“A snow avalanche!” echoed Roger. “Do you mean it has come down from the side of the mountain, and filled the opening we used to get in here?”
“Yes,” explained Dick, “that is what has happened, as near as I can tell. But, after all, it may not be so serious a thing. We will see what can be done about breaking through.”
“We have to get out some way or other, that’s sure!” declared Roger, as he hurried along after his cousin, now heading for the place where the exit had been.
This was now filled by a tightly-wedged mass of snow. When they thrust the butts of their guns against it they were amazed to discover how firmly it had become packed.
“Why, it is like so much ice!” exclaimed Roger.
“Almost,” added the more conservative Dick, “though you can dig into it by working hard. If we only had shovels here we might do something.”
“But how long ought it take us to burrow through?” demanded Roger, with a note of dismay in his voice.
“That depends on how thick the wedge turns out to be,” replied Dick. “If it is five feet, we could make it in an hour or so. If deeper through than that, it would take us much longer.”
“And the worst of it is we haven’t a scrap of food along with us,” Roger complained. “If we were well supplied in that way I’d think it of less importance.”
“We must get out, one way or another,” continued Dick, grimly, “and the first thing we ought to learn is where the weakest part of the blockade lies.”
“As it came down on the run,” Roger figured, “it seems to me the greatest amount of snow would gather at the base. How about that, Dick?”
“You are right, and it will pay us to attack the barrier as high up as we can get. There may be some sticks of wood left back yonder, which we can use to dig with. Let us take a look.”
A close search produced three fragments of branches that could be utilized as makeshift shovels; at least they would be able to dig after a fashion into the hard barrier, and then collect the loosened material by scooping it up in their hands to be thrown away.
It promised to be slow and painful work, but none of them dreamed of complaining. There was so much at stake that even Roger had to forget his natural feelings and devote himself to vigorous work.
First of all Dick climbed up the best way he could, and found out how they could secure a footing in order to attack the snow blockade higher up. When this had once been settled they began.
Since all of them could not get at the small space marked out, they tried it in relays. While two dug the third one rested; and when one of the others gave out he took the vacant place.
The fire dwindled away and finally seemed to go out entirely. They could spare no time in order to search for more fuel; besides, while devoting every energy to the task before them, none of them felt at all cold.
“What are the prospects, Dick?” asked Roger, as he hastened to take the other’s place in turn, having had a good rest.
“It strikes me the snow is packed lighter than what we struck at first; what do you think about it, Mayhew?”
The frontiersman was always willing to advance an opinion after it had been asked, though he would seldom speak first. So now he stopped to take in a few good breaths, and then made reply.
“I was just thinking the same way myself, to tell you the truth. And it goes to show that we must be getting near the outside, where the pressure is much less.”
“Then we may break through at any time; is that it?” asked Dick.
After a short time Roger gave utterance to a shout.
“I’m through the layer of packed snow!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “See, here is a place where a stick cuts into it as easy as it would through a pear. We have won out, Dick; and in a little while we ought to see the outside world again.”
On investigation it was discovered that there was good reason for Roger’s jubilation. They had bored through the bank of snow that filled the opening, thanks to the wisdom shown in attacking it at its weakest point.
Five minutes afterwards a hole had been made sufficiently large to allow of their crawling through it to freedom.
The snow had ceased falling, although there did not seem to be a break in the clouds overhead. It was much over a foot on the level, and in some places, where the wind had drifted it, they found it would pay them to go around rather than wade directly through.
“That way leads to where we had our bitter experience last night,” said Dick, as he pointed toward the southwest. “We do not want to see Lascelles and his red allies again, if we can help it, so we will not turn in that direction.”
“If we ever do have to meet him face to face,” added Roger, “let us hope it will be when we have plenty of powder and bullets for our guns. If the cowardly rascal had not kept himself hidden behind that tree, while the fight was going on, I would have made sure that my lead found him. He is the worst enemy our families know, for he would rob them of their homes.”
“I felt the same way,” confessed Dick; “but he was too smart for us. I think he must have guessed he would be the first target for our guns. Still, we must remember that even Lascelles is not as bad as he might be. He would not allow the Indians to kill us on the spot, for one thing, as some renegades would have done.”
“Well, after all,” Roger continued, “it is a question in my mind whether he saved us because he had a streak of decency in him, or for some other reason. Perhaps he meant we should be carried off by those Blackfeet to their village, and adopted into the tribe.”
“It might be as you say,” admitted Dick, “for he told us that was what he meant them to do with Jasper Williams. It would be getting well rid of troublesome enemies, because there would be little chance of our ever coming back.”
“Now that we have burrowed out of that trap, what is the next move, Dick?”
“I think we have decided already that we will not start back to the camp. Badly off as we are, we have come a long way after Williams, and, now that we know he is not a great many miles away, we must find him!”
“If what that trader said is true Jasper needs us, too,” declared Roger.
“If he is a prisoner we are bound to do all we can to rescue him,” said the other boy, although it required no little fortitude to be able to decide in this way.
In one direction lay comfort and safety; in the other direction they must expect to find danger in many shapes, privations such as hunger and exhaustion, and, for aught they knew, death itself might lie in wait. Yet, in spite of all this, neither Dick nor Roger hesitated.
