Northern Diamonds Part 24

Once more the problem of supplies loomed dark before the boys. They had nothing now except the haunch of venison, which weighed perhaps twenty-five pounds; unless they could pick up more game, that would have to last them until they reached civilization. However, they were fairly confident that they could find game soon, and meanwhile they could put themselves on rations.

"We've marked our trail all right now," said Mac. "These tracks and this fire will give it away. We may as well portage, after all."

Their clothing was far from dry, but they were afraid to delay longer.

None of them felt like trying to wade up the rapid again, and so they carried the canoe round it. At the head of the portage they cut several strong poles to use in places where they could not paddle.

They soon found that without the poles they could hardly have made any progress at all; and even with them they moved very slowly. About noon they landed, broiled and ate a small piece of venison, and after a brief rest set out on their journey again.

By five o'clock they were all dead tired, wet, and chilled, and Mac and Fred were ready to stop. Horace, however, urged them to push on. He felt that perhaps the beaver trappers were not many miles behind.

After another day or two, he said, they could take things more easily, but now they ought to hurry on at top speed.

Just before they were ready to land in order to make camp, three ducks splashed from the water just in front of the canoe. Fred managed to drop one of them with each barrel of the shot gun. Thus the boys got their supper without having to draw on their supply of venison; but the roasted ducks proved almost as tough as rawhide and, without salt, extremely unpalatable. But they were all so hungry that they devoured the birds almost completely; they put the heads into the willow cage, but the foxes would not touch them.

For three hours more they pushed on up the river, tired, silent, but determined. At last it began to grow dark. The boys had reached the limit of their endurance, for they had had no sleep the night before.

They landed and built a fire. It was hard work to get enough wood without the axe, but fortunately the night was not cold.

Exhausted as the boys were, they knew that one of them would have to stand watch to see that the foxes did not gnaw their way out of the cage, and that the trappers did not attack the camp. They drew lots for it; Macgregor selected the short straw and Fred the long one, and they arranged that Mac should take the watch for two hours, then Horace, and lastly Fred.

The mosquitoes were bad, and there were no blankets, but Fred seemed to go to sleep the moment he lay down on the earth. He did not hear Horace and Mac change guard at midnight, and it seemed to him that he had scarcely done more than close his eyes when some one shook him by the arm.

"Wake up! It's your turn to watch!" Horace was saying.

Half dead with sleep, Fred staggered to his feet. Moonlight lay on the forest and river.

"Take the rifle," said Horace. "There's not been a sign of anything stirring, but keep a sharp eye on the foxes."

Horace lay down beside Mac and seemed to fall asleep at once. Fred would have given black foxes and diamonds together to do likewise, but he walked up and down until he felt less drowsy. The foxes were not trying to get out, and he saw that they had gnawed the duck heads down to the bills.

He sat down against a tree, close to the cage, with the loaded repeater across his knees. For some time the mosquitoes, as well as the responsibility of his position, kept him awake.

Every sound in the forest startled him; through the dash of the river he imagined that he heard the sound of paddles. But by degrees he grew indifferent to the mosquitoes, and his strained attention flagged.

Drowsiness crept upon him again; he was very tired. He found himself nodding, and roused himself with a shock of horror. He thought that he would go down to the river and dip his head into the water. He dozed while he was thinking of it--dozed and awoke, and dozed again.

Then after what seemed a moment's interval he was awakened by a harsh voice shouting:--

"Hands up! Wake up, and surrender!"

CHAPTER XV

Half awake, Fred made a blind s.n.a.t.c.h at the rifle that had been across his lap. It was gone.

The sky was bright with dawn. Ten feet away stood three men with leveled rifles. Horace and Mac were sitting up, holding their hands above their heads and looking dazed.

"I said you pups wouldn't bark so loud next time," remarked one of the newcomers. It was the man that had pretended to be a ranger. With him was the slim, dark fellow whom they had seen outside the trappers'

shack, and the third was a tall, elderly, bearded man, who looked more intelligent and more vicious than the others.

