The Wilderness Trail Part 18

"So, we travel southwest instead of northwest to-morrow," she mused, after a while.

"Right into the deuce's own kettle of trouble," prophesied Donald.

"But now, princess, we had better turn in, for the going will be hard."

Two hours before dawn, both camps were astir. Braithwaite and Donald, both in need of something, met by the former's camp-fire, and bargained. Because of fast traveling, the sick-train had no fresh meat; McTavish had no firearms. In ten minutes, a goodly supply of frozen rabbits had been packed on the north-bound train, and Donald once more caressed the b.u.t.t of a revolver with one hand and the stock of a rifle with the other. He had promised to return them as soon as possible, along with the pocket compa.s.s that one man had yielded up.

The queer little sled that Mistisi hauled became the object of much wit, but it held the pack well, and, shortly before sunrise, the parties waved each other farewell, as they drew farther and farther apart. Just previous to starting the trains, McTavish had drawn Braithwaite aside, and requested silence for himself and men in regard to the secret he had discovered, out of regard to Jean.

"Everything will be all right in a few days, and when we reach Fort Severn again you can talk all you wish, for then we'll have been married," Donald said. Braithwaite agreed without hesitation. He was a middle-aged man who, despite his roughness, had a great fondness for Jean; for a daughter of his, had she lived, would now have been the same age.

Mistisi, with a hoa.r.s.e bark of joy, leaped into the traces so vigorously that Jean and Donald on their snowshoes had great ado to keep up with him. The wind had not yet melted the crust, and for three hours they made very fast time.

The distance to Sturgeon Lake Braithwaite had verified as being fifty miles. He had also given McTavish explicit directions where to find the camp of the men from Fort Severn, outlining the positions of the enemy, and describing the main features of the situation.

Donald thought that, with good luck and good surfaces, they ought to make the lake that night. If not, he was prepared to camp in the woods... In later years, he was sometimes asked why he waited two weeks in the cabin if the lake was only a day's journey away, and to this he replied that he was not sure of his bearings or distances, and had no firearms wherewith to protect himself from wild beasts, which at this season of the year were hungriest and boldest. That he had at last decided to go at all was only for the sake of Jean: he preferred to expose her to the teeth of animals rather than to the tongues of men.

Although he tempered the speed to Jean's abilities, by noontime Donald found the girl exhausted, and biting her lips in the effort to keep up. He at once ordered a halt, and, as quickly as possible, made a fire and tea, adding to this slender _menu_ boiled fish.

Not until he saw the warm color glow once more in her cheeks did he cease to ply her with food and drink.

Then, he took the light pack from the little sledge, fastened the forehead straps around it, and tucked Jean in its place. The crust had begun to melt shortly before noon, and Mistisi had broken through. Now, the pathetic animal lay down on his back and held his feet in the air, "_wooffing_" gently to attract attention. His master examined him, and found that his foot-cus.h.i.+ons were worn thin, and that the membrane between the toes had broken and bled, leaving a trail behind.

Here was an opportunity to use some of Jean's primitive needle work. McTavish took from his pocket four little rabbit-skin dog-shoes, and tied them on Mistisi's feet with soft thongs of the same material. The animal, with a bark of pleasure, leaped to his feet, and was off on the trail before the man could swing his pack into place.

Then began the final stage. Donald figured that they had done more than half the distance in the morning, but the breaking crust made harder going now, and their progress was much slower. Not until the sun wheeled under the horizon would things solidify again. In the middle of the morning, they had crossed the main north branch of the Sachigo River. The middle of the afternoon should bring them to the westerly tributary that fed this branch. That pa.s.sed, only small occasional streams would interrupt their progress to Sturgeon Lake.

True to reckoning, they found the west tributary, and set out for the last reach of their journey. Donald consulted the landmarks he knew, and laid their course toward the eastern sh.o.r.e, midway the length of the lake, the spot Braithwaite had mentioned as the camp.

They still had twelve miles or so before them, and a preliminary chill gave warning of sunset. An hour before, Jean had insisted on running again, and the pack was once more on the sledge.

Although he said nothing about it, Donald was worried. That little trail of blood which Mistisi had left behind furnished food for serious anxiety. Had not Jean's exhaustion given him concern at noon, he would have noticed it long before. He centered his attention upon the nervous ears of Mistisi--ears that would have the forest sounds long before his own. Un.o.btrusively, he used every means of increasing speed and shortening distance... For an hour, they crunched over the hardening crust. The shadows that had kept pace with them commenced to grow dim. Only five miles more!

Suddenly, the ears of Mistisi twitched nervously, and from the hollow of his great chest came a gruff, questioning rumble. What was it he had heard? The mighty muscles rippled and ran under his skin as he strained at the traces, but there was no looking back.

Fifteen minutes later brought them to a broad expanse of clear snow. Three miles beyond, the forest that edged Sturgeon Lake loomed dimly. If they could but reach that shelter, the race would be safely over. Twice, Mistisi rumbled hoa.r.s.ely to himself, and then growled savagely, his hackles beginning to stiffen.

"What is the matter with him?" asked Jean.

"Listen!" Disengaging their ears from the noise of travel, they suddenly heard a sound behind them, deep and faint as from a hunting dog in distant cover. McTavish paused a moment to look behind, and on the snow where it touched the forest they had left, descried a dark, moving ma.s.s, with dark specks flanking it to either side.

Again, to them came the faint sound, an echo thrown from the resonant face of the woods.

"Wolves!" cried Donald, sharply. "And on our trail! Run, Jean, as you have never run before. If we can make cover, we're safe...

Mistisi, mush on, you fiend, or I'll break your back!"

But the dog needed no bidding--he had sensed the danger long since.

His swift trot broke into a lumbering lope.

