STARTLING NEWS
It was snowing in the northern wilderness and the bitter air was filled with small, dry flakes, which whirled in filmy clouds athwart the red glow of a fire. A clump of boulders stood outlined beside a frozen river, and behind the boulders a growth of willows rose crusted with snow, while beyond them, barely distinguishable, were the stunted shapes of a few birches. So far the uncertain radiance reached when the fire leaped up, but outside it all was shut in by a dense curtain of falling snow.
It had been dark for some time, and Lisle was getting anxious as he lay, wrapped in a ragged skin coat, in a hollow beside a boulder. A straining tent stood near the fire, but the big stone afforded better shelter, and drawing hard upon his pipe, he listened eagerly. The effort to do so was unpleasant as well as somewhat risky, for he had to turn back the old fur cap from his tingling ears; and he shivered at every variation of the stinging blast. There was nothing to be heard except the soft swish of the snow as it swirled among the stones and the hollow rumble of the river pouring down a rapid beneath a rent bridge of ice.
The man had spent the early winter, when the snow facilitates traveling, in the auriferous regions of the North, arranging for the further development of the mineral properties under his control. That done, he had, returning some distance south, struck out again into the wilds to examine some alluvial claims in which he had been asked to take an interest. It was difficult to reach the first of them; and then he had spent several weeks in determined toil, cutting and hauling in wood to thaw out the frozen surface sufficiently to make investigations. Crestwick had accompanied him, but during the last few days he had gone down to a Hudson Bay post with the owners of the claim, who were returning satisfied with the arrangements made. His object was to obtain any letters that might have arrived, and Lisle, going on to look at another group of claims, had arranged to meet him where he had camped.
It would be difficult to miss the way, for it consisted of the frozen river, but Crestwick should have arrived early in the afternoon and Lisle felt uneasy. On the whole, the Canadian was satisfied with the conduct of his companion. Deprived during most of the time of any opportunity for dissipation, scantily fed, and forced to take his share in continuous labor, the lad’s better qualities had become manifest and he had responded pluckily to the demands on him. Abstinence and toil were already producing their refining effect. Still, he had not come back, and with the snow thickening, it was possible that he might not be able to keep to the comparatively plain track of the river. There was also the risk that by holding on too far when he saw the fire he might blunder in among the fissured ice at the foot of the rapid.
Rising at length, Lisle walked toward the dangerous spot, guiding himself by sound, for once he was out of the firelight there was nothing to be seen but a white driving cloud. He knew when he had reached the neighborhood of the rapid by the increased clamor of the stream, and he crept on until he decided that he was abreast of the pool below. The rapid was partly frozen, but the ice was fissured and piled up at the tail of it.
Lisle could not remember how long he waited, beating his stiffened hands and stumbling to and fro to keep his feet from freezing, but at last, though he could see nothing, he heard a crunching sound, and he called out sharply.
“I’ve got here!” came the answer. “Where shall I leave the ice? Seems to be an opening in front of me!”
It was difficult to hear through the clamor of the water and the crash of drifting ice; but Lisle caught the words and called again:
“Turn your back on the wind and walk straight ahead!”
He supposed that Crestwick was obeying him, but a few moments later he heard a second shout:
“Brought up by another big crack!”
The voice was hoarse and anxious, and Lisle, deciding that the lad was worn out by his journey and probably confused, bade him wait, and hurrying down-stream a little he moved out upon the frozen pool. He proceeded along it for a few minutes, calling to Crestwick and guiding himself by the answers; and then he stopped abruptly with a strip of black water close beneath his feet. On the other side was a ridge of rugged ice; but what lay beyond it he could not see.
“I’m in among a maze of cracks; can’t find any way out!” Crestwick cried, answering his hail.
Lisle reflected rapidly as he followed up the crevasse, which showed no sign of narrowing. The snow was thick, the bitter wind increasing, and a plunge into icy water might prove disastrous. It was obvious that he must extricate his companion as soon as possible, but the means of accomplishing it was not clear. Crestwick was somewhere on the wrong side of the crack, which seemed to lead right across the stream toward the confusion of broken ridges and hummocks which, as Lisle remembered, fringed the opposite bank. He must endeavor to find the place where the lad had got across; but this was difficult, for fresh breaches and ridges drove him back from the edge. Presently the chasm ended in a wide opening filled with an inky flood, and Lisle, turning back a yard or two, braced himself and jumped.
He made out a shapeless white object ahead, and coming to another crack he scrambled to the top of an ice-block and leaped again. There was a sharp crackle when he came down, the piece he alighted on rocked, and Crestwick staggered.
