The Wilderness Castaways Part 19

"We're sure in for a blow. There's a p'int ahead, and we'll make for th' lee of un."

The wind was in the northeast, and it drove the little craft before it at a terrific rate. In an incredibly short time it had developed into a tempest. The angry waters piled about them and tossed the boat about upon the wave crests like a leaf. While Paul held the rudder Dan lowered the sail, and they ran before the gale with bared mast. Dan resumed the rudder and Paul baled out the water, working as he had never worked before.

"We'll never make it, Dan!" he shouted at length. "We'll swamp, sure!"

"Oh, yes; we're gainin' on un," encouraged Dan. "We'll make un."

Dan's face, however, was tense, and it was plain that he was not so confident as his words seemed to indicate.

They had almost pa.s.sed the point when a great wave broke over them, nearly swamping the boat, and leaving it half full of water, but they made the point, and pa.s.sed into less tempestuous waters before another wave caught them.

Even here the sea was as rough as the little boat could weather, for the sh.o.r.e was not so well protected as it had seemed, and it was lined with jagged rocks, making a landing impossible, for to have attempted it would have resulted in the boat's smas.h.i.+ng to pieces and perhaps their being carried away before they could reach safety.

Dan watched for an opening, as they paralleled the sh.o.r.e a safe distance from it, and at length discovered a bit of gravelly beach reaching down between high boulders.

It was a difficult landing to make, but it was their only hope, and he headed directly for the opening.

"Get t' th' bow an' jump th' minute we strikes!" he shouted to Paul, and Paul obeyed.

For an instant it seemed that in spite of Dan's best effort they must strike upon the rocks, the next instant the danger was past, the boat drove hard upon the gravel, and both boys sprang ash.o.r.e for their lives, to escape a breaker which swept over the boat.

One on either side they grasped the bow, and as another wave came rolling in, pulled with all their might. Thus, aided by the force of the water, the boat was drawn sufficiently high to permit them to unload, bale out the water, and haul the boat to safety.

"We made un all right," remarked Dan, when everything was beyond danger.

"Yes," said Paul, "but it was a narrow escape."

"'T were that," admitted Dan. "'T were wonderful close we was t' bein'

swamped."

The boys themselves and all their things were drenching wet. Not a stick of driftwood was to be found. The wind was bitterly cold. They had eaten nothing since the previous evening, and then only the unsatisfying gull, and the barren coast was dest.i.tute of game. But they had escaped death, and were thankful for their deliverance.

CHAPTER XI

A DEATH STRUGGLE

"We'd better open th' outfit up, an' let th' wind be dryin' un while we hunts grub," suggested Dan, as he unfolded a blanket and proceeded to spread it upon the ground, after they had made a brief survey of their immediate surroundings.

"I'm so dead hungry and empty I can hardly move," said Paul, sitting impotently on a rock. "I feel weak, too. The scare, and pulling on the boat, just about knocked the ginger out of me."

"We'll be findin' timber clost by, an' they's a good chanst t' kill some grub before night. 'T ain't noon yet. We'll start soon's we get th' things spread, an' I'm thinkin' we'll be good an' snug by night,"

encouraged Dan.

"It's all my fault that we ever got into this sc.r.a.pe, Dan," Paul remarked dejectedly, as he arose to a.s.sist in unpacking the wet things. "If I'd listened to you, and done as I promised, we'd have been safe on the s.h.i.+p now, instead of starving to death out here."

"They's no tellin'," Dan consoled. "I'm thinkin' 'twould have been the same anyhow. Maybe 'twas meant we be goin' adrift. Leastways 'tain't no use botherin' about un now. Dad say what's done is done, an'

'tain't no use botherin' our heads about a thing after she's done an'

past. What's past might as well be forgot. Dad says 'tain't what was, but what is, as counts. He says: 'If you weren't doin' things right yesterday, 'tain't goin' t' help none t' bother about un t'day, but just do th' things you has to do t'day right, an' do un th' best un can, an' what you weren't doin' right yesterday won't count ag'in you.'"

"Maybe you're right, Dan, and I may as well quit worrying about it.

