CHAPTER XXVII
IN THE WILDERNESS
A bitter wind was blowing when Wyllard stood outside the little tent the morning after he had made a landing on the ice. He was to leeward of the straining canvas which partly sheltered him, but the raw cold struck through him to the bone, and he was stiff and sore from his exertions during the previous day. His joints ached unpleasantly, and his clothing had not quite dried upon him. He was conscious of a strong desire to crawl back into the tent and go to sleep again, but that was one it would clearly not be wise to indulge in, since they were, he believed, still some distance off the beach, and the ice might begin to break up at any moment. It stretched away before him, seamed by fissures and serrated ridges here and there, for a few hundred yards, and then was lost in the snow. As he gazed at it he shrank from the prospect of the journey through the frozen desolation.
With a shiver he crawled back into the tent where his two companions were crouching beside the cooking-lamp. The feeble light of its sputtering blue flame touched their faces, which were graver than usual, but Charly looked up as he came in.
“Wind’s dropping,” announced Wyllard curtly. “We’ll start as soon as you have made breakfast. We must try to reach the beach to-night.”
Charly made no answer, though the dusky-skinned Siwash grunted, and in a few more minutes they silently commenced their meal, which was promptly finished. They struck the tent, and packed it with their sleeping-bags and provisions upon the sled, and then, taking up the traces, set out across the ice. The light had grown clearer now, and the snow was thinning, but it still whirled about them, and lay piled in drawn-out wreaths to lee of every hummock or ragged ridge. They floundered knee-deep, and in the softer places the weight upon the traces grew unpleasantly heavy. That, however, was not a thing any of them felt the least desire to complain of, and it was indeed a matter of regret to them that they were not harnessed to a heavier burden. There was a snow-wrapped desolation in front of them, and they had lost a number of small comforts and part of their provisions in making a landing. Whether the provisions could be replaced they did not know.
The small supply of food was an excellent reason for pushing on as fast as possible, and they stumbled and floundered forward until late in the afternoon. The ice became more rugged and broken as they proceeded. The snow had ceased, but the drifts which stretched across their path were plentiful, and they were in the midst of one when it seemed to Wyllard, who was leading, that they were sinking much deeper than usual. The snow was over the tops of his long boots, the sled seemed very heavy, and he could hear his comrades floundering savagely. There was a cry behind him, and he was jerked suddenly backwards for a pace or two until he flung himself down at full length in the snow. After that he was drawn back no further, but the strain upon the trace became almost insupportable, and there was still a furious scuffling behind him.
In a moment or two, however, the strain slackened, and looking round, he saw Charly waist-deep in the snow. Charly struggled out with difficulty, holding on by the trace, but the sled had vanished, and it was with grave misgivings that Wyllard scrambled to his feet. They hauled with all their might, and after a tense effort, that left them gasping, dragged the sled back into sight. Part of its load, however, had been left behind in the yawning hole.
Charly went back a pace or two cautiously until he once more sank to the waist, and they had some trouble in dragging him clear. Then he sat down on the sled, and Wyllard stood still looking at the holes in the snow.