“Then it is on with us to the Frenchmen’s camp!” said Roger.
It was in that spirit they made their start. Just how far away the mysterious sheet of water lay they could not tell. It might be three miles, it might be twenty, for all they knew. Vague stories concerning it had drifted into the explorers’ camp from various sources. Trappers who had caught a glimpse of it gave wonderful accounts concerning its vast extent. Indians recounted the most marvelous tales of its being the home of the mighty Evil Spirit that possessed the Enchanted Land.
The boys were not free from a certain amount of superstitious awe; for human nature had not progressed as far along certain lines a hundred years ago as in these later days. But they possessed bold hearts, and, animated by that single purpose of serving those they loved, they were willing to dare anything rather than give up the quest.
It was in this frame of mind, then, that they began heading into the east, trudging uncomplainingly through heaps of snow that often came to their waists, and keeping a constant lookout for either game or human enemies.
“They are all snowed under, I fear, Dick!” Roger thus remarked after they had been struggling along for some time, without seeing a living thing save some crows that flew over the tree-tops, cawing at the three palefaces as though scornfully demanding to know what they were doing so far away from their kind.
“If you mean the small animals, such as rabbits, foxes, mink and such,” Dick answered, “I suppose it is so, though in time they must work their way through the snow or die. But elk can move around still. They are broad-chested and able to bound over or break through the drifts.”
“Then why have we failed to see a single elk, or a lone buffalo?” asked Roger, as though he took it as a personal grievance.
“I can only give a guess at the answer.”
“And I’m sure it will be a good guess then, Dick, for you seem to study the habits of everything that moves, from a beaver building his dam to the antelope we coax up within gun-shot by waving a red piece of cloth. What do you think is the reason all big game is lacking about here?”
“The animals must know of some places, more favored than others,” Dick explained, “where the grass stays fairly green throughout the winter. Snows may come and melt, and the cold waves be tempered by hot springs every little while.”
“Then I wish we could run across another of those boiling springs before it gets dark, and find a herd of elk hanging around it,” and Roger undoubtedly meant every word he spoke.
As the day had been pretty well along when they managed to break out of their snow prison they could not hope, before night, to get any great distance on the way to the big lake.
This being the case, it was really a matter of greater importance to Dick and his two companions that they succeed in their quest for food than that they cover any considerable distance before camping.
The prospect of another long night, without a morsel of food to stay the pangs of hunger, appalled them. Dick himself felt badly about it, although he managed, as usual, to hide his growing disappointment better than Roger, partly for the sake of cheering the other up.
“There is one thing none of us seem to have noticed,” Dick observed, after another half hour had crept by; “the clouds have broken, and we may even see the sun before it sets.”
“That is certainly cheering news,” Roger returned; “because if we had another fall of snow on top of this, winter would set in ‘for keeps.’ And we did hope to be safe back in camp before that.”
Before Dick could make any further remark an exclamation from Mayhew drew the attention of the two lads. The guide happened to be a little ahead of them at the time, and was now seen to be beckoning eagerly.
“He must have struck the trail of an elk at last!” exclaimed Roger, showing all the signs of the eager hunter.
“It looks that way,” admitted his cousin, “because he seems to be pointing down at his feet, as though something he had discovered interested him.”
“Oh! I hope it turns out that way, and that if it is a trail it was not made by a file of reds, or some of those ugly French trappers.”
They were hurrying forward while exchanging these remarks, and speedily reached Mayhew’s side.
“What is it?” asked Roger, immediately.
“A fresh trail!” came the answer, and, looking down, the boys could see for themselves where some large animal had pushed through the deep snow.
“An elk?” Dick inquired.
“No, a buffalo, I believe,” came the reply.
“One or the other, what do we care, so long as we can bag him?” commented Roger. “So let us be on the move. Every minute counts, with the sun so low in the western sky, and night coming on.”
There was indeed need of haste, for the short afternoon would soon be gone and, unless they had the good fortune to overtake the stray buffalo within half an hour or so, all their hopes would be dashed.
They immediately started forward; but the depth of the snow in places retarded their progress, and Roger often drew long breaths that stood for impatience, for he dared not vent his feelings aloud.
Dick, who was always observing little things, discovered that the breeze favored them. The buffalo was heading up into the quarter whence the wind came. This is the habit of most animals, since it allows them an opportunity to scent any lurking danger ahead, such as a panther stretched on a limb and waiting to spring upon them in passing.
Mayhew, who was a first-class tracker, every now and then took a look at the trail as though to decide what chance they had of overtaking the struggling buffalo before night fell.
He made no comment, but Dick, who watched his face, felt that the guide did not feel any too sanguine. Evidently from certain signs, well known to one of his broad experience, Mayhew knew that they were still some distance in the rear of the quarry and that, unless for some reason the lone buffalo chose to stop while on his way to a feeding ground, there was little likelihood of their coming up with him.
Accordingly, Dick was already making up his mind to “grin and bear it,” as Uncle Sandy was in the habit of saying when things could not be changed, and he had to stand for whatever came along.
Roger kept a bright lookout ahead. He hoped to be the first to discover the huge animal outlined against the white snow. Perhaps Roger had even figured in his mind just how they would approach as near as they could, and then, when their presence was discovered, and the buffalo tried to escape, they would give chase.
