The Wilderness Castaways Part 16

This was a possibility that had not occurred to Paul. He had harbored no doubt that the _North Star_ would presently cruise southward along the coast, pick them up, and he would go home in comfort. The bare possibility that they might not be rescued was a shock. All pleasures, all comforts, all hards.h.i.+ps and privations are measured by contrast.

The tent had seemed very cozy, for unconsciously Paul had compared its warmth and security with the hards.h.i.+ps he had experienced on the ice pan. Now the possibility that he might have to spend the winter in a tent in this northern wilderness led him to compare such a condition with the luxurious comforts of his home in New York, and the comparison made him shrink from the hards.h.i.+ps that he instinctively attached to tent life in winter in a sub-Arctic wilderness. With the comparison, also, came an overwhelming desire to see his father and mother again.

"Dan, it would kill me to have to spend the winter here. Oh, that would be awful."

"Not so bad if we finds grub. Th' grub's what's troublin' me. An'

we'll be needin' more clothes when th' cold weather comes. But we'll not let un worry us till we has to. Dad says it never does no good t'

worry, for worryin' don't help things, an' it puts a feller in a fix so he ain't much good t' help hisself."

"But I can't help worrying."

"Maybe they ain't nothin' t' worry about. Dad says most all th'

things folks worries about is things they's afeared will happen, but never does happen. Let's ferget t' worry now, an' get at that goose.

She must be done, an' I'm wonderful hungry."

The present rose paramount. The boiling goose was done, and soon drove from their minds all thought of the future. The water in which it was boiled, well seasoned with salt, made excellent broth, and with no bread or vegetable--for Dan would not draw upon the few biscuits remaining--the two boys, with ravenous and long unsatisfied appet.i.tes, ate the whole bird for their dinner.

Full stomachs put them in a pleasanter frame of mind, the tent again a.s.sumed a cozy atmosphere, and Paul declared he was having the "bulliest time" of his life.

During the two days and nights that followed there was no abatement in the wind. Dan spent the daylight hours hunting, while Paul remained in the vicinity of camp, making frequent tours to the summit of the rocky hill behind the tent, where he had a wide view of Hudson Bay. With sinking heart he looked out of the tent one morning to find the bight jammed with ice, and upon climbing the hill as usual beheld a solid ma.s.s of ice reaching westward from the sh.o.r.e as far as he could see.

At length the wind somewhat diminished in force, though it was not until the fourth morning after their arrival that they arose to find the sun s.h.i.+ning brilliantly from a clear sky, and dead calm prevailing. Several inches of snow had fallen during the night and the air was sharp with frost. Their world seemed cold and cheerless indeed.

Dan's hunting expeditions had resulted in nothing, after the first day. Once he had started a flock of ptarmigans, but in windy weather ptarmigans are very wild, and this flock flew so far that he was unable to discover them again after they had alighted.

This failure to secure game had forced them to cut down their daily ration to a point that left their appet.i.tes far from satisfied. Even then they were alarmed to find that, practicing the utmost economy, but one day's scant provisions remained, when at length the weather cleared.

CHAPTER IX

THE WATERS CLEAR

Paul went to the spring for water, while Dan kindled the fire. Paul was learning now to do his share of the camp work. He had become fairly adept in the use of the axe, and to pa.s.s the hours while Dan was absent on hunting expeditions, he had collected sufficient wood to last them for several days, and had cut the greater part of it into proper lengths for the stove.

When he returned with the kettle of water and placed it on the stove to heat for tea, he sat down in silent dejection. Starvation seemed very near. He was always hungry now--ravenously, fearfully hungry--and he could see no relief. Both he and Dan were visibly thinner than when they left the s.h.i.+p, and Paul was worried beyond expression.

Dan, squatting before the stove, his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms locked around them, gazing intently at nothing, appeared not to notice Paul as he entered. He was evidently in deep thought, and Paul watched him anxiously, for he had learned that when Dan a.s.sumed this position he was making plans for the future.

Paul had grown to place great confidence in Dan and his plans. In fact he had come to look upon Dan as quite a wonderful person as well as true friend.

Never once had Dan admitted that he was greatly worried at the turn things had taken. On the contrary, while he had owned that their position was serious, he had always ended by a.s.suring Paul that there was some way to overcome any difficulty which they might meet, and that they could find a way to do it, no matter how obscure the way might appear, if they but applied themselves earnestly to the task of searching it out.

