The Forest Pilot: A Story for Boy Scouts

by Edward Huntington

Kim, who had been curled up beside the boy, sprang up to meet his mate, jerking Larry about in his excitement, as they were still fastened together in harness. But even this violent shaking only roused the boy for a moment, who dropped back into a doze immediately.

The situation confronting Martin was desperate. Larry was rapidly freezing, and as the nearest shelter of the woods was several miles away, it was useless to attempt to reach it. The only alternative was to try to make such shelter as he could with the supplies on Larry’s sled. Fortunately in distributing the packs the day before he had put the tent on Larry’s toboggan, and now he conceived a plan for using it, although it would be sheer madness to attempt to pitch it in a gale that almost blew the dogs off their feet at times.

First of all he pulled out Larry’s fur sleeping bag and, crouching behind the load, managed to get the stupified boy into it, twisting the top of the bag over his head so that the boy’s own breath would help warm him. Then he took out the tent, standing with his back to the blast and with the toboggan load in front of him, he gradually worked it over one end of the load and under the sled.

It will be remembered that this tent was made with the floor cloth sewn firmly to the side walls so that it was in effect a great bag. Martin worked the opening of this bag around the sled, fighting fiercely against the gale, and then forced the sled into the bottom, turning it at right angles to the wind. In this way he formed a barrier on the inside of the low tent. Then he pushed Larry in his sleeping bag inside, and he and the dogs crawled in and huddled together. Next he gathered together the loose edges of the opening of the tent and tied them with the guy ropes, thus shutting out the storm on every side and amply protected on the side where the wind was fiercest by the loaded sled.

The old hunter, accustomed to severe cold, and heated by his exertions, was warm and comfortable for the moment, at least, in this nest; and the dogs found their lodgings so agreeable that they licked the snow from between their toes, and soon curled up for a nap. But Larry still remained motionless, and when Martin felt inside the bag he found his face cold. Evidently the little warmth left in the boy’s body was not sufficient to warm him back to life, even in the sleepng bag.

Closing the bag again to retain what warmth there was inside, Martin ripped open the lacings of the sled, and fumbling about found Larry’s tin cup, a tin plate, and the little box containing the cubes of “solid alcohol.” Placing one of these on the bottom of an overturned tin plate the old hunter struck a match and lighted it, keeping the dish between his outspread knees to prevent the dogs knocking against it, and using his rifle as a tent pole to raise the canvas as high as possible. It was a hazardous thing to do, as they were all crowded into a space so small there was scarcely room for all of them to curl up together, to say nothing of space for starting a fire. But Larry’s case was desperate: Martin must find some way of warming him. And even a very tiny flame in that closely packed space would soon do this.

As the little blue flame grew larger and flickered upwards, the dogs instinctively drew away from it, crowding close to the tent walls, in this way leaving Martin a little more elbow room. It also gave him an opportunity carefully to work loose part of the fastening so as to make an opening a few inches long on the leeward side of the tent for ventilation. For as the tent cloth was practically air tight the flame and the breath from four pairs of lungs quickly made the atmosphere stifling. But Martin did not wait for this warmth alone to start up the boy’s flagging circulation. He scooped a tin cup full of snow, reaching through the ventilating slit, and holding this over the flame, melted and warmed it.

Each little cube was supposed to burn for ten minutes, and give out an amount of heat entirely disproportionate to its size. But the first cube had burned itself out and a second one was half consumed before Martin secured half a cup of steaming hot water. Meanwhile Larry had not roused, although his face was warmer and he was breathing more naturally. A few sips of the hot water forced between his lips, however, roused him quickly; and by the time he had swallowed the contents of the cup the color had come back to his cheeks.

The hot water warmed his tingling body like magic, and by the time the third cube was burned out his cheeks were pink and even the tips of his fingers warm. But Martin was not satisfied with this. He dug out some lumps of pemmican, heated them in the flame, and fed him the bits as they became warm, occasionally taking a mouthful himself, and giving some to the dogs as a reward for good behavior. By the time the last cube had burned itself out they had all made a hearty meal, and Larry was feeling like himself again, warm and comfortable in the fur bag.

But now Martin found himself in a dilemma. His own sleeping bag was somewhere on his sled lost in the blizzard; and while his clothing was warm, he soon realized that it would not be enough protection to keep him from freezing in a few hours, now that the cubes were all gone. There was only one thing to be done: he must wedge himself in beside the boy and share his warm bag until the storm subsided. Luckily for him the bag was a full-sized one like his own. So that by dint of much wriggling and squeezing he managed to crawl in beside the boy and pull the folds over his head, although it was such a tight fit that neither of them could move when it was finally accomplished.