Vane of the Timberlands Part 49

"A brulee's not a nice place to wander about in when there's any wind,"

he proceeded; "and I've an idea there's some coming, though it's still enough now."

Shut in, as they were, in the deep hollow with the towering snows above them, it was impressively still; and, in conjunction with the sight of the black desolation, the deep silence reacted on Carroll's nerves. He longed to escape from it, to make a noise; though this, if done unguardedly, might bring more of the rampicks thundering down. He could hear tiny flakes of charcoal falling from them and, though the fire had long gone out, a faint and curious crackling, as if the dead embers were stirring. He wondered if it were some effect of the frost; it struck him as disturbing and weird.

"We'll work right round the brulee," Vane decided. "Then I suppose we'd better head back for Vancouver, though we'll look at that cedar as we go down. Something might be made of it--I'm not sure we've thrown our time away."

"You'd never be sure of that. It isn't in you."

Vane disregarded this. A new, constructive policy was already springing up out of the wreck of his previous plans.

"There's a good mill site on the inlet, but as it's a long way from the railroad we'll have to determine whether it would be cheaper to tow the logs down or split them up on the spot. I'll talk it over with Drayton; he'll no doubt be useful, and there's no reason why he shouldn't earn his share."

"Do you consider that the arrangement you made with Hartley applies to the cedar?" Carroll asked.

"Of course. I don't know that the other parties could insist on the original terms--we can discuss that later; but, though it may be modified, the arrangement stands."

His companion considered the matter dispa.s.sionately, as an abstract proposition. Here was a man, who in return for certain information respecting the whereabouts of a marketable commodity had undertaken to find and share it with his informant. The commodity had proved to be valueless, but during the search for it he had incidentally discovered something else. Was he under any obligation to share the latter with his informant's heirs?

Carroll decided that the question could be answered only in the negative; but he had no intention of disputing his comrade's point of view. In the first place, this would probably make Vane only more determined or would ruffle his temper; and, in the second place, Carroll was neither a covetous man nor an ambitious one, which, perhaps, was fortunate for him.

Ambition, the mother of steadfast industry and heroic effort, has also a less reputable progeny.

Vane, as his partner realized, was ambitious; but in place of aspiring after wealth or social prominence, his was a different aim: to rend the hidden minerals from the hills, to turn forests into dressed lumber, to make something grow. Money is often, though not always, made that way; but, while Vane affected no contempt for it, in his case its acquisition was undoubtedly not the end. Fortunately, he was not altogether singular in this respect.

When he next spoke, however, there was no hint of altruistic sentiment in his curt inquiry:

"Are you going to sit there until you freeze?"

Carroll got up and they spent the remainder of the day plodding through the brulee, with the result that when darkness fell Vane had abandoned all idea of working the spruce. The next morning they set out for the inlet, and one afternoon during the journey they came upon several fallen logs lying athwart each other with their branches spread in an almost impenetrable tangle. Vane proceeded to walk along one log, which was tilted up several yards above the ground, balancing himself carefully upon the rounded surface, and Carroll followed cautiously. Suddenly there was a sharp snapping, and Vane plunged headlong into the tangle beneath, while Carroll stood still and laughed. It was not an uncommon accident.

Vane, however, did not reappear; nor was there any movement among the half-rotten boughs and withered sprays, and Carroll, moving forward hastily, looked down into the hole. He was disagreeably surprised to see his comrade lying, rather white in face, upon his side.

"I'm afraid you'll have to chop me out," came up hoa.r.s.ely. "Get to work.

I can't move my leg."

Moving farther along the log, Carroll dropped to the ground, which was less enc.u.mbered there, and spent the next quarter of an hour hewing a pa.s.sage to his comrade. Then as he stood beside him, hot and panting, Vane looked up.

"It's my lower leg; the left," he explained. "Bone's broken; I felt it snap."

