The snow-covered ice was smooth, but the bends of the river increased the distance wofully; there was a keen wind, and the dark pines stretched on without a break as far as he could see. As he entered each fresh loop of the stream he looked eagerly for an opening or sign of life, but there were only rows of ragged spires, cutting sharply against the sky. He felt inexpressibly lonely and badly afraid; the desolation was growing appalling, and he could not keep on his feet much longer. He had food enough for two scanty meals, and then, if no help came, he must starve.
There was now a pain which grew rapidly worse in his left side; his shoulders ached beneath his load, and every joint was sore with the effort it cost him to save his injured foot. The sun sank lower, and the trees still ran on ahead. Indeed, they were growing thicker, and he could see only a short distance into the avenues between the great colonnades of trunks. The loops of the river doubled more closely; in spite of his exertion he was getting very little farther down the valley; but an attempt to push through the forest led him into such tangles of fallen trunks and branches that he was forced back to the ice.
At length he reached a spot where a fire had swept the bush. Branches and clustering needles had been burned away; the trees ran up in bare, charred columns, black when looked at closely, in the distance a curious silvery gray. Prescott could see ahead between them, and he stopped with his heart beating rapidly, for on the white hillside some distance off stood a few shacks. This was the camp, and in spite of the pain it cost him he increased his pace, driven by keen suspense. He did not know if there were men yonder, and he could see no smoke. The doubt grew tormenting; leaving the stream farther on, he struck into unburned bush that hid the camp from him. There were thorny brakes and thickets of withered ferns, but though progress was excruciatingly painful he smashed through them furiously. He was hot and breathless; it was insufferable that he should be delayed among the timber in anxiety. Breaking out into the open, he sent up a hoarse cry, for a thin trail of vapor curled above one of the shacks. Then a man appeared in the doorway and waved a hand to him.
Prescott felt suddenly limp and nerveless; now that help was near at hand, he wanted to sit down; but he held on until he limped into the hut, where two men stood awaiting him. They were strong, weather-beaten fellows, dressed in quaintly patched garments, and they looked good-humored.
“Come right in,” said one. “Pull that box up to the fire and sit down.”
Prescott was glad to obey, and when he had taken off his pack he looked about the shack. It was substantially built: stones and soil had been used in its construction as well as boards and bark. It was warmed by a big open fire and contained a table, besides a few tubs and cases which served as seats. A bunk neatly made of split boards and filled with spruce twigs and swamp hay ran along one end.
“Can you take me in for a day or two?” he asked. “I’ve hurt my foot.”
“Sure,” said the second man. “I noticed you were walking lame. We’re well stocked in groceries and Steve got a deer a day or two ago.”
“How did you get your stores?”
“The contractor brought them up. There was quite a camp here; company putting in all the preliminary work that could be done with the shovel. They shut down when the frost came, but we figured we’d stay on, and took over part of the supplies. The boss had more truck than he could pack down to the other camps.”