"We've been goin' long enough t' be at th' tilt," said David, breaking the silence again.

"I were thinkin' so," said Andy.

Again they walked on in silence, each with the fear in his heart that they were lost, but neither voicing it until suddenly David stopped with the exclamation:

"We're not on th' mesh at all, Andy! We're on th' river!"

And sure enough, turning to the right they discovered the thick willow hedge which lined the river bank.

"Th' snow is so deep on th' ice I didn't know th' difference,"

explained David.

"And I didn't know th' difference," said Andy.

"We missed th' tilt, and--and I'm afraid we'll have a hard time, between th' blindness and th' storm, findin' it, Andy," David said, hesitatingly.

"We'll--we'll have a hard time," agreed Andy.

"But," said David, with hope in his voice, "if we keeps goin' down th'

river we'll come t' th' Half-way tilt, _what_ever, and from th' time we been walkin' we must have come a long way down th' river now. If we keeps goin' we'll sure come t' th' Half-way tilt before dark."

"We'll sure come to un if we keeps goin'," said Andy.

"Keep plenty o' grit," cheered David.

"Aye, plenty o' grit--and a stout heart," said Andy.

The wind was steadily increasing, and even now driving the snow down the river valley in suffocating clouds, but the two boys kept bravely on. Once Andy fell, and David helped him up, and a little later he stumbled and fell again, and again David helped him to his feet.

"I'm--wonderful--tired," said Andy.

"'Tis wearisome work," soothed David.

"'Tis growin' night," said Andy.

"Aye, 'tis growin' night," David admitted reluctantly.

Again and again Andy stumbled and fell, and presently David relieved him of his rifle and carried both his own and Andy's.

"I'm--so--sleepy," breathed Andy.

"Keep your grit, Andy," David cheered, though his own voice betrayed the overpowering weariness that was stealing over him.

"We'll--keep--our--grit," murmured Andy in a strange and scarcely intelligible voice.

Whenever Andy fell now, as he did with growing frequency, David found it necessary to exert his utmost strength to lift the boy to his feet.

At length the horrible truth forced itself upon David. Half blind and exhausted, they were hopelessly lost in the wilderness, amidst the terrors of a northern blizzard.

Staggering with weariness and exhaustion, he dragged the half unconscious Andy through the first fortunate opening in the willow brush upon which he stumbled as he blindly groped his way. In doing so he had a vague, forlorn hope that in the shelter of the forest he might succeed in kindling a fire. But here, as everywhere, utter darkness surrounded him, made darker by his attack of s...o...b..indness, and he dared not release for an instant his grip upon Andy's arm, in fear that he might lose him.

Now, when Andy fell, David, who held his arm, fell with him, and lying there a sense of vast relief stole over David, and he wished to sleep.

He could hear the wind shrieking and moaning through the tree tops. It seemed far away, and lying there in the snow beyond its reach he was warm and comfortable, and his eyes were heavy. Suddenly the realization that they must keep moving at whatever cost of effort flashed upon his brain, and rising to his knees he shook Andy, and with desperation called to him to get up, and finally dragged himself and Andy to their feet.

"Keep--your--grit--Andy! We--must--keep our--grit, b'y!" he encouraged.

"Keep--our--grit," mumbled Andy, and the two staggered forward again.

And then there came before David's half-closed, blinded eyes what appeared like a dim cloud of fire, rising out of the blackness.

Clinging to Andy's arm, he lurched forward, and stumbled and fell, with Andy by his side, and with the far-away moan of the wind in his ears, like distant unearthly voices. And now he lay still and did not try to rise.

XIX

THE HALF BREED DESERTS

David was vaguely aware of a babel of human voices, and that he was being lifted, and then came a sudden consciousness of warmth, accompanied by the pleasant odor of burning wood.

He attempted to open his eyes, but the effort resulted in such sharp pain that he directly closed them again. Dimly, however, he had seen in the brief interval his eyes were open that Andy was by his side, and the dark forms of Indians bending over them, and the blaze of a fire. Then he fell into the heavy slumber of complete exhaustion.

With returning consciousness the following day David's first thought was that he was in his bunk in the Namaycush Lake tilt. He could hear the blizzard still raging outside. Vaguely he felt relieved that the storm would not permit him and Andy to venture out upon the trails, and that he might rest a little longer, for he was aware of an unusual la.s.situde and weariness and a desire to remain in bed.

Then there stole upon him the recollection of the terrible struggle in the blizzard, how Andy had become exhausted, and his own desperate effort to keep Andy upon his feet and to keep moving himself. Dimly he recalled the faint cloud of fire that had suddenly risen before him in the darkness at a moment when he felt his strength exhausted and he sank into the snow, and then the sensation of warmth, the vision of Indians and the echo of voices.

David's senses were awake now, and sitting up he attempted to look about him. Faintly, as through a smoke, he saw a fire and an Indian woman bending over it. Two Indians sat opposite, smoking, and there were other Indians by the fire. He recognized at once the interior of an Indian wigwam. Then the pain in his eyes compelled him to close them again immediately.

"Beeg snow. Mooch bad," said one of the Indians good-naturedly, observing that David was awake.

"Where am I?" asked David.

"Sa-peesh tent," said the Indian.

"Andy! Is Andy all right?" David asked apprehensively.

"Andy sleep mooch," laughed the Indian. "Heem all right."

David was vastly relieved by this a.s.surance. He knew Sa-peesh, the old Mountaineer Indian, well, for Sa-peesh had camped at the post each summer for as many years as David could remember, and of all the Indians that came there was the only one who could speak English.

With Sa-peesh's limited command of English, and the few Indian words that David understood, he presently learned that he and Andy had fallen headlong against the wigwam in the night, that the Indians had thus discovered and rescued them, and that they were quite welcome to remain until they were sufficiently recovered from exhaustion and s...o...b..indness to return to the tilts. He also learned that they were a considerable distance to the eastward of Namaycush Lake, and had doubtless traveled up, instead of, as they had supposed, down, the river.

Satisfied with the a.s.surance that Andy was quite safe, David lay back again upon the bed of boughs, as there was nothing else to do, and as he lay there he recounted to himself the happenings of the previous day.

The cloud of fire that had appeared so suddenly before him, then, was the Indians' tent, with the firelight filtering through it and he whispered a little prayer of thanksgiving that G.o.d had guided him and Andy to it--and that they had kept their grit. Then he heard a movement by his side, and Andy's voice speaking his name.

"Here I be, Andy!" said David eagerly. "How you feelin'?"

"Not so bad if 'tweren't for th' hurt in my eyes. Where are we, Davy?"