were perplexed at their staying, but probably the men had no reason to hurry, and, finding themselves comfortably placed, had decided to remain where they were while the extreme cold snap lasted.