If the animal was tired after floundering so long through the deep drifts they would likely soon be able to come up with him, when a single shot might do the business. Roger did not forget that their ammunition was low, and that it would never do for them to be wasteful of powder and ball.
The sun presently shone forth, but it was close down to the top of the ridge far to the west, and liable to dip out of sight at any time.
“The sun has set!” said Roger, presently, in a tone of bitter disappointment.
“And we will have to give up soon, I fear,” Dick told him; “because, while meat would be a fine thing to have, we must first of all think of passing the night without being frozen to death.”
“It is going to be cold, that’s a fact,” admitted Roger, trying to show that he could grapple with the situation and not betray weakness.
Mayhew took a last look at the tracks, while the boys awaited his decision with the deepest anxiety. When they saw the guide shake his head in the negative they knew luck had gone against them, and that this meant a supperless camp.
“We have gained a heap on the critter,” Mayhew declared, “but he was still going strong when he passed here.”
“How long ago?” asked Dick.
“Nigh on half an hour, I should judge,” came the answer.
“Then we must call quits, and devote all our attention to finding a camp,” Dick determined. “With a fire going we will not feel quite so badly as in the cold.”
“Then we mean to keep up a blaze all night, no matter what the risk?” demanded Roger.
“Of course we can try to hide the fire some,” explained the guide; “but on a cold night like this the reds are not apt to be moving, and the risk will be slight.”
“Well, if the rest can stand it, I ought to, so now let us begin in earnest to find a camping-ground,” and Roger started looking to the right and left as though he did not want to lose a minute.
Indeed, at that season of the year in this far northern clime, while the twilight might linger for an hour or more, once the sun had set they could not see well under the canopy of pines. These, in places, had kept much of the snow from reaching the ground, and there was a reasonable hope that they could run across some spot that offered shelter from the piercing night wind.
Mayhew was so well versed in backwoods lore that he could be depended on to locate such a camp ground. If necessary they could build a windbreak out of branches, and behind this make their fire.
Before long the guide gave them to understand that he had sighted what seemed to be an admirable spot for passing the night.
“Over yonder you can see where I mean,” he told them, pointing as he spoke; and even Roger was forced to admit that it offered advantages other places had lacked.
Mayhew took his hatchet and cut several slabs from the bark of a tree. It was to be noticed that he did this on the side nearest their intended camp; but neither of the pioneer boys asked why this was done, because their hunter instinct told them Mayhew was only leaving his mark so that in the morning they would lose no time in picking up the trail of the lone buffalo.
Once they arrived at the spot selected as their next camp all started to work. Dick and Mayhew began to erect a thick screen of brush on the windward side, while Roger collected fuel wherever he could find it.
When he had made quite a pile of broken limbs, and splinters from a fallen pine tree, Roger got out his tinder-box and flints, and presently the rising smoke told that his fire was a success.
As the night closed in around them it was a rather cheery scene that Roger looked upon, while engaged in gathering a further supply of wood, perhaps twenty or thirty paces away. His two companions were still engaged in adding the finishing touches to the barricade; the flames leaped up with a snap and a sparkle, and the glow of the fire seemed to give the surrounding snow a rosy tint that did much to take away its cold look.
Roger sighed as he tightened his belt, drawing it up another notch, a familiar habit with hungry men.
“I think we will have to call this Camp Starvation, Dick,” he remarked, as he threw down the armful of fuel he had collected.
“No, that would hardly be a proper name for it,” the other told him immediately; “because we haven’t reached that point yet. I mean to put it down in my memory as Camp Hope!”
Roger must have been abashed by the gentle reproach in Dick’s declaration, for he did not make any reply until several minutes had passed. Perhaps he may have been weighing in his mind the many reasons they had to be thankful, in spite of the dark clouds hanging over their heads, for when he did speak up it was to say:
“Yes, we will call it Camp Hope, Dick.”
Perhaps they were taking some chances as they sat there by their fire that evening; but there was no help for it. Being without blankets or any furs to keep them warm when sleep overcame them, they dared not risk being frozen as the cold became more intense with the passing of the night.
Roger meant to show as cheery a face as he could, but somehow he could not seem to think of anything but the delights of eating. It is doubtless so with all who have been deprived of their customary food for an unusual time.
“Do you know, Dick,” he said, as he sat hugging his knees and staring into the crackling flames, “I was just thinking how, many a night, when the wind would be whistling around the corners of our cabin, Sister Mary and myself used to sit and look into a roaring fire like this, one on either side of the big hearth. I can picture her sitting there to-night, with mother and father close by. And, Dick, perhaps they are talking about us, wondering whether they will ever see us again.”
Dick moved uneasily as he listened, for, to tell the truth, his thoughts had also gone roaming back to the dearly loved home, and in imagination he was following the forms of his mother, father and brother, as they moved to and fro in the well-remembered living room.
Immediately afterwards Roger’s plaint took another turn, induced no doubt by the feeling of emptiness that caused him such uneasiness.
“Yes, and it seems to me I can even catch the fine odor of the stew that is cooking in the big black pot swinging over the fire, with the lid lifting to let out the clouds of steam. And oh! Dick, how splendid it used to smell, too! What wouldn’t I give to be sitting down with a plate of it heaped up before me, some of mother’s tea in a tin cup and a plate of her fried sweet-cakes to top off with.”