Carroll turned from him for a moment in consternation. Looking out between the branches, he could see the lonely hills tower, pitilessly white, against the blue of the frosty sky, and the rigid firs running back as far as his vision reached upon their lower slopes. There was no touch of life in all the picture; everything was silent and absolutely motionless, and its desolation came near to appalling him. When he looked around again, Vane smiled wryly.

"If this had happened farther north, it would have been the end of me,"

he said. "As it is, it's awkward."

The word struck Carroll as singularly inexpressive, but he made an effort to gather his courage when his companion broke off with a groan of pain.

"It's lucky we helped that doctor when he set Pete's leg at Bryant's mill," he declared cheerily. "Can you wait a few minutes?"

Vane's face was beaded with damp now, but he tried to smile.

"It strikes me," he answered, "I'll have to wait a mighty long time."

Carroll turned and left him. He was afraid to stand still and think, and action was a relief. It was some time before he returned with several strips of fabric cut from the tent curtain, and the neatest splints he could extemporize from slabs of stripped-off bark; and the next half-hour was a trying one to both of them. Sometimes Vane a.s.sisted him with suggestions--once he reviled his clumsiness--and sometimes he lay silent with his face awry and his lips tight silent; but at length it was done and Carroll stood up, breathing hard.

"I'll fasten you on to a couple of skids and pull you out. Then I'll make camp here."

He managed it with difficulty, pitched the tent above Vane, whom he covered with their blankets, and made a fire outside.

"Are you comfortable now?" he inquired.

Vane looked up at him with a somewhat ghastly smile.

"I suppose I'm about as comfortable as could be expected. Anyhow, I've got to get used to the thing. Six weeks is the shortest limit, isn't it?"

Carroll confessed that he did not know, and presently Vane spoke again.

"It's lucky that the winters aren't often very cold near the coast."

The temperature struck Carroll as low enough, but he made no comment. To his disgust, he could think of no cheering observation, for there was no doubt that the situation was serious. They were cut off from the sloop by leagues of tangled forest which a vigorous man would find it difficult to traverse, and it would be weeks before Vane could use his leg; no human a.s.sistance could be looked for; and they had only a small quant.i.ty of provisions left. Besides this, it would not be easy to keep the sufferer warm in rigorous weather.

"I'll get supper. You'll feel better afterward," he said at length.

"Don't be too liberal," Vane warned him.

After the meal, Vane fell into a restless doze, and it was dark when he opened his eyes again.

"I can't sleep any more, and we may as well talk--there are things to be arranged. In the first place, as soon as I feel a little easier you'll have to sail across to Comox and hire some men to pack me out. When you've sent them off, you can make for Vancouver and get a timber license and find out how matters are going on."

"That is quite out of the question," Carroll replied firmly. "Nairn can look after our mining interests--he's a capable man--and if the thing's too much for him, they can go to smash. Besides, they won't give you a timber license without full particulars of area and limits, and we've blazed no boundaries. Anyhow, I'm staying right here."

Vane began to protest, but Carroll raised his hand.

"Argument's not conducive to recovery. You're on your back, unfortunately, and I'll give way to you as usual as soon as you're on your feet again, but not before."

"I'd better point out that we'll both be hungry by that time. The provisions won't last long."

"Then I'll look for a deer as soon as I think you can be left. And now we'll try to talk of something more amusing."

"Can you see anything humorous in the situation?"

"I can't," Carroll confessed. "Still, there may be something of that description which I haven't noticed yet. By the way, the last time we were at Nairn's I happened to cross the room near where you and Miss Horsfield were sitting, and I heard her ask you to wait for something at Nanaimo or Comox. It struck me as curious."

"She told me to wait so that she could send me word to come back, if it should be needful."

"Ah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Carroll. "I won't ask why she was willing to do so--it concerns you more than me--but I think that as regards your interests in the Clermont a warning from her would be worth as much as one from Nairn; that is, if she could be depended on."

"Have you any doubt upon the subject?"

Carroll made a soothing gesture.