"It's possible," Blake said thoughtfully. "We'll push on for their camp first thing to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE RESCUE

Starting at daybreak, they reached a hillside overlooking the Stony village on the third afternoon. Surrounded by willows and ragged spruces the conical tepees rose in the plain beneath, but Blake, who was leading, stopped abruptly as he caught sight of them. They were white to the apex, where the escaping heat of the fire within generally melted the snow, and no curl of smoke floated across the clearing. The village was ominously silent and had a deserted look.

"I'm very much afraid Clarke's friends are not at home," he said with forced calm. "We'll know more about it in half an hour; that is, if you think it worth while to go down."

The others were silent a moment, struggling with their disappointment.

They had made a toilsome journey to reach the village, their food was nearly exhausted, and it would cost them two days to return to the valley which was their best road to the south.

Then Harding said, "Now we're here, we may as well spend another hour over the job. It's possible they haven't packed all their stores along."

His companions suspected that they were wasting time, but they followed him down hill, until Benson, who was a short distance to one side of them, called out. When they joined him he indicated a row of footsteps leading up the slope.

"That fellow hasn't been gone very long; there was snow yesterday," he said. "By the line he took, he must have pa.s.sed near us. I wonder why he stayed on after the others."

Blake examined the footsteps carefully, and compared them with the impress of his own snowshoes.

"It's obvious that they can't be older than yesterday afternoon," he said. "From their depth and sharpness, I should judge that the fellow was carrying a good load, which probably means that he meant to be some time gone. The stride suggests a white man."

"Clarke," said Harding. "He seems to be up here pretty often, though I can't see how he'd do much prospecting in the winter."

"It's possible," Blake rejoined. "Anyhow, the point doesn't seem to matter, and I'm anxious to find out whether there's anything to eat in the tepees."

They hurried on, and discovered only a few skins in the first tent.

Then, separating, they eagerly searched the rest without result, and when they met again were forced to the conclusion that there was no food in the place. It was about three o'clock and a threatening afternoon. The light was dim and a savage wind blew the snow about.

They stood with gloomy faces in the shelter of the largest tepee, feeling that luck was hard against them.

"These northern Indians have often to put up with short commons while the snow lies," Benson remarked. "No doubt, they set off for some place where game's more plentiful when they found their grub running out, and as they've all gone the chances are that they won't come back soon. We've had our trouble for nothing, but we may as well camp here.

With a big fire going, one could make this tepee warm."

The others felt strongly tempted to agree. The cold had been extreme the last few nights and weary and scantily fed as they were, they craved for shelter. Still they had misgivings and Blake said, "We have wasted too much time already, and there's only a few days' rations in the bag. We have got to get back to the valley and ought to make another three hours' march before we stop."

"Yes," Harding regretfully a.s.sented, "I guess that would be wiser."

Setting off at once, they wearily struggled up the hill, and it had been dark some time when they made camp in a hollow at the foot of a great rock. It kept off the wind and the spruces which grew close about it further sheltered them, but Blake told his companions to throw up a snow bank while he cut wood.

"I'm afraid we're going to have an unusually bad night, and we may as well take precautions," he said.

His forecast proved correct, for soon after they had finished supper a cloud of snow swept past the hollow and the spruces roared among the rocks above. Then there was a crash and the top of a shattered tree plunged down between the men and fell on the edge of the fire, scattering a shower of sparks.

"Another foot would have made a difference to two of us," said Harding coolly. "However, it's fallen where it was wanted; help me heave the thing on."

It crackled fiercely as the flame licked about it, and sitting between the s...o...b..nk and the fire, the men kept fairly warm, but a white haze drove past their shelter and eddying in now and then covered them with snow. In an hour the drifts were level with the top of the bank, but this was a protection, and they were thankful they had found such a camping place, since death would have been the consequence of being caught in the open. The blizzard gathered strength, but though they heard the crash of broken trees through the roar of the wind no more logs fell, and by and by they went to sleep, secure in the shelter of the rock.

When day broke it was long past the usual hour, and the cloud of driving flakes obscured even the spruces a few yards away. The hollow at the foot of the crag was shadowy, and the snow had piled up several feet above the bank, and lapped over at one end. Still, with wood enough, they could keep warm, and had their supplies been larger they would have been content to rest. As things were, however, they were confronted with perhaps the gravest peril that threatens the traveller in the North--they might be detained by bad weather until their food ran out. None of them spoke of this, but by tacit agreement they made a very sparing breakfast and ate nothing at noon. When night came and the storm still raged, their hearts were very heavy.

