CHAPTER XVIII
THE BACK TRAIL
Blake and his friends spent three weeks at the Hudson Bay post, and throughout the first fortnight an icy wind hurled the snow against the quivering building. It was dangerous to venture as far as a neighboring bluff, where fuel had been cut; Benson and the agent, who were hauling cordwood home, narrowly escaped from death one evening in the suddenly freshening storm. None of the half-breeds could reach the factory, and Robertson confessed to some anxiety about them. There was little that could be done, and they spent the dreary days lounging about the red-hot stove, and listening to the roar of the gale. In the long evenings, Robertson told them grim stories of the North.
Then there came a week of still, clear weather, with intense frost; and when several of the trappers arrived, Robertson suggested that his guests had better accompany a man who was going some distance south with a dog team. He could, however, spare them only a scanty supply of food, and they knew that a long forced march lay before them when they left their guide.
Day was breaking when the dogs were harnessed to the sled, and Harding and his companions, shivering in their furs, felt a strong reluctance to leave the factory. It was a rude place and very lonely, but they had enjoyed warmth and food there, and their physical nature shrank from the toil and the bitter cold. None of them wished to linger in the North—Harding least of all—but it was daunting to contemplate the distance that lay between them and the settlements. Strong effort and stern endurance would be required of them before they rested beside a hearth again.
There was no wind, the smoke went straight up and, spreading out, hung above the roof in a motionless cloud; the snow had a strange ghostly glimmer in the creeping light; and the cold bit to the bone. It was with a pang that they bade their host farewell, and followed the half-breed, who ran down the slope from the door after his team. Robertson was going back to sit, warm and well-fed, by his stove, but they could not tell what hardships awaited them.
Their depression, however, vanished after a while. The snow was good for traveling, the dogs trotted fast, and the half-breed grunted approval of their speed as he pointed to landmarks that proved it when they stopped at noon. After that they held on until dark, and made camp among a few junipers in the shelter of a rock. All had gone well the first day; Harding's leg no longer troubled him; and there was comfort in traveling light with their packs on the sled. The journey began to look less formidable. Gathering close round the fire, they prepared their supper cheerfully, while the dogs fought over scraps of frozen fish. Harding, however, had misgivings about their ability to keep up the pace; he thought that in a day or two it would tell on the white men.
They slept soundly, for the cold has less effect on the man who is fresh and properly fed. Breakfast was quickly despatched, and after a short struggle with the dogs they set out again. It was another good day, and they traveled fast, over a rolling tableland on which the snow smoothed out the, inequalities among the rocks. Bright sunshine streamed down on them, the sled ran easily up the slopes and down the hollows, and the men found no difficulty in keeping the pace. Looking back when they nooned, Harding noticed the straightness of their course. Picked out in delicate shades of blue against the unbroken white surface surrounding it, the sled trail ran back with scarcely a waver to the crest of a rise two miles away. This was not how they had journeyed north, with the icy wind in their faces, laboriously struggling round broken ridges and through tangled woods. Harding was a sanguine man, but experience warned him to prepare for much less favorable conditions. It was not often the wilderness showed a smiling face.
Still, the fine weather held, and they were deep in the timber when they parted from their guide on a frozen stream which he must follow while they pushed south across a rugged country. He was not a companionable person, and he spoke only a few words of barbarous French, but they were sorry to see the last of him when he left them with a friendly farewell. He had brought them speedily a long distance on their way, but they must now trust to the compass and their own resources; while the loads they strapped on were unpleasantly heavy. Before this task was finished, dogs and driver had vanished up the white riband of the stream, and they felt lonely as they stood in the bottom of the gorge with steep rocks and dark pines hemming them in. Blake glanced at the high bank with a rueful smile.
"There are advantages in having a good guide," he said. "We haven't had to face a climb like that all the way. But we'd better get up."