The Conquest

by H. Bedford-Jones

The fortitude and strength that dwelt in the frame of the old chief was marvellous. We broke the trail by turns, our shoes stamping deep down through the soft crust at each step, until it required every ounce of endurance we possessed to keep on with the labor. Miles of it, hours of it, passed by, and still we kept on at the same terrific pace. At times Radisson and Swift Arrow relieved us, but ever we headed straight for the Ghost Hills, whose tree-clad and rocky summits now rose clear against the lambent sky. As we went, I began to fall into Radisson's way of thinking. Perhaps, after all, that uncanny Moose was leading us, guiding us straight to our goal. And whether it were the silence of these waste and desolate barrens around, or some inner feeling of the night, I gained confidence that He who in truth led us would not let harm come to the little maid.

It seemed hours before we rested again, and this time I flung myself down on a skin from the sled, huddling among the dogs for warmth, and slept. Those three old men must have been made of iron, for when I awakened I saw The Keeper sitting just as I had left him, alert and keen-eyed as ever, while Swift Arrow and Radisson were talking in low tones.

The poor brutes that hauled the sled suffered even more than we did. They were worn to death, and before we started out again, having fed them what we dared from our slender stock of food, we cut up our single robe which had covered the guns, and bound their bleeding feet as best we might. They fell to the trail limping, but there must have been something of the Indian stolidity in them, for all that long march I heard no cry, no whimper, burst from their throats.

Now, for the first time, I thought of Grim. What had happened to him? Where was he? At my questions Radisson smiled.

"He is faithful still, lad. They said in the village that he defended Ruth until Gib would have killed him, when the lass consented to go with them to save his life. Grim stayed ever at her side, and is like enough with her now."

This cheered me mightily, small hope though it were. Well I knew the wiliness of that old sheep-dog, and that while Ruth was endangered he would watch over her even as my father would have done. When I took up the weary labor again it was with better heart and more confident spirit than since the start.

Now we knew that we could not be far from the end of the terrible journey. Or at least my three comrades knew it, for I refused to admit that there was aught save madness in keeping to the moose-track. The snatch of sleep and food had cleared my mind from the influence of the night, and as we slapped on over the snows I railed bitterly at myself for ever having consented to it.

Slowly the hills ahead, purple in the unearthly, flitting lights, drew closer and towered ahead of us. Slowly the wide expanse of snow broke into little rises, then we found ourselves among the first of the Ghost Hills. Before long I knew why they had received that name.

They seemed to break straight out of the ground—great masses of black rock like that on the coast below Rathesby, at home. As we drew among them, still following that gigantic track left plain for us to read, I saw that despite the heavy snow the black masses of rock stood out bare and bleak, closing around us and shutting out the lights above.

The trail led downward now—down in a winding line among the towering crags, and we were passing over still deeper snow, which had drifted from the hills. As we wound through the dark passages a swift, chill wind smote us and cut to the marrow. It was not my first taste of the bitter wind of the Northland, which is infinitely harder to endure than the most silent cold, however great it may be.