One thing's certain. When I promise to do anything at a certain time again, I'm going to do it. And I'm going to do the best I can now, and stop complaining. I wish I could do things as well as you do. You know how to do everything."

"They's a wonderful lot o' things I'm not knowin' how t' do. I'm knowin' how t' sail a boat an' do things around camp, because I always had t' do un. 'Twon't be long till you knows how t' do un too, an'

then you'll know a lot more 'n I do. Where you lives you had t' learn t' do other kinds o' things, an' them things you knows how t' do I don't know nothin' about. Dad says learnin' t' do things is like plants growin'. 'If you plants a turnip seed t'day,' says he, 'you can't pull a turnip from un th' same day. Th' turnip's got t' have time t' grow after th' seed's planted, an' you can't learn t' do things what's worth knowin' how t' do,' says he, 'in one day. You got t' keep learnin' a little about un every day till you learns how t' do un.' You learn about doin' things in camp wonderful quick, Paul."

"Thank you, Dan. You always encourage me. I'd have given up long ago if it hadn't been for you."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. You'd have been findin' out how t' do things.

You got a rare lot o' pluck."

By this time the things were spread where wind and sun could dry them, with boulders placed upon them as a precaution against the wind carrying them away.

"Now," said Dan, shouldering his rifle, "we'll be goin'. 'Twill be best t' bring your shotgun an' plenty o' sh.e.l.ls, an' I'm thinkin'

we'll find grub, an' be feelin' better when we makes camp this evenin'."

Three quarters of a mile inland lay a ridge of low, barren hills. Dan, in the lead, directed their course toward it, and set a good pace, with Paul, who was learning the trick of walking over rough, untrailed country with less effort than formerly, close at his heels.

Paul bore small resemblance now to the sallow, listless youth who in July climbed the ladder to the deck of the _North Star_, lying in Sydney harbor. His face was brown and ruddy, his eyes bright, his limbs lithe, his step springy, and he had grown eager and alert. Both he and Dan were, however, now conscious of a growing weakness, the natural result of insufficient food for several days, and particularly due to their unbroken fast of several hours.

At the foot of the ridge they encountered a growth of straggling spruce brush. Above the brush, near the summit, the hills were of a reddish hue, in marked contrast to the surrounding gray. This red coloring, they presently discovered upon ascending the ridge, was given the hills by ma.s.ses of red berries, half the size of ordinary cranberries but resembling them in flavor and appearance.

The wind swept the ridge with terrific fury, and was very cold, but they fell upon their knees, uncomfortable as it was, and partially satisfied their hunger with the fruit.

"They ain't so bad," remarked Dan, "but they's so sour I'm thinkin' we better not eat too many t' onct."

"They are pretty sour," admitted Paul, reluctantly rising to follow Dan, "but they taste mighty good."

"If we don't kill nothin' we can eat more of un when we comes back.

But I'm thinkin' we'll find pa'tridges along here, feedin' on un.

Pa'tridges is wonderful fond o' berries, an' they'll not be missin' a feedin' ground like this. Th' kind that takes t' th' hills is bigger'n better'n them that sticks t' th' willers. They both turns white in winter, an' they's both better 'n th' spruce pa'tridges that sticks t'

th' spruce timber."

"Maybe you better take the shotgun, Dan. You can shoot quicker than I can, and if we see any partridges we've just got to get them."

"You shoots fine, but I knows better how t' look for th' pa'tridges, an' I'll take un. With th' wind they's like t' be wonderful wild."

Dan pa.s.sed his light rifle over to Paul, and with Paul's shotgun proceeded to the top of the ridge, keeping a careful lookout, as he walked, while Paul followed a little distance in the rear. On the summit Dan halted until Paul joined him.

"'Tis fine," said Dan; "look now."

Below them lay a wooded valley, the green spruce trees splotched with golden yellow patches, where groves of tamaracks had taken on their autumnal coloring. To the westward a small lake s.h.i.+mmered in the sunlight, and leading to the southward from it could be traced the winding course of a creek which was presently lost among barren hills beyond.

"Isn't it fine!" exclaimed Paul.

"An' 'tis like t' be a game country."