Presently the kettle boiled, and as Dan arose to make the tea he remarked:

"They's no knowin' how fur 'tis t' th' nearest post, an' I'm not knowin' yet what's best t' do. Th' river's too big t' ford, an' if we goes afoot we'll have t' raft un, for with ice in th' bight we can't launch th' boat.

"If we walks we can't pack th' tent or much of th' outfit, you never done no packin', an' I'd have t' carry most of what we'd be takin'.

If't were far, with other rivers we'd be like t' meet an' have t'

raft, th' cold weather'd be on before we'd be gettin' anywheres, an'

with no tent the things I'd carry wouldn't be enough t' do both of us.

"Th' wind's veered clean around from th' nor'east t' th' s'uthard, an'

I'm thinkin' she'll veer t' th' west'ard in a day or so, an' if she freshens up from th' west'ard she'll clear th' ice out. Then we could be usin' th' boat, an' cruise t' th' s'uthard till we finds th' post or th' s.h.i.+p picks us up. 'Tis too early for winter t' be settin' in t'

stay, an' we'll sure be findin' ducks along th' coast."

"But we haven't anything to eat. We'll starve before that time."

"I'm wonderful troubled about un," admitted Dan. "They's no danger of th' tent blowin' away, an', with th' ice on th' coast, no chanst of th' s.h.i.+p comin', so I'm thinkin' 'tis best for us both t' go huntin'.

They ain't no use you stayin' in camp. I'll be showin' you how to make rabbit snares while I hunts. With a bit of snow on th' ground, an' no wind, they's more chanst of findin' game."

This was very agreeable to Paul. It would take him from the monotonous, lonely hours in camp, and he was eager to get away--to do something.

Their last half can of beans was divided between them for breakfast, and this disposed of, they prepared for a day's hunt.

"Better take your shotgun instead of your rifle," suggested Dan. "I'll be takin' my rifle, but 'tis easier t' get birds on th' wing with a shotgun. I been missin' un most every day with th' rifle."

"You weren't afraid to ask me for the shotgun, were you, Dan?"

"She's so pretty I weren't knowin' as you'd like t' lend un, an' I takes my rifle hopin' t' get a long shot at a goose, or maybe a bear or deer. Don't forget th' sh.e.l.ls for un."

"Why, Dan, you could have had the shotgun. Just take any of my things when you need them."

Dan carried the axe as well as his rifle, and set a good pace up the sh.o.r.e of the bight. Presently turning around a bluff they saw the forest reaching down to the ice-choked bight.

"'Tis there th' river comes in," remarked Dan.

"Don't walk so fast, Dan. I'm most winded."

"I weren't walkin' fast," said Dan, slackening his pace, "but you ain't been walkin' none lately, an' 'tis a bit hard until you gets used t' un."

Presently they reached the spruce forest and the river, and a little way up the timbered valley through which the river flowed found rabbit tracks in every direction in the light snow.

"They's plenty of un here," remarked Dan. "Now here's a run--that's a trail they takes reg'lar back and forth. We'll be settin' a snare in un."

Dan cut a spruce sapling and laid it across, and supported a foot above, the run by brush growth on either side, first tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the branches off the side of the sapling placed downward, that they might not obstruct the run. He then placed an upright stick on either side of the run and about five inches from it, leaving an opening about ten inches wide between the sticks, with the run pa.s.sing through the center. Then he blocked the s.p.a.ce along the sapling on each side of this opening with brush, remarking:

"That's t' keep th' rabbits from leavin' th' run."

He now produced a hank of heavy, smooth twine, cut off a piece and on one end of it made a slip-noose that would work easily. The other end he tied securely to the sapling directly over the run, first spreading the noose wide, until the bottom swung about three inches from the ground, the sides touched the upright sticks on either side, and the top hung just below the sapling. Small twigs, so placed as not to obstruct the opening in the noose, were stuck in the ground at the bottom and on the sides to keep it in position.

"'Tis poor string for snarin'," he said, contemplating his work, "but 'tis all I has, an' 'twill have to do. Wire's better'n string. Rabbits eats string off if 'tain't set just right t' choke 'em so's they can't."

"Will that catch rabbits?" Paul asked incredulously.

"Yes, that'll catch un. You see, they comes along th' run, an' when they tries t' jump through th' noose she just slips up around their necks and chokes un. Now you can be settin' snares, an' I looks for pa'tridges."

"Where'll I set 'em? Anywhere around?"