The man swiftly took in the situation. They were in the middle of the snow-plain. There is but one defense against wolves--fire, and here there was no wood of any sort. Only one course was open to them, to go on. Their breath steamed back into their faces in clouds; the slide and crunch of snow-shoes, and the creaking of the sledge sounded under foot. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and the early darkness had come swiftly marching down from the north, bringing in its train the fickle, inconstant beauty of the aurora. Great streamers of color shot silently from horizon to zenith, and flickered with eerie dimness across the white gleam of the snow.

But Donald did not see these things. In his ears was but one sound, the baying of the wolf-pack on the hunt. He could almost see them come, red tongues slavering between white fangs, gray shoulders rising and falling in uneven rhythm, great, gray brushes flowing straight out behind... He looked back. They had gained; they traveled almost two feet to his one. Yet, if there were no accident it was possible he could reach the forest.

"d.a.m.nation!"

Crying to Jean to go on, he halted and stooped over his snowshoes, the slip-strings of which had loosened. In a minute, he was up again and off, sliding, leaping from hummock to hummock, glissading down the little inclines, speeding like a winged Mercury of the North. How he could run, if alone! In five minutes, he caught the dog and Jean, and accommodated his pace to theirs.

Now, the forest was a bare half-mile ahead, the pack but a half-mile behind. The baying was near now, loud, exultant, terrifying. Perhaps, the huge leader had sighted the swiftly flying figures on the snow.

"Donald! I can't go a step farther. Go on, and leave me!"

Suffocated with her own breathing, each foot seemingly lead, each muscle and tendon a hot wire, Jean stumbled feebly where she ran.

Donald caught her, and halted the dog, that shook with his panting like an engine after a long run. Two seconds, and the pack was cut loose, and lay upon the snow. Two more, and Jean was on the sledge. Another, and they were away again, with the forest in plain sight now.

Fighting the hardest battle of all was Mistisi. Every steam-soaked hair along his great back was erect; every other breath was a snarl; every instinct in his fearless nature called for the struggle of fangs against fangs for the protection of his master--the master that had once saved his life. Big as any wolf, he was the match of any, and his nature did not take into account the odds against him.

But his master had said to mush on, in words of great emphasis; so he crushed back all the battle-fury in his pounding heart, and mushed as he had never mushed before.

There was a pause, as the wolves stopped, and rifled the sledge-pack --a brief pause filled with horrid snarls and yelps. Then, the steady, resonant baying again, louder and more triumphant, seemingly at the very heels of the fugitives. A hundred yards away the woods stood, impersonal witnesses of the struggle; three hundred yards behind, the leader of the pack fixed his gleaming green eye upon the quarry, and let out the last link in his tireless muscles.

Donald realized now what he had feared for the last half-mile--that, even were the woods reached safely, to build a fire would be out of the question. It must be a fight to the death, and he could foresee but one result. For himself, he did not mind. He had brushed with death too many times to fear its coming. But Jean! What terror must be hers, to whom the bitter truths of the forest trails were new! He only hoped she did not remember that wolves tear before they kill.

Drawing his revolver, he handed it to her, and she, without a second's wait, turned round, and fired into the thick pack. She was a good shot, and every bullet told. At the same time, Donald lifted his rifle, and pumped five smoking sh.e.l.ls while he ran, pulling the trigger as fast as he could, and firing into the air, since he dared not turn.

Now, they had gained the forest, and Mistisi, responding to the cry of "chaw," swerved to the right into the shelter of a breastwork of underbrush. In a few seconds, with the brush behind them, and the upturned sledge before, they awaited the attack.

Round the point of the cover rushed the leaders, and two fell snarling beneath the ma.s.s of those that followed. In the struggle over the bodies, others fell, but the main pack swerved wide, and commenced their circling attack.

[Ill.u.s.tration: In the struggle over the bodies, others fell, but the main pack swerved wide, and commenced their circling attack.]

"Donald, my revolver is empty," suddenly cried Jean.

"Cartridges in my left pocket," cried the man, and the girl, with trembling fingers, reloaded the weapon, while the man held the brutes at bay.

Suddenly, from the left, a dark form shot into the air. McTavish ducked, and the wolf pa.s.sed over him. But Mistisi, all his pent-up fury released, rose on his hind legs, his great mouth open, his eyes fiery. With a ferocious snarl, he met the savage attack, and his jaws closed upon the hairy throat in an inexorable death-grip.

Came a great shouting in the forest, and a score of men broke cover from the depths of the woods. The firing grew swiftly to a fusillade, and in three minutes the snow was covered with the dark forms of the wolves. The few that remained turned tail, and sped silently across the snow-plain, pursued by a parting volley.

A silence followed, broken only by a death-rattle here and there on the ground; then, the sound of hysterical weeping, as Jean Fitzpatrick broke down under the reaction.

"Here you, whoever you are!" cried Donald. "Come and help us out of this." And the next minute they were surrounded, and friendly hands lifted them up.

"By heaven! It's Captain McTavish and the girl," cried a hearty voice. "Now, I guess the old man'll get well."

CHAPTER XVI

FEARFUL DISCLOSURES

It was with a strange mixture of emotion that Donald McTavish approached the rough log cabin where lay Angus Fitzpatrick. The morning was one of bitter cold, and the smoke from the campfires hung low about the tops of trees, a sure sign of fearful frost.

During the past night, he had slept as of old, his feet to a blaze, other men snoring about him. Jean had been led away as soon as they reached the camp. Their innocent, childlike play at keeping house was over; those two inexpressibly sweet weeks would never be repeated, yet their sacred a.s.sociations would be forever in his mind, like some beautiful thing caught imperishably at the moment of its full expression. When would he see her again? Not even a parting hand-clasp had lightened the separation of the night before.

She had gone to her father; he to the camp-fire and the rough men.