He stated an unpleasant truth which the others had characteristically shirked, for Blake was often careless and Benson had taken the risks of the journey with frank indifference, though they had the excuse that after nearly starving once or twice they had succeeded in getting fresh supplies. Now, however, their hearts sank as they thought of the expanse of frozen wilderness that lay between them and the settlements.
"Well," said Blake, "there's a Hudson's Bay factory somewhere to the east of us. I can't tell how far off it is, though it must be a long way, but if we could reach it, the agent might take us in."
"How are you going to find the place?"
"I don't know, but a Hudson's Bay post is generally fixed where there are furs to be got, and there will, no doubt, be Indians trapping in the neighbourhood. We must take our chances of hitting their tracks."
"But we can't make a long march without food," Benson objected.
"The trouble is that we can't stay here without it," Blake rejoined with a short laugh.
This was undeniable, and neither of his companions answered. They were unkempt, worn out, and ragged, and had travelled a long way through fresh snow on short rations in the past week. Ahead of them lay a vast and almost untrodden desolation; behind them a rugged wilderness which there seemed no probability of their being able to cross. Lured by the hope of finding what they sought they had pushed on from point to point, and now it was too late to return.
By and by Blake got up. "Our best chance is to kill a caribou, and this is the kind of country they generally haunt. Since the sooner we look for one the better, I may as well start at once. There'll be a moon to-night."
He threw off his blanket and picking up a Marlin rifle, which was their only weapon, strode out of camp, and as he was a good shot and tracker they let him go. It was getting dark when he left the shelter of the trees and the cold in the open struck through him like a knife. The moon had not risen yet and the waste stretched away before him, its whiteness changed to a soft blue-grey. In the distance scattered bluffs rose in long dark smears, but there was nothing to indicate which way he should turn, and he had no reason to believe there was a caribou near the camp. As a matter of fact, they had found the larger deer remarkably scarce. He was tired after breaking the trail since sunrise, and the snow was loose beneath his big net shoes, but he plodded towards the farthest bluff, feeling that he was largely to blame for the party's difficulties.
Knowing something of the country, he should have insisted on turning back when he found they could obtain no dog-teams to transport their supplies. Occasionally the Hudson's Bay agents and patrols of the North-West Police made long journeys in Arctic weather, but they were provided with proper sledges and sufficient preserved food. Indeed, Blake was astonished that he and his comrades had got so far. He had, however, given way to Harding, who hardly knew the risks he ran, and now he supposed must take the consequences. This did not daunt him badly. After all, life had not much to offer an outcast, and though he had managed to extract some amusement from it he had nothing to look forward to. There was no prospect of his making money—his talents were not commercial—and the hardships he could bear with now would press on him more heavily as he grew older. These considerations, however, were too philosophical for him to continue. He was essentially a man of action and feeling unpleasantly hungry, and he quickened his pace, knowing that the chance of his getting a shot at a caribou in the open was small.