Once Roger got started on that strain he seemed to take especial delight in recollections of about every feast in which he had ever indulged. Dick let him talk on undisturbed. How vividly he himself could recall all those special occasions, when they had attended some country dance among the settlers’ young folks at harvest home times. The faces of all the absent friends came clearly before him and, spurred on by Roger’s graphic descriptions, it seemed almost possible to get a whiff of the fresh bread being taken from the big old Dutch oven in which, as a small child, Dick had so often hidden from his companions when they played games.
Roger prattled on as the hour grew late. It seemed as though his recollections had no limit, judging from the way in which he kept calling up events of happy days.
But finally Dick began to notice that he faltered now and then, and his eyes gave evidences of approaching drowsiness. The warmth of the fire was getting in its work and in the end Roger stretched out, “just to rest his back a bit,” as he explained to his companions. He soon began to breathe regularly and Dick knew that he slept.
For a time at least the hungry boy would forget his gnawing pains, though possibly his dreams would take on the joys of a feast, and the awakening be all the more bitter in consequence.
“Poor Roger!” Dick said to himself, as he leaned over and gently drew the flap of the sleeper’s tunic closer about his neck, “I wish I had it in my power to provide a substantial meal against your waking up; but where it is to come from, unless it rains down from above, I fail to see.”
It was just like the generous nature of Dick Armstrong to forget his own condition in feeling for another; Roger was as dear to him as his own brother could be, since they had shared each other’s joys and sorrows ever since they were able to exchange confidences and fight each other’s battles.
That long night would never be forgotten, though they lived to an old age. Little sleep visited Dick’s eyes. This came partly from his sense of hunger, but also on account of the serious condition that confronted them.
Their long quest seemed to have been wrecked on the rocks, and that after success had appeared to crown their efforts, which made it all the harder to bear. Although Dick would not appear downcast while Roger could see his face, he had numerous doubts to wrestle with in the silence of the night, and secretly groaned in spirit many times.
During his wakeful hours he often caught the distant howling of a wolf pack. This coming of the first deep snow of the winter would make their task of securing daily food the more difficult, and it seemed to the listener that there was an additional mournfulness to those long-drawn sounds.
Once he also caught the scream of some other beast in the pine woods. Although it was not repeated, Dick believed it must have come from a panther seeking his prey amidst the snowy aisles of the forest.
Mayhew, too, must have been wakeful, for several times when Dick happened to be dozing he arose and threw more wood on the fire.
When the stars told Dick morning was at hand he felt as though a terrible load had been taken from his mind. With ten hours of daylight before them they must surely be able to obtain meat and satisfy their craving for food.
While the other two were sitting cross-legged by the fire, and talking in low tones, Roger suddenly sat up. He stared hard at them, and dug his knuckles into his eyes, as though he could not believe what he saw.
Dick knew from the indications that he must have been far away in his sleep, and that the disappointment struck him cruelly.
“So, it was all a dream after all, and mother was not calling me to get up or the griddle cakes would be cold?” Roger remarked, dolefully. “Oh, how fine they used to taste, with that wild honey smeared over them! Do you remember the time when we brought in four heaping buckets of honey from that bee-tree up on Juniper Creek, and how my left eye was closed by a sting? But never was there such sweet stuff. And to think that we have to go without a bite of breakfast this cold morning!”
“Just as soon as it gets a little lighter,” said Dick, “we will be on the move.”
“Searching for something to eat, you mean, don’t you?”
“Yes, whether it is that stray buffalo, or an elk, we will not be very particular which,” the other declared.
“Why, I think I could eat a—a wolf, almost, I’m that caved in,” declared Roger, and no doubt he meant it, too.
The dawn was at hand. Eagerly they watched the pink flush spreading across the eastern sky. With a change in the wind they could hear a distinct muttering sound, and it was easy to picture some gushing geyser in action, perhaps miles away.
Just as soon as they could see without trouble they turned their backs on Camp Hope, and were soon following the trail of the buffalo.
“If I thought we would have any trouble about getting a supply of wood, so as to start a fire in a hurry after we get our meat,” Roger observed before they abandoned the camp, “I’d be tempted to tote some of this good fuel on my back.”
“No need of doing anything like that,” Dick assured him. “If there is anything that is plentiful around here it is fuel for a fire. I already have some small bits of choice stuff laid away for a time of need.”
The wind had shifted the surface of the dry snow to some extent, so that in places they found the tracks of the buffalo almost covered. But Mayhew was a born trailer, and found no difficulty in following the animal.
“You see,” he told the boys at one time, “this may be a good thing for us, because we can tell where the beast started fresh this morning.”
It was not twenty minutes after he made this remark when the scout joyously showed them where the buffalo had spent the night. They could plainly see the imprint of his hairy coat in the snow where he had lain down. The cold had no particular terror for such a rugged beast and, as he went on in about the same general direction as his previous trail, they believed they were right in assuming that the buffalo, through instinct, knew where forage was to be found, and was heading thither.
All possible haste was now made by the three pursuers. It meant much to them that they presently overtake the quarry, or else run upon some other game.
