Part 30

"We'll soon be safe home" repeated Hubbard--"safe home. How happy that makes me feel!"

It was time for George and me to go. But I could not say good-bye just yet. I turned my back to Hubbard and faced the fire. The tears were welling up into my eyes, and I struggled for self-control. George sat silent, too, and his face was strangely drawn. For a full ten minutes we sat silently gazing into the fire. Finally George arose.

"Well, Wallace, we'd better start now."

"Yes," I said; "we'd better start."

I collected myself as best I could, and, turning to Hubbard, held out my hand.

"Good-bye, b'y; I'll be back soon." And then, as I looked into his poor, wistful eyes, I broke down and sobbed.

I crawled over to him, and put my arm about him. I kissed his cheek, and he kissed my cheek. We embraced each other, and for a moment held our faces close together. Then I drew away.

George was crying, too. The dear fellow went over to Hubbard, stooped and kissed his cheek.

"With God's help, I'll save you, Hubbard!"

Hubbard kissed his cheek, and they embraced.

George slung his bundle on his shoulder, and I took up mine. We turned to go. But I had to return. I stooped and again kissed Hubbard's cheek, and he again kissed mine. He was quite calm--had been calm throughout. Only his eyes shone with that look of wistful longing.

"Good-bye, boys, and God be with you!"

"Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!"

And George and I left him. About twenty yards away I turned for a last look at the tent. Hubbard evidently had immediately lain down; for he was not to be seen. All I saw was the little peak of balloon silk that had been our home for so many weeks, the fire blazing between it and the big rock, the kettle of water by the fire, and the white moss and the dripping wet fir trees all about.

* * * * *

Some one hundred and fifty yards farther on George and I forded a brook, after which our course was through closely-grown, diminutive fir trees until we came to a series of low, barren knolls. On these knolls we found some mossberries. Then we pushed on. It was dreadfully slow travelling. The wind was in the east, and was rising. The drizzling rain had become a downpour, and it was dashed into our faces in sheets. The cold was increasing. Our hands were stiff and numb. Somewhat after midday George threw down his pack. "We'll have a spell and a cup of tea to warm us up," he said.

I did not protest. The previous night had been a trying one, and I was very tired. We drew together some wood. With his sheath-knife George whittled some shavings, and a fire was soon blazing. When the kettle had been placed over the fire to boil, George drew out of his bag a package--yes, it was a half-pound package of pea meal! At first I could not believe my eyes, and I stood stupidly staring as George prepared to stir some of it into the kettle. At length I found my tongue.

"George," I cried indignantly, "where did you get that pea meal?"

"Hubbard gave it to me this morning while you were gettin' wood," he answered promptly.

"But why did you take it?

"He made me take it. I didn't want to, but he said I must. He said we'd be workin' hard, and we'd need it, and if we didn't have somethin' to eat, we couldn't travel far and couldn't get help to him. We ought to have it as much for his sake as for ours, he said, and I had to take it from him to make him feel right."

Hubbard had evidently reserved that last half-pound of pea meal to be used in a last extremity, and as the argument he had used to force it on George had been at least specious, I could say nothing. George put one-third of the package (one-sixth of a pound) into the kettle, and we each drank a pint of the soup. It was very thin, but it did us good.

After a half-hour's rest, we pressed on as rapidly as possible, but when night overtook us we could not have travelled more than six miles from camp. To the storm, as well as our weakness, was due our slow progress. As the afternoon wore on, the storm became furious. The rain descended in drenching sheets, and staggering blasts of wind drove it into our faces. Even if darkness had not stopped us, further progress in the face of the tempest would have been impossible.

We selected for our bivouac as sheltered a spot as possible in a spruce growth, hauled together a good supply of small dead trees and made a fire. For supper we had one-half of what remained of the pea meal, reserving the other half (one-sixth of a pound) for breakfast. There was a little comfort to be gained from the fire. The rain still descended upon us in sheets. The blast of wind drove the smoke into our eyes and blinded us. Despite our weariness we could not sleep. George lay down, but I sat crouching before the fire. We tried to keep our pieces of blanket over our heads, but when we did so we nearly suffocated. Now and again one or the other would rise to throw on more wood. Towards midnight the wind shifted, and snow began to fall. It fell as I never saw snow fall before. And the wind never ceased, and the smoke was more blinding than ever, and the night grew colder.

There were fully six inches of snow on the ground when the clouds broke just before dawn, and before the first rays of the sun greeted us the wind died away. It was Monday, October 19th. With the return of daylight we ate the rest of the pea meal, and resumed our march down the valley. The daylight proved that my eyes had been greatly affected by the smoke of our night's fire. Everything had a hazy appearance. George complained of the same trouble. Soon after we started, George came upon a grouse track in the fresh snow, and followed it to a clump of bushes a short distance off. He aimed his pistol with great care, but the bullet only knocked a few feathers out of the bird, and it flew away, to George's keen chagrin and my bitter disappointment.

The flour bag we were to look for was on the opposite or south side of the river, and it was necessary to cross. Before noon we reached a place at which George said it would be as easy to ford the stream as at any other. The icy water came almost up to our armpits, but we made the other shore without mishap. There we halted to build a fire and thaw ourselves out; for immediately upon emerging from the river our clothing froze hard and stiff. While waiting we had some hot tea, and as quickly as possible pushed on. We must reach the flour bag that night.

I found it hard to keep the pace George was setting, and began to lag wofully. Several times he had to wait for me to overtake him. We came upon a caribou trail in the snow, and followed it so long as it kept our direction. To some extent the broken path aided our progress. In the afternoon we came upon another grouse track. George followed it to a clump of trees, where the bird was discovered sitting on a limb. This time his aim was accurate, and the bird fell at his feet. Quickly he plucked the wings, cut them off and handed me one with the remark: "They say raw partridge is good when a fellus' weak." It was delicious. I ate the wing, warm with the bird's life blood, bones and all, and George ate the other wing.