They started at sunrise next morning, and followed the river slowly by easy stages until the man sent back to Overweg’s base camp overtook them with another Kamtchadale. Then they pushed on still further inland, and it was a week later when one evening their guide led them up to a little pile of stones upon a lonely ridge of rock. There were two letters very rudely cut on one of the stones, and Wyllard, who stooped down beside it, took off his cap when he rose.
“There’s no doubt that Jake Leslie lies here,” he said. Looking at Overweg, he asked, “Your man is sure there was only one white man who buried him?”
Overweg spoke to the Kamtchadale, who answered:
“There was only one white man. It seems he went inland afterwards—at least a year ago.”
Wyllard turned to Charly, and his face was very grave. “That makes it certain that two of them have died. There was one left, and he may be dead by this time.” He made a forceful gesture. “If one only knew!”
Charly made no answer. He was not a man of education or much imagination, but like others of his kind he had alternately borne many privations in the wilderness, logging, prospecting, trail-cutting about the remoter mines, and at sea. As one result of this there crept into his mind some recognition of what the outcast who lay at rest beside their feet had had to face—the infinite toil of the march, the black despair, the blinding snow, and Arctic frost. He met his leader’s gaze with a look of comprehending sympathy.
By what grim efforts and primitive devices their comrade had clung to life for a time, it seemed probable they would never know, but they clearly realized that, though some might call it an illegal raid, or even piracy, it was a work of mercy this outlaw had undertaken when he was cast away. In the command to swing the boats over and face the roaring surf in the darkness of the night he had heard the clear call of duty, and had fearlessly obeyed. His obedience had cost him much, but as the man who had come so far to search for him looked down upon the little pile of stones there in the desolate wilderness, there awoke within him a sure recognition of the fact that this was not the end. That, at least, was unthinkable. His comrade, putting off the half-frozen, suffering flesh, had gone on to join the immortals with his duty done.
It was with warmth at his heart and a slight haziness in his eyes that Wyllard turned away at length, but when he put on his fur cap again he was more determined than ever to carry out the search. There were many perils and difficulties to be faced, but he felt that he must not flinch.
“One man went inland,” he said to Overweg. “I must go that way, too.”
The little spectacled scientist looked at him curiously.