“Look out!” he cried. “It’s tilting under!”
Lisle saw water lapping in upon the snow, but it flowed back, and the cake he had detached impinged upon the rest with a crash.
“Come on!” he shouted. “The stream will jamb it fast!”
They reached the larger mass and moved across it, but Lisle, clutching his companion’s arm, bewildered and almost blinded by the snow, doubted if he were retracing his steps. He did not remember some of the ridges and ragged blocks over which they stumbled, and the smaller rents seemed more numerous. It was evident that Crestwick was badly worn out and they must endeavor to reach the bank with as little delay as possible.
At last they came to the broad crevasse, farther up the stream, and Lisle turned to Crestwick.
“Better take off your skin-coat. You’ll have to jump.”
“I can’t,” said the other dejectedly. “It’s not nerve—the thing’s clean beyond me.”
His slack pose—for he was dimly visible amid the haze of driving snow—bore out his words. The long march he had made had brought him to the verge of exhaustion; his overtaxed muscles would respond to no further call on them. For a moment or two Lisle stood gazing at the dark water in the gap.
“Then we’ll look for a narrower place,” he decided. “Where did you get across?”
“I don’t know. Don’t remember this split, but the ice was working under me. Perhaps the snow had covered it and now it’s fallen in.”
They scrambled forward, following the crevasse, but could find no means of passing it and now and then the ice trembled ominously. At last, when the opposite side projected a little, Lisle suddenly sprang out from the edge and alighted safely.
“It’s easy!” he called, stripping off his long skin coat and flinging one end of it across the chasm to Crestwick. “Get hold and face the jump!”
It was not a time for hesitation; the exhausted lad dare not contemplate the gap, lest his courage fail him, and nerving himself for an effort, he leaped. Striking the edge on the other side, he plunged forward as Lisle dragged at the coat, and then rolled over in the snow. He was up in a moment, gasping hard, almost astonished to find himself in security, and Lisle led him back to the snow-covered shingle.
“It strikes me as fortunate that I came to look for you,” he observed. “You’d probably have ended by walking into the river.”
“Thanks,” said Crestwick simply. “It isn’t the first hole you’ve pulled me out of.”
They reached the camp and the lad, shaking the snow off his furs, sat down wearily on a few branches laid close to the sheltering boulder, while Lisle took a frying-pan and kettle off the fire, and afterward filled his pipe again and watched his companion while he ate. Crestwick had changed since he left England; his face was thinner, and the hint of sensuality and empty self-assurance had faded out of it. His eyes were less bold, but they were steadier; and, sitting in the firelight, clad in dilapidated furs, he looked somehow more refined than he had done in evening dress in Marple’s billiard-room. When he spoke, as he did at intervals, the confident tone which had once characterized him was no longer evident. He had learned to place a juster estimate upon his value in the icy North.
“I was uncommonly glad to see the fire,” he said at length. “Another mile or two would have beaten me; though I spent nearly twice as long in coming up from the Forks as the prospectors said it would take. I was going light, too.”
“They’ve been doing this kind of thing most of their lives. You couldn’t expect to equal them. Where did you sleep last night?”
“In some withered stuff among a clump of willows; I scraped the snow off it. That is, I lay down there, but as the fire wouldn’t burn well, I don’t think I got much rest. Part of the time I wondered what I was staying in this country for. I didn’t seem to find any sensible answer.”
“You could get out of it when the freighters go down with the dogs and sledges,” Lisle suggested. “It would be a good deal more comfortable at Marple’s, for instance.”
“Do you want to get rid of me? I suppose I’m not much help.”
“Oh, no!” Lisle assured him. “It only struck me that you might find the novelty of the experience wearing off. Besides, you’re improving; in a year or two you’ll make quite a reliable prospector’s packer.”
“That’s something,” replied Crestwick, grinning. “Not long ago I thought I’d make a sportsman; one of Gladwyne’s kind. The ambition doesn’t so much appeal to me now. But I want to be rather more than a looker-on. Can’t you let me put something into one of these claims?”
“Not a cent! In the first place, you’d have some trouble in raising the money; in the second, I might be accused of playing Batley’s game.”
“The last’s ridiculous. But if I’m not to do anything, it brings me back to the question—why am I staying here?”
“I can’t tell you that. I’ll only suggest that if you hold out until you come into your property, you’ll go back much more fit in several ways to look after it. I should imagine you’d find less occasion to emulate people like Batley and Gladwyne then. Of course, I don’t know if that’s worth waiting for.”
