With the closing in of the Arctic night hostilities ceased as far as the human enemy was concerned. The Euralians fled before the overwhelming forces which Nature was about to turn loose. Perhaps they understood the terror which the intruders would be forced to endure on these barren lands where shelter was unknown. Perhaps they considered it sufficient. Perhaps they feared for themselves the ferocity of the Arctic night. Doubtless they were simply satisfied that their prey was held fast, a helpless prisoner within the walls of the stronghold he had set up in defence, and was powerless to operate in any of the desired directions. At any rate Wilder was left unmolested in the grip of the northern man’s natural enemy.
It had been a desperate time in which the intensity of cold was the least of many hardships. Fuel had been scarce enough, but sufficient driftwood and masses of dried lichen had been collected to make life possible. So the expedition had endured through alternating periods of snow-storm and blizzard, when the blackness of the northern night could well-nigh be felt. Then had come those brilliant intervals of starlight when the twilight grew under the splendour of a blazing aurora, and the temperature dropped, dropped till the depths of cold seemed illimitable.
It was in these extremities that the whiteman displayed his right to his position in the scheme of life. An iron discipline ruled the camp, and never for a moment was it relaxed. Never was the mind permitted to drift from the appointed labours. Storm or calm it was the same. For Bill Wilder, and Chilcoot, and even the hot-head, Red Mike knew that it was work, or the complete disintegration of the will to endure, which, in turn, would mean disruption and final disaster to the whole of their outfit.
So desperate was the interminable winter that every man of the outfit welcomed the deluge of spring with its promptly swarming flies and mosquitoes, and the reopening of hostilities with their almost unseen human enemy. Within a month summer was upon them, and the previous summer’s battle was again in full swing. So it had gone on. And now at last the wear and futility of it all was beginning to have its effect. The expedition had endured for a year under conditions almost unendurable. And during the whole of that period not one single detail of its original purpose had been achieved.
Gold? It was the last thing in their thoughts now. And as for the Euralians, with whom they had been in fighting contact for at least half the time, their identity, their personality was the same sealed book to Wilder that it had been before he had listened to their story from the lips of George Raymes. They had never yet made one single prisoner, or possessed themselves of the slain body of a single victim of their rifles. No member of the outfit had as yet more than a rifle shot view of these savages, who so skilfully avoided contact while yet prosecuting their warfare.
Chilcoot regarded his leader and friend with eyes that twinkled for all they were serious.
“No. Not for him,” he said provocatively.
Wilder lit his pipe. Then he reached out and opened the breech of his rifle to let the air pass through the fouled barrel.
“Guess that’s a qualification,” he said regarding the weapon in his hand.
“Sure,” Chilcoot again laughed shortly. “Ther’s bigger things to worry for than Red Mike—crazy as he is.”