Driving two trains of loaded dogs is hard work; the second driver could not keep up, and the man in front deliberately increasing his pace walked steadily away, leaving his comrade to the mercies of cold and drift. He did this coward act with the knowledge that his companion had only three matches in his possession, he having induced him to give up the rest to Indians whom they had fallen in with.
The man thus abandoned on the dreaded lake was a young Hudson’s Bay clerk, by no means habituated to the hardships of such a situation. But it requires little previous experience to know when one is lost. The dogs soon began to wander, and finally headed for where their instinct told them lay the shore. When they reached the shore night had fallen, the wind had gone down, but still the cold was intense; it was the close of January, the coldest time of the year, when 80° of frost is no unusual occurrence. At such a time it was no easy matter to light a fire; the numbed, senseless hands cannot find strength to strike a match; and many a time had I seen a hardy voyageur fail in his first attempts with the driest wood, and with full daylight to assist him.
But what chance had the inexperienced hand, with scant willow sticks for fuel and darkness to deceive him? His wood was partly green, and one by one his three matches flashed, flickered, and died out.
No fire, no food—alone somewhere on Lac Clair in 40° to 50° below zero! It was an ugly prospect. Wrapping himself in a blanket, he got a dog at his feet and lay down. With daylight he was up, and putting the dogs into harness set out; but he knew not the landmarks, and he steered heedless of direction. He came at last to a spring of open water; it was highly charged with sulphur, and hence its resistance to the cold of winter. Though it was nauseous to the taste he drank deeply of it; no other spring of water existed in all the wide circle of the lake.
For four days the wretched man remained at this place; his sole hope lay in the chance that men would come to look for him from the fort, but ere that would come about a single night might suffice to terminate his existence.
These bad nights are bad enough when we have all that food and fuel can do. Men lose their fingers or their toes sometimes in the hours of wintry daylight, but here fire there was none, and food without fire was not to be had. The meat upon the sled had frozen almost as solid as the stone of a quarry.
He still hoped for relief, but had he known of the conduct of the ruffian whose desertion had thus brought him to this misery his hope would have been a faint one.
On the day following his desertion, the deserter appeared at the Quatre Fourche; he pretended to be astounded that his comrade had not turned up. On the same evening he reached Fort Chipewyan: he told a plausible story of having left his companion smoking near a certain spot on the north side of the lake; on his return to the spot the sleds were gone, and he at once concluded they had headed for home. Such was his tale.
A search expedition was at once despatched, but acting under the direction of the scoundrel Harper no trace of the lost man could be found.
No wonder! for the scene of his desertion lay many miles away to the south, but the villain wished to give time for cold and hunger to do their work; not for any gratification of hatred or revenge towards his late comrade, but simply because “dead men tell no tales.” Upon the return of this unsuccessful expedition suspicions were aroused; the man was besought to tell the truth, all would be forgiven him if he now confessed where it was he had left his companion. He still however asserted that he had left him on the shore of the lake at a spot marked by a single willow. Again a search party goes out, but this time under experienced leadership, and totally disregarding the story of the deserter.