Roger was already feeling weak from lack of food. Only his will power enabled him to keep alongside the others in that hot chase. He strained his vision to the utmost, in the endeavor to be the first to discover signs of the welcome presence of the big animal with the shaggy mane, which it seemed was their only hope of staving off starvation.
When crows again flew overhead and continued their scornful cawing, Roger several times aimed his empty gun up at them, as though he would have liked to give the impudent birds of ill omen something to remember him by.
“I really believe they must know we have so little ammunition that nothing could tempt us to waste a grain of powder on them this day,” he declared, angrily, when the clamor of crow scolding grew worse.
“Oh! at another time you would hardly pay any attention to them,” Dick told him. “Just now all of us feel a bit nervous, and ugly. Let them scold if it does them any good. We haven’t yet reached the point where we could eat crow, even if we felt like wasting a shot on one.”
It was sensible advice, and, just as Dick prophesied, the noisy flock was soon left in their wake.
“I’ve heard some queer stories about crows,” Mayhew remarked, “and how they even hold a court to try some bird that has been bad. Once I found a crow hanging by the neck dead in a wild grape-vine. Of course I could never tell if it got there by accident, or was hanged by its mates; but lots of people I told the story to said it looked mighty suspicious.”
Dick laughed a little at that, but went on:
“I’ve sat in the woods many a time, myself, and watched a gathering of crows. It seemed as though they came by squads from everywhere until there were hundreds fluttering about the trees. And such a terrible noise they kept up! It made me think of school when we have spelling bees, and everybody is trying to call out at the same time.”
“Yes,” added Roger, trying to take some interest in things that would cause him to forget his misery for even a brief period of time, “and then they would fly off in a great cloud, dodging this way and that as though it might be an army going to attack the fort of an enemy. Yes, they are queer birds; but I don’t like them to make fun of me when I’m sick for something to eat.”
“They acted to me as if they were warning us to go back!” suggested Mayhew, a little uneasily. “I wonder why, and if there’s anything up this way that would give us trouble.”
“It’s open country just here,” said Roger, “and nothing terrible in sight. But I’d give a heap if we could only overtake that loping buffalo. You said a while ago, didn’t you, Mayhew, that he could only be fifteen minutes or so ahead of us?”
“That is what his tracks tell me,” the guide assented, “and we are coming up on him all the while. If we fail to see him in the next half hour I will be a disappointed man.”
“Why, I must be getting weak on my pins, for it seems as if the ground was trembling under me!” declared Roger, showing signs of sudden alarm.
Dick and the guide exchanged hasty glances. Apparently they were feeling something of a similar nature, but could not lay it to the same cause as Roger.
“It is getting much worse now,” cried Mayhew, “and I can hear a terrible grumbling down underneath me that I must say I don’t like over much!”
All of them were by this time aroused to a sense of their sudden peril; but it was Dick who voiced the alarming truth.
“Run for your lives!” he shouted, “it must be a boiling fountain about to burst, and we are right on top of the crater!”
Forgotten at that minute were all their other troubles, as each made hurried efforts to get away from the spot. The trembling of the rocks told plainly enough that some convulsion of nature was about to take place; and Dick’s words gave evidence that he himself had discovered where the yawning crater of the boiling spring lay amidst the half melted snow.
Hardly had they gone back some thirty or forty feet when there burst forth a vast volume of spray and steaming water that ascended high into the air, reaching an altitude of possibly five score feet before it lost its velocity, and began to rain downward.
Immediately the snow around the entire vicinity commenced to melt with the heat of the falling water. With the sunlight falling on the wonderful fountain the two boys thought they had never in all their lives seen anything so sublime.
Mayhew was more alarmed than pleased by the spectacle. Its terror appealed more to his backwoods nature than any beauty connected with the display. Indeed, had he been there alone, the chances were Mayhew would have taken to his heels, not being desirous of such close acquaintance with things he could not comprehend.
After staring at the magical fountain for a brief time Roger once more allowed his other nature to have sway.
“We are losing precious minutes, Dick!” he called out, for the roar was so great that it was impossible to be heard unless the voice were elevated. “This may be all very fine, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy the gnawing sensation inside me.”
When Dick gave the word, Mayhew only too gladly once more led off.
“That buffalo must have known of this hot fountain, because he came straight up to where it is,” Roger remarked, after they had left the spouting geyser behind them.
“Yes, but it seems that it rises only at long intervals,” Dick explained. “It may be that days pass without an outburst. That accounts for the snow around, which disappeared so fast once the flow of hot water began.”
Roger seemed content to accept this version of the strange happening. In fact it was now a past matter with him; his most urgent necessity did not concern wonderful fountains at all, but provender. He had a constant reminder with him that “nature abhors a vacuum,” and that an empty stomach gives its owner no peace.
“If we had stood where we were,” said Dick, “the chances are some of us might have been well cooked. My heart seemed to jump up in my throat when you stumbled, Roger; but you managed to recover your balance and come on.”
“I confess that I was a bit worried myself about that time, Dick; but as a rule I’m not so clumsy. Just now my legs seem weak and wobbly. It must be that hunger is getting a good grip on me.”
