“It’s no wonder he gave out,” Bob declared a moment later, as he took hold of the man’s feet and pulled them out of the snow. “One of his snow-shoes has given out and his foot has gone clean through it. But we must get a move on and get him to the cabin, if we can,” he added doubtfully.
It was indeed a task to test the endurance of the strongest. The man was large and heavy, but with a prayer on their lips, they did not hesitate. Quickly removing the man’s snow-shoes, Bob fastened them together by their thongs and slung them on his back.
“You take his feet and I’ll lead,” he ordered, as he got his right arm under his shoulder pit. It was all he could do to straighten up under the load, but he managed it and they started. How they made it neither could tell; but, as Bob afterward declared, God must have given them the strength necessary. Foot by foot they plowed through the deep snow, sinking far down at every step, and obliged to stop to rest every few minutes.
If the task was difficult while they were still on the lake, it was doubly so when they reached the shore. The cabin sat on a sharp rise about a hundred feet from the lake, and it took them all of half an hour to make that short distance. It was literally inch by inch that they struggled on, praying that their strength would hold. Not once since they started had the man given the slightest indication of life, and the thought that he might even now be dead was discouraging. But, as Jack had declared when they had started out, they had done their best and they could leave the rest in the hands of God.
Finally, when their endurance seemed at the breaking point, they struggled onto the porch, and with what seemed his last ounce of strength, Bob pushed open the door not waiting to remove his snow-shoes. A good fire still burned in the fireplace and dragging the heavy body onto the bear skin directly in front of it, they quickly removed their snow-shoes, after which they stood for some moments leaning against the sides of the mantle exposing their half-numbed bodies to the grateful heat. But they both realized that this was a time when minutes might well mean the difference between life and death, and as soon as the first sign of returning strength began to flow back into their tired bodies, they sat to work.
“If you’ll make some strong coffee, Jack, I’ll be getting the blankets warm,” Bob said, as he started up the stairs. He returned almost immediately, his arms full of thick woolen blankets which he draped over the backs of chairs as near the fire as he dared.
“I suppose whiskey or brandy is what he ought to have,” he thought, “but we haven’t got any of either and I guess coffee is the next best thing.”
The form on the bear skin was lying face down and now Bob turned him over and, unbuttoning the heavy mackinaw, he placed his ear on his chest. For a moment he could detect no signs of life, but just as he was about to give up, he moved his head a trifle and his quick ear caught the faint sound of heart beats.
“Thank God, he’s alive,” he breathed as he lifted his head and for the time glanced at the man’s face. “Why, it’s Jean Larue,” he gasped in surprise. “If that don’t beat the Dutch,” and he hurriedly ran to the kitchen to tell Jack.
“Well of all things, to think of an old stager like that getting lost up here where he has lived all his life,” Jack declared as he poured out a cup of very black coffee.