He knew nothing until he found the sledge running light as a feather; it might have been hours after, or days, or years. In a brief glimmer of sight, he saw a man beside him, pulling. A tall man, not Kob. His face turned to Garry, seemed gentle in the shadow of the parka hood. Old tales, old legends of lovely faith, returned to Garry Redmond; like a child he leaned on the stranger.
In a certain blue-covered volume issued from Ottawa you will find, should you care to look, the report of Brant Durgan, Sergeant, R.N.W.M.P.
“I have the honour to report,” wrote the sergeant, laboriously, among other things, “that on December 6th inst., coming into Fort Scarlett with Patterson, trooper, from the Southern Moon, I encountered a sledge party ten miles east of the Go-Soak, and about the same distance from the Fort. There were two men and one sledge. It was apparent, from a distance, that they were in difficulties. When I overhauled them it was to find one man ill and tied to the sledge, and the man who pulled it suffered from snow-blindness. Both being—(‘batty’ was crossed out in the original)—both being delirious from exhaustion and exposure, we assisted them to the Fort.”
That is all you will find. Some while after the report had gone in, Garry opened his eyes. He was in a comfortable room, in a comfortable cot, under a red H.B.C. blanket. There is an H.B.C. post at Fort Scarlett, and a medical mission, and nearly twenty houses. It’s a great place. The medical missionary, who had been busy for three weeks saving Garry’s sight, and his feet, and his life, came in and looked at him; Garry grinned anxiously.
“I got him here?” he said.
“You did,” said the missionary, who was a man of few words, but those generally the right ones. “You got him in on your own, except the last few miles. He’s all right. Like to see him?”
“No, not yet,” answered Garry, after a silence. “I’d like to see the latest paper you got first, please.”
“For five minute,” said the missionary, looking at his eyes. But when the paper came, it only took Garry about two seconds to find out. He knew. Like a man of old, he turned his face to the wall.
He knew that never would he and Kob march shoulder to shoulder to any defeat or victory. Kob would never pull beside him on any trace; never work with him, drink with him, quarrel with him. It was all over. The great gulf was fixed. The war reached out and touched him already, to his hurt. He would not be taking care of Kob any more. Never again would Britisher and German share the same shack.