“All’s well that ends well, they say,” ventured Mayhew, stealing a backward look over his shoulder at the still spouting geyser that filled him with such uneasiness.
“When the buffalo found this place all covered with snow,” continued Roger, “so he could get not a mouthful of grass or fodder, he started off again in the same general direction. Where do you reckon he is striking out for now, Dick?”
“Oh, I suppose he knows of other places where he can feed, and is headed for one of them,” was the answer Dick gave.
“There, the noise is dying down back of us,” Mayhew announced. “It seems as though the show is over for this time. Yes, the column of hot water and steam is only half as high, and getting less right along.”
“It may lie quiet for another spell, perhaps days, before it breaks out again,” suggested Dick, which remark proved that he was arriving at some conclusion respecting these remarkable geysers, in that he believed they all had regular cycles for displaying their activities, some frequent, others at much longer intervals, but all working with clock-like fidelity.
Roger had already quite forgotten all about the recent scare. Once more he was keeping his eyes on the alert for signs of that lone buffalo which would mean so much to them.
He had pictured the animal so many times in his fancy that pretty soon the tortured boy began “seeing things” that did not really exist.
“Look yonder, Dick,” he would say huskily, “and tell me is that the old bull just alongside that rock? Seems as though I can make out his head as he stands there. Hadn’t we better spread out, so as to surround him?”
When Dick assured Roger that what he took to be the head of the buffalo was only an outcropping of the massive rock the other seemed deeply disappointed.
“I was dead sure it must be our game, Dick, indeed I was. But now I see you are right, and it is a part of the rocky spur. How about that brush heap ahead there; I may have been mistaken, Dick, but I thought I could see something moving. It is too low down to hide a big buffalo, but Indians might be lying there, waiting to knock us over. I hope they have some pemmican along with them, for we could take it away, you see, Dick; and even dry pemmican would taste pretty good now.”
Dick began to feel a little worried about his cousin. It seemed to him as though Roger was getting light-headed on account of his privations.
“Oh! if only we could catch up with that miserable buffalo bull,” Dick muttered to himself as he tramped along. “Either that, or else run across an elk. Something has got to happen soon, or I’m afraid Roger will keel over, or perhaps go out of his mind.”
The situation was getting more desperate. Try as he would, Dick could discover no way in which it might be alleviated. They must keep on constantly and hope that before long they would come up with the animal they had been tracking with the pertinacity of wolves.
He knew they were not making anything like the progress they could have had to their credit if they had partaken of their customary portion of food. Weakness had seized upon them, and, while the spirit was willing, the flesh seemed to be lacking in the power to obey as promptly as they would have liked.
Roger continued to discover suspicious objects from time to time. Then his mood would change, and he could be heard laughing softly to himself, as though the whole thing was appearing to him now in the guise of a great joke.
“Poor fellow!” muttered Dick, when one of these spasms had passed off, leaving Roger more morose than ever; “somehow he seems to feel it so much more than either of us. I’ve got to the last hole in my belt now, and I hope there may be no need of my making a fresh one.”
When he looked toward Mayhew he saw that the scout’s face had begun to show signs of renewed eagerness. This gave Dick a thrill, as hope once more commenced to flutter in his breast. Certainly Mayhew would not look like that unless he had good reason to believe they were now close upon the heels of the roving buffalo.
Then Mayhew raised a warning finger; at the same time he nodded his head toward the muttering Roger. Dick comprehended the action; it meant that some means should be taken to keep the other quiet, lest he warn their quarry of their coming long before there was any necessity of such a happening, and thus endanger the success of their stalking game.
Accordingly Dick hastened to get alongside his cousin. He laid a hand on Roger’s arm, and the other, raising his head, turned a pair of red eyes upon Dick.
“Keep still, Roger!” hissed Dick, holding up a finger. “Mayhew says we are right on the heels of the game. You must not speak a single word above a whisper, or all may be ruined. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Of course I do, Dick,” began the other, cautiously, as though aroused by the joyous news, and coming back to his senses again. “I hope you are not thinking me silly just because I’ve been complaining of feeling hungry?”
“Never mind, now, it’s going to be all right,” said Dick, soothingly, for he was afraid Roger might want to argue the matter with him. “As you have an empty gun you must let us do the work.”
“Oh, never fear about me, I understand!”
“Well, keep still now, Roger. Not another word, but hold yourself ready to start that fire soon. If you listen hard you may hear the horn blow for dinner like it does at home when we are out in the field. Silence now, Mayhew must think he sees our game.”
Indeed, the actions of the guide would give any one to understand something like that. He was moving along with his body bent over, and gripping his faithful rifle in both hands. Although both of the boys used their eyes to the best advantage they could not see anything to hearten them; but then the strain on their nerves, because of all that blinding snow, may have had something to do with this failure.
Mayhew turned quickly toward them. He said not a word, but his lips moved, and he nodded his head in a manner that thrilled the boys.
It had long ago been decided just what their tactics should be in case they were so fortunate as to come up with the quarry. Neither of them meant to fire until they had managed to get so close to the game that one shot alone would be necessary to bring the animal down.
Of course, when their presence was discovered, the buffalo would start off at as brisk a pace as possible, in order to escape from his human enemies. They believed, however, the animal must be nearly tired out from breasting the deep drifts so long, and that its burst of speed could not last any great while.