It lasted three days, and on the fourth morning it seemed scarcely possible to face the somewhat lighter wind and break a trail through the fresh snow. They, however, dare risk no further delay, and strapping on their packs struggled up the range. At nightfall they were high among the rocks, and it was piercingly cold, but they got a few hours' sleep in a clump of junipers and struck the valley late next day. Finding shelter, they made camp and after dividing a small bannock between them sat talking gloomily. Their fire had been lighted to lee of a cl.u.s.ter of willows and burned sulkily because the wood was green. Pungent smoke curled about them, and they shivered in the draughts.

"How far do you make it to the logging camp?" Benson asked. "I'm taking it for granted that the lumber gang's still there."

"A hundred and sixty miles," said Blake.

"And we have food enough for two days; say forty miles."

"About that; it depends upon the snow."

Benson made no answer, and Harding was silent a while, sitting very still with knitted brows. Then he said, "I can't see any way out. Can you?"

"Well," said Blake quietly, "we'll go on as long as we are able.

Though I haven't had a rosy time, I've faith in my luck."

Conversation languished after this, but they had a small cake of tobacco left, and sat smoking and hiding their fears while the wind moaned among the willows and thin snow blew past. The camp was exposed and hungry and dejected, as they were, they felt the stinging cold.

After an hour of moody silence, Harding suddenly leaned forward, with a lifted hand.

"What's that?" he said sharply. "Didn't you hear it?"

For a few moments the others only heard the rustle of the willows and the swishing sound of driven snow; then a faint patter caught their ears, and a crack followed like the snapping of a whip.

"A dog team!" cried Benson, and springing to his feet set up a loud shout.

It was answered in English and while they stood, shaken by excitement and intense relief, several low shadowy shapes emerged from the gloom; then a tall figure appeared, and after it two more. Somebody shouted harsh orders in uncouth French; the dogs sped towards the fire and stopped. Then their driver, hurrying after them, began to loose the traces, while another man walked up to Blake.

"We saw your fire and thought we'd make for it," he said. "I see your cooking outfit's still lying round."

"It's at your service," Blake told him. "I'm sorry we can't offer you much supper, though there's a bit of a bannock and some flour."

"We'll soon fix that," said the other. "Guess you're up against it, but our grub's holding out." He turned to the driver. "Come and tend to the cooking when you're through, Emile."

Though the order was given good-humouredly, there was a hint of authority in his voice, and the man he spoke to quickened his movements. Then another came up, and while the dogs snapped at each other, and rolled in the snow, the half-breed driver unloaded a heavy provision bag and filled Harding's frying pan.

"Don't spare it," said the first comer. "I guess these folks are hungry; fix up your best menoo."

Sitting down by the fire, shapeless in his whitened coat, with his bronzed face half hidden by his big fur cap, he had nevertheless a soldierly look.

"You'll be wondering who we are?" he said.

"No," Blake answered, smiling. "I can make a guess; there's a stamp on you I recognize. You're from Regina."

"You've hit it first time. I'm Sergeant Lane, R.N.W.M.P. This"--he indicated his companion--"is Private Walthew. We've been up on a special patrol to Copper Lake and left two of the boys there to make some inquiries about the Indians. Now we're on the back trail."

He looked as if he expected the others to return his confidence and Blake had no hesitation about doing so. He knew the high reputation of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, which is a force of well-mounted and carefully chosen frontier cavalry. Its business is to keep order on a vast stretch of plain, to watch over adventurous settlers who push out ahead of the advancing farming community, and to keep a keen eye on the reserve Indians. Men from widely different walks of life serve in its ranks, and the private history of each squadron is rich in romance, but one and all are called upon to scour the windy plains in the saddle in the fierce summer heat and make adventurous sledge journeys across the winter snow. Their patrols search the lonely North from Hudson's Bay to the Mackenzie, living in the open in Arctic weather, and the peaceful progress of Western Canada is largely due to their unrelaxing vigilance. Blake accordingly gave a short account of his journey and explained his present straits.

"Well," said the Sergeant, "I figure we have stores enough to see us down to the settlements all right, and we'll be glad of your company.