It was the nearest approach to seriousness he considered advisable, for precept was obnoxious to him and apt to be resented by his companion.
“Now,” he added, “what about the mail?”
Crestwick produced a packet of letters which he had not opened yet and Lisle glanced at two business communications. The boulder kept off most of the snow, and the glare of the snapping branches, rising and falling with the gusts, supplied sufficient light.
“Mine’s from Bella; there’s news in it,” Crestwick remarked. “She says Carew—I don’t think you’ve seen him—is anxious to marry her, and if she’s convinced that I’m getting on satisfactorily, she’ll probably agree. He’s—I’m quoting—about as good as she’s likely to get; that’s Bella all over.”
“What’s he like?” Lisle asked with interest.
“To tell the truth, in one way I think she’s right—the man’s straight; not the Marple crowd’s style. In fact, I found him decidedly stand-offish, though I’ll own there might have been a reason for that. Anyhow, I’m glad; she might have done a good deal worse. I suppose you won’t mind giving me a testimonial that will set her doubts at rest?”
“You shall have it. Since the man’s a good one, I’m nearly as glad as you are. I’ve a strong respect for your sister; she stood by you pluckily.”
“That’s true,” asserted Crestwick. “I was a bit of an imbecile, and she’s really hard to beat. She says if the life here’s too tough for me I’m to come back and live with them. That’s considerate, because in a way she can’t want me, though I haven’t the least doubt she’d make Carew put up with my company. It decides the question—I’m not going.”
“A little while ago you’d have taken Carew’s delight for granted, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m beginning to see things,” Crestwick answered with a wave of his hand. Then he paused and looked confused. “After all, though she says I’m to give you the message, Bella really goes too far now and then.”
“She doesn’t always mean it. You may as well obey her.”
“It’s this—if it’s any consolation, she has no intention of forgetting you, and Arthur—that’s the fellow’s name—is anxious to make your acquaintance. She says there are men who’re not so unresponsive as you are, but Arthur has never been into the North to get frozen.”
Lisle laughed—it was so characteristic of Bella.
“Here’s something else,” Crestwick proceeded; “about Miss Gladwyne. Bella thinks you’d be interested to hear that there’s a prospect of—”
“Go on!” cried Lisle, dropping his pipe.
“I can’t see,” said Crestwick. “You might stir the fire.”
Lisle threw on some fresh wood and poked the fire savagely with a branch, and the lad continued, reading with difficulty while the pungent smoke obscured the light.
“It seems that she saw Gladwyne and his mother and Millicent together in town, and she afterward spent a week with Flo Marple at somebody’s house. Flo told her that it looks as if the long-deferred arrangement was to be brought about at last.” He laid down the letter. “If that means she’s to marry Gladwyne, it ought to be prevented!”
They looked at each other curiously, and Lisle, struggling to command himself, noticed the lad’s strained expression.
“Why?” he asked with significant shortness.
Crestwick seemed on the verge of some vehement outbreak and Lisle saw that it was with an effort he refrained.
“Oh, well,” he answered, “the man’s not half good enough. He’s a dangerous rotter.”
“Dangerous?”
“Yes,” returned Crestwick dryly; “I think that describes it.”
There was an impressive silence, while each wondered how far he might have betrayed himself. Then Lisle spoke.
“Read the rest of the letter. See if Bella says anything further.”
“No announcement made,” Crestwick informed him a little later. “All the same, Flo’s satisfied that the engagement will be made known before long.” He looked up at Lisle with uncertainty and anger in his face. “It almost makes me forget Bella’s other news. What can be done?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Don’t fence!” said Crestwick. “I’m not smart at it. Don’t you know a reason why Miss Gladwyne shouldn’t marry the fellow?”
“Yes. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Crestwick. “I can only say that the match ought to be broken off. It isn’t to be contemplated!”
“Well,” Lisle responded with forced quietness, “if it’s any relief to you, I’ll write to Nasmyth the first chance I get, asking what he’s heard. Now we’ll drop the subject. Is there anything else of general interest in your letter?”
“Bella says her wedding won’t be until the early summer and she’s thinking of making Carew bring her out to Banff or Glacier—he came out shooting or climbing once before. Then she’ll endeavor to look us up.”
He lighted his pipe and they sat in silence for a while. Then Crestwick rose and bringing a blanket from the tent wrapped it about him and lay down in the lee of the boulder near the fire. A few minutes later he was sound asleep; but Lisle sat long awake, thinking hard, while the snow drove by above him.