None of the boys said anything, but Horace gave Fred a reproachful glance that almost broke his heart. It was his fault that this had happened, and he knew it. Tears of rage and shame started to his eyes.

He looked about desperately for a weapon. He would gladly risk his life to get his companions out of the awkward sc.r.a.pe into which his negligence had plunged them. But the ranger had taken the boys' rifle, and the half-breed had picked up the shotgun.

With a grin of triumph the trappers went to the fox cage, peered at the animals, and talked eagerly in low voices. The boys watched them in suspense. Were they going to kill the foxes?

Presently two of the men picked up the cage and carried it down to the river. The light was strong enough now so that Fred could see the bow of a bark canoe drawn up on the sh.o.r.e. They put the cage into the canoe. Then the half-breed laid his rifle and the stolen shotgun beside it, and paddled down the river. The other two men lifted the boys' Peterboro into the water.

"You aren't going to rob us of our firearms and our canoe, too, are you?" cried Horace desperately. "You might as well murder us!"

"Guess you won't need the guns," said the third trapper. "You've got grub, I see, and we durstn't leave you any canoe to foller us up in."

The two men pushed off the Peterboro and followed the birch canoe down the river at a rapid pace. In two minutes they were out of sight round a bend.

There was a dead silence. Fred could not meet the eyes of his companions. He turned away, pretended to look for something, and fairly broke down.

"Brace up, Fred!" said his brother. "It can't be helped, and we're not blaming you. It might have happened to any of us."

"If you'd been awake you might have got shot," said Mac, "and that would have been a good deal worse for every one concerned."

But Fred was inconsolable. Through his tears, he stammered that he wished he had been shot. They had lost the foxes, they were stranded and dest.i.tute, and they stood a good chance of never getting out alive.

"Nonsense!" said Mac, with forced cheerfulness. "We were in a far worse fix last winter, and we came out on top."

"The first thing to do is to have some grub," added Horace. "Then we'll talk about it."

Looking with calculating eyes at the lump of meat, he cut the slices of venison very thin. There was about twenty pounds left. They roasted the meat he had cut off, and ate it; then Horace unfolded his pocket map and spread it on the ground.

They were probably forty miles from the Height of Land. It was twelve miles across the long carry, and at least forty more to the nearest inhabited point--almost a hundred miles in all. There was a chance, however, that they might meet some party of prospectors or Indians.

"It's terribly rough traveling afoot," said Horace. "We could hardly make it in less than two weeks. Besides, our shoes are nearly gone now."

"And that piece of venison will never last us for two weeks!" cried Macgregor.

"Oh, you can often knock down a partridge with a stick," said Horace.

"If we only had a canoe!" Mac exclaimed, with a burst of rage. "I'd run those thieves down if I had to follow them to Hudson Bay!"

They all agreed on that point, but it was useless to think of following them without a canoe. The boys would have all they could do to save their own lives; a hundred-mile journey on foot across that wilderness, without arms and with almost no provisions, was a desperate undertaking.

"Well, we've got no choice," said Horace, after a dismal silence. "We must put ourselves on rations of about half a pound of meat a day, and we'll lay a bee-line course by the compa.s.s for the trail over the Height of Land."

He marked the course on the map, and the boys studied it in silence.

The sun had risen by this time, but the boys were not anxious to break camp and start on that journey which would perhaps prove fatal to all of them. They lingered, talking, discussing, hesitating, reluctant to make the start.

Fred had not contributed a single word to the discussion. He had barely managed to swallow a little breakfast, and was too miserable to join in the talk. He knew how slim their chances were; he imagined how the party would struggle on, growing weaker daily, until--

If only they had a canoe! If only they could run the robbers down and ambush them in their turn! And as he puzzled on the problem, an idea--an inspiration--flashed into his mind.

He bent over, and studied the map intently for a second.