If it became absolutely necessary, they were prepared to risk everything on a long-distance shot, and the hope of wounding the animal. This would hasten its halting at least, when it could be dispatched at their pleasure, even though they used knife and hatchet to accomplish this.
Roger must have been greatly impressed with what Dick had said to him, for he remained perfectly still after that, at least so far as giving voice to his feelings was concerned.
Dick had pushed on ahead of his cousin, as he had announced he intended to do on account of holding one of the loaded guns. Side by side with Mayhew he now advanced along the fresh trail. Even a novice could see that some animal must have passed only a few minutes before, for there were places where snow actually fell over into the tracks, as though it had been balanced on the edge of the depression.
The anxious waiting that almost made them sick at heart ended at last. Dick caught a scuffling sound that came from beyond the next line of bushes. Something was moving there, and he could easily imagine that the hungry buffalo, scenting some sort of grass under the snow, might be trying to get down to it.
Bending lower still, they pushed on, with eyes glued on the spot where those significant sounds came from. In another minute they would be able to look over the tops of the bushes and see what lay beyond. Then, if all was well, a lucky shot would procure them the meat of which they were in such desperate need.
No one made a sound so far as Dick could tell, so it could not have been that which gave warning to the suspicious buffalo. Perhaps a shift in the wind carried some taint of their presence to his sensitive nostrils and aroused his fears.
However that might be, Dick heard a sudden snort, and then there came a shout of dismay from Roger, who, standing more erect than the rest, must have been able to see what was going on beyond the bushes.
“He’s on the run, Dick! Oh! hurry, and shoot, or he will get away from us!”
As Dick and Mayhew cleared the bushes with great bounds they saw the buffalo plunging into a deep drift and scattering the snow in every direction. But what thrilled the two hunters was the fact that, in dashing headlong into the drift, the beast had entered a trap from which escape would not be easy.
“Head him off!” Roger called from the rear, while he made all haste to come up, even though he had an empty and useless gun, and could not be of any assistance to his comrades.
The others had gauged the situation, and realized that their best move was to follow directly after the animal, thus causing him to push deeper into the trap. The heavy fall of snow, that they had grumbled at so many times when struggling along knee-deep, now promised to be their best ally.
In this fashion they presently found themselves close upon the struggling bull. Floundering there he could not make much headway, and at last in desperation the animal started to turn upon his pursuers.
They knew well what the result might be if they allowed the charge to be carried out. One of them would be struck down by those wicked black horns that adorned the shaggy head; and, worst of all, the animal was likely to escape, since Roger could do little or nothing to stay his flight over the back trail.
It had been arranged that Mayhew was to take the first shot, and they hoped one would be sufficient, with the backing of knife and hatchet. The buffalo was just in the act of turning when the frontiersman fired, and in consequence Mayhew could hardly have asked for a better showing, since one flank was wholly exposed.
At the time the marksman could not have been more than fifteen feet away, and a miss was out of the question. Mayhew had hunted these huge bison on numerous occasions, since he was one of those upon whom the exploring party depended for a regular supply of fresh meat.
This being the case, he knew exactly where to place his bullet in order to get the best results. As a consequence no sooner had he discharged his gun, and drawn his hatchet in order to be prepared for the worst, than he saw the animal stagger and fall in his tracks.
A vital spot must have been reached by the missile that was driven by that heavy charge of powder; for the long-barreled guns of the pioneers were powerful in their execution.
When Roger saw the quarry struggling in the snow-drift his excitement became so great that he could not even shout, much as he felt like so doing. Hurrying toward the spot, he fastened his hungry eyes upon the animal whose efforts to rise were becoming more and more feeble.
Presently Mayhew, watching his chance, stepped briskly forward and with one well-aimed blow from the back of his hatchet finished the business.
“Hurrah!” gasped Roger, carried away by the importance of their well-earned victory.
No doubt delightful visions immediately began to flit through his brain, as in imagination he saw himself seated by a fire, and devouring ration upon ration of savory buffalo meat.
“Remember your part of the transaction, Roger!” warned Dick, as, knife in hand, he prepared to cut up the game.
“That means a fire!” answered the other, excitedly. “Hand me over the fine stuff you said you had packed up, Dick. Oh! you can depend on me to get things going in a hurry. There’s a spot close by where I saw plenty of wood. The snow was blown away somehow or other. Give me a little time, and you will see smoke rising!”
Doubtless Roger had started scores, even hundreds, of fires in his time; but it is certain that he never entered into the task with a lighter heart than on this particular occasion. His very soul seemed to be singing with joy as he hastily gathered up some of the wood most easily obtained, and then, picking a good spot, proceeded to use flint and steel with hopes of speedy results.
Finding that his very eagerness was delaying him, Roger called a halt, took himself to task, and after that settled down grimly to accomplishing his part of the proceedings without a hitch.
In a short time smoke began to curl upwards from his small beginning. Blowing the feeble blaze he quickly had it taking hold in earnest. The crackle and snap of the burning wood was music to the ears of the almost delirious boy.
“The fire is ready, Dick!” he called out.
“Then come for some of the meat, and commence business,” was the welcome answer.
