This was obvious, and when they had heaped up a good supply of wood Harding and Blake went to sleep, leaving Benson to keep watch.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CARIBOU
When Blake was awakened by Harding, the cold was almost unendurable, and it cost him a determined effort to rise from the hollow he had scraped out of the snow and lined with spruce twigs close beside the fire. He had not been warm there, and it was significant that the snow was dry, but sleep had brought him relief from discomfort and he had found getting up the greatest hardship of the trying journey. In answer to his drowsy questions, Harding said he had once or twice heard a wolf howl in the distance, but that was all, and then lay down, leaving Blake on guard. He sat with his back to a snowbank which afforded some shelter and imagined from his sensations that the temperature must be about fifty degrees below zero. The frost bit through him, stiffening his muscles until he felt that if vigorous movement were demanded of him he would be incapable of it, and dulling his brain. He could not reason clearly, though he had things to consider, and he looked about with heavy eyes, trying to forget his physical discomfort, while his mind wandered through a maze of confused thought.
There was a half-moon in the sky, which was pitilessly clear, for cloudiness might have made it warmer; when the firelight sank he could see the slender spruce trunks cutting against the silvery radiance and the hard glitter of the snow. Everything was tinted with blue and white, and the deathly cold colouring depressed him. Then he began to consider their position, which was serious. They were worn out and half-fed; their furs were ragged, and shortage of money and the difficulty of transport had forced them to cut down their camp equipment. Indeed, looking back on the long march, he was surprised that they had escaped crippling frostbite, although both Benson and Harding were somewhat lame from the strain which the use of snowshoes puts upon the muscles of the leg. There was, moreover, a risk of this becoming dangerous.
He imagined that it must be two hundred miles to the Hudson's Bay post and recognized that the chances were against their reaching it; but just then a howl rang, harsh and ominous, through the frosty air, and with a nervous start he reached for his rifle. The wolves had scented them, and, turning his back to the light, he spent some minutes gazing fixedly at the glistening white patches among the straggling trees, but could make out none of the stealthy, flitting shapes he had half expected to see. It was encouraging that the wolves had not overcome their timidity of the fire. Keen hunger might have driven them to an attack, and Blake had no illusions about the result of that. However, since the fierce brutes were not starving, they must have found something to eat, and what a wolf could eat would feed men who were by no means fastidious. Seeing nothing that alarmed him, Blake resumed his musing.
Their search for the gum had proved useless and he pitied Harding, who had staked his future upon its success. The man had not complained much, but Blake knew what he must feel and thought with compassion of the lonely woman who had bravely sent his comrade out and was now waiting for him in the mean discomfort of a cheap tenement. It was not difficult to imagine her anxiety and suspense.
Next he began to ponder his own affairs, which were not encouraging, though he did not think he really regretted the self-sacrificing course he had taken. His father had died involved in debt, and Blake suspected that it had cost Challoner something to redeem the share of his mother's property which brought him in a small income. That it had been carefully tied up was not, he thought, enough to guard it from the Blake extravagance and ingenuity in raising money. Afterwards the Colonel had brought him up and sent him into the army, doing so with a generous affection which was very different from cold charity, and demanded some return. Then Bertram had never been jealous of the favour shown his cousin, but had given him warm friendship, and Blake, who was much the stronger, had now and then stood between the lad and harm. He had done so again in Bertram's greatest need, and now he must not grumble at the consequences.
Of late they had seemed heavier than formerly, for in tempting him Clarke had made a telling suggestion—suppose he married? This appeared improbable; for one thing, no girl he was likely to be attracted by would look with favour on a man with his reputation, but he had thought a good deal about Millicent Graham during the weary march. He imagined that she had inherited enough of her father's reckless character to make her willing to take a risk. She would not have a man betray his friend for an advantage that he might gain; she had a courage that would help her, for love's sake, to tread a difficult path. Still, there was no reason to believe that she had any love for him, or indeed that she thought of him except as a stranger to whom she had, perhaps, some reason to be grateful. Resolutely breaking off this train of thought, he threw fresh wood upon the fire and sat shivering and making plans for the march to the factory, until Benson relieved him. When the grey dawn broke above the trees he got up stiff with cold and after eating his share of a very frugal breakfast carefully examined his rifle. Though he kept it clean of superfluous grease, there was some risk of the striker and magazine-slide freezing, and a missfire might prove disastrous. Then he glanced up between the branches and noticed the low, dingy sky, while he thought it was not quite so cold.