As there was nothing that Mayhew could do to assist in carving the dead buffalo, he also was given various “hunks” of the meat, and presently the two sat there by the fire, attending to a dozen or more sticks, on the ends of which their long-delayed meal was being slowly browned.
Never in all his life had Roger felt so frantic upon smelling the odor of cooking meat. It would have been just the same had their fare consisted of venison, bear meat, or wild turkey; all he wanted was something to satisfy that terrible craving which was overpowering him.
It must be confessed that Roger, unable to stand the suspense and temptation longer, snatched the first piece from its stick before it was half-cooked, and commenced to devour it like a savage.
He seemed to enjoy it, too, which fact caused the guide to speedily follow his example and appropriate one of the sections for himself.
Dick, coming up just then with a further supply, first of all filled the empty sticks with fresh portions, and then—well, Dick was just as hungry as either of his comrades, and there was really no sense in waiting any longer, so he made it unanimous!
After they had taken the sharp edge off their ravenous hunger the pace was not quite so swift. They were willing to wait until the meat was fairly well cooked; and by degrees it was noticed that they even began to slacken in their attack.
At length Dick laughed as he remarked:
“I think I have reached my limit, and, as I hardly want to be called a glutton, I mean to quit.”
“One more piece will satisfy me—for a while at least,” Roger confessed.
The guide also admitted that he believed he could contain no more. Although possibly at another time Roger might have complained about the fresh meat being tough, no one heard him utter a single word against it on that occasion. It would be adding insult to injury to find fault with something that had really been the means of saving their lives.
“While we have this fire,” suggested Dick, “it would be a good idea to cook some more of the meat. We may not be able to start another blaze later on; the danger of being discovered and attacked might be too great. What do you think about it, Mayhew?”
“It is a sensible idea, I must say,” came the immediate reply.
As that settled it, Dick went over and proceeded to do some more work with his keen-edged blade. They meant to take considerable of the meat along with them at any rate; that much had been decided on long before. With but another shot left between starvation and themselves, they could not afford to be wasteful when good luck had thrown a chance like this in their way.
Roger was quite a different sort of fellow, now that he no longer experienced the tortures of an unappeased appetite. He could even look hopefully into the future, and see glorious opportunities for carrying out their plan of campaign. As Dick had truly said, what they had done once could be accomplished again. Favored by the protecting hand of Providence, they must surely be able to get the better of that cruel and scheming French trader.
The big lake where the river had its source could not be many miles away from where they now stood. They would push steadily on, and, upon striking its shores, ascertain where the Frenchmen had their camp.
“They must have a fire in such cold weather,” Roger argued, and the others agreed with him, glad to find that he was looking at matters so cheerfully. “And fire makes some kind of smoke, so we ought to be able to tell where it is. Then, when the night comes, we can creep up and set Jasper free.”
How simple the program seemed now! The rocks heretofore appearing almost unsurmountable diminished in size, and no longer stood as a barrier that could not be scaled. A full stomach nearly always makes one see things in a rosy light.
Finally it was decided they had cooked a sufficient supply of meat. The balance that they expected to carry with them was made up in small packages enclosed in portions of the buffalo hide and tied securely with thongs.
As they were burdened with little save their guns, now almost useless to them, these packages would not prove troublesome. Roger was willing to load himself down with twice the amount, and bravely stagger under it all, rather than risk the chance of suffering again the misery he had endured.
“You feel sure the lake lies to the east of us, Mayhew, do you not?” Roger asked the guide when they were ready to start, feeling ever so much stronger, and able to push through the drifts where they could not be skirted.
“Yes, everything points that way,” he was assured by Mayhew. “From the way that Frenchman pointed when he was talking to you both, Dick figured that the lake was off in that direction. And then the crows fly that way in the morning, and return again in the evening. That is a pretty good sign, I take it.”
Roger became interested at once. Here was something he had not thought of noticing, and consequently he wished for more information.
“Tell me why that should be so,” he asked, as they started.
“These crows do not drift south in the winter time,” explained the frontiersman. “They stay up here, and, as they must find feed when the earth is covered under many feet of snow, they have learned that along the shore of the big lake they can get what they need—dead fish and all sorts of other things cast up by the waves.”
“But what if the lake freezes over, as it may do in very hard winters?” Roger questioned.
“Oh, they would still find things to eat on the ice,” returned Mayhew. “Being an open stretch, the wind would keep the snow from settling there. But no matter, that is where they fly each morning; and you know what hunters say about a direct line being as ‘straight as the crow flies.’”
“Mayhew is right, Roger,” said Dick, “and the chances are as ten to one that we are heading straight for the big lake right now.”
For some time they made steady progress. Possibly they covered as much as two miles when the guide was suddenly observed to come to a full stop. Both of the boys followed suit. They were not ten feet behind Mayhew, so it was possible for them to exchange words with him in low tones. Dick it was who found his voice first, for Roger grew so excited he became dumb for the time being.
“What is it, Mayhew?” asked Dick, half-elevating his gun, which contained the only charge of powder and lead they possessed, and under such conditions might be looked on as their sole means of defense in case of threatening peril.
“There are Injuns near by,” came the answer. “I saw a feathered head rise above yonder bush; and, as I live, there are others on either side of us. It looks as though we were surrounded!”