"Now I think about it, when I held you up I felt something give. I guess the buckle was pulling out. Well, we ought to see the brown leather."

They did not see it and Jimmy said, "All the cartridges I had are gone.

How many have you got?"

"Twelve," said Deering, rather grimly. "Anyhow, I'm not going down again."

Jimmy nodded. He thought the belt had gone over the cliff.

"I brought about six pounds of pork from the camp."

"My load's flour, desiccated fruit, and a few cans of meat. Looks as if we had got to eat salmon."

"In the Old Country, one doesn't grumble about eating salmon," Jimmy remarked.

"Oh, well," said Deering, "I was raised in the bush and am not fastidious, but if we can't get salmon, I'll be resigned. The trouble is, since food's short we can't push back too far from the settlements.

Well, we must try to hit a creek."

In the evening they came down to a small river and pitched camp on the bank. The Indian cut and trimmed a straight fir branch, but left a fork at the thinner end. Then he pulled out two cleverly-carved bone barbs, which he fitted on the forks and fastened by sinews to the staff.

"You could carry the business part of his outfit in your pocket,"

Deering remarked. "I expect his folks have used barbs like that for a thousand years. An Indian's tools are standardized, but when he thinks them good enough he stops. All the same, I reckon he gets most as far as a man can get alone. He's an artist, but we beat him by cooperating to make machines. Anyhow, the fellow doesn't want you. Take a smoke and let him spear a fish."

Jimmy lighted his pipe and looked about. A few yards off, the current splashed against the stones. The water was green, and the line of driftwood and dead leaves on the bank indicated that the frost was stopping the muddy streams from the glaciers. Some distance down the river, the Indian balanced on a rock in a pool at the tail of a rapid.

For a time he did not move and Jimmy thought his quietness statuesque.

The fellow was like the herons he had studied with his gla.s.ses by a pool on the Scottish border. Then his body bent and the spear went down. The thrust and recovery were strangely quick and Jimmy rather doubted if the man had moved.

"It looks as if he missed his stroke," he said.

"He's using a fir branch. An Indian spear is beautifully modeled,"

Deering replied.

A few minutes afterwards, the Indian bent backwards and a shining object struck the bank. Coming to the fire, he put down the fish and Jimmy's appet.i.te was blunted. The salmon was lean and battered. Its color was dull and its tail was broken. Rows of scales were rubbed off; the fins were worn from the supporting ribs.

"I'm not as hungry as I was. Are all like that?" he said.

"It depends on when you get them," Deering replied. "A June steelhead, fresh from the sea, is pretty good, but a salmon that has pushed through to head waters in the fall is another thing. When you think about it, the salmons' journey inland is remarkable. They bore against the autumn floods when the melted snow comes down; they force tremendous rapids, whirlpools, and roaring falls. Where the water's calm in the valleys, eagles and fish-hawks harry them, and the mink hunts them in the shallows. But they can't be stopped; they follow Nature's urge and shove on across all obstacles for the distant gravel banks. Then they sp.a.w.n, where they were hatched, and the bears eat their spent carca.s.ses. The trouble is, I'm not a bear, but I've got to eat salmon."

When the Indian had fried two or three thick steaks, Jimmy sympathized with Deering. The flesh was soft and its taste was rank. For all that, he thought if he had not seen the salmon he might have had a better appet.i.te. At the hotel he had eaten because his food tempted him; now he ate because he must. By and by he threw down his tin plate.

"I've had enough. If we can find a deer, we must risk another cartridge.

We have got twelve."

"You can't reckon on getting a deer for every shot, and although, as a rule, the deer are pretty numerous about the small clearings, in some belts of back country you can't find one. I expect they're attracted by the crops. In fact, the wild animals and large birds aren't much afraid of the ranchers; they quit when the automobiles and city sports arrive."

"But if we stop in the neighborhood of a settlement, the police may get on our trail," Jimmy rejoined.

"The police are smart and I allow they're obstinate. All the same, to search the rocks from Banff to Revelstoke is a big job. You can give yourself away by two things, shooting and smoke, but we can fix the smoke and we're not going to shoot much. As soon as we hit a proper spot, we'll build a shack."

"By and by our supplies will run out."

"That is so," Deering agreed. "In the meantime, we're baffling the police. Just now I expect they're busy looking for our tracks, but they have got other jobs and can't keep it up. Well, when we think they're forced to quit, we'll find a plan----"

He stopped and the Indian turned his head. A faint, hoa.r.s.e bark came from the distance and echoed across the valley. Jimmy jumped up and looked about. The light was going and the pines were blurred.

"A dog?" he said.

"A timber wolf," said Deering. "He's not alone. I hear another."

A howl, pitched on a high mournful note, pierced the gloom and Jimmy shivered. The noise was strangely dreary.

"Will the wolves bother us?"

"I think not," said Deering and talked in Chinook to the Indian, who nodded. "The fellow agrees," he resumed. "In North Ontario we watch out for wolves when the snow is on the ground, but as a rule in British Columbia they leave the ranchers alone. Sometimes they take a sheep; I reckon that's all. The trouble is, they kill deer, and when the wolves start hunting the deer pull out."

Jimmy got down on his blanket by the fire. He felt the wilds were daunting and to see the flame leap about the branches was some comfort.

Now and then a wolf howled in the distance, but by and by all was quiet and he went to sleep.

XIX

USEFUL FRIENDS

Breakfast was over and, although Jimmy would have liked another bannock, he got up and strapped on his pack. Deering needed the bannock, for flour was running out. A fire burned on the stone hearth and the little shack in a corner of the rocks was warm. Jimmy did not want to leave it, but he knew he must, and the Indian waited for him to start.

They had not killed a deer and although they had shot two or three blue grouse a blue grouse is not large. Sometimes one can knock down a little willow grouse with a stick, but the willow grouse had recently vanished and the Indian had caught nothing in his snares. In fact, it looked as if all the birds and animals had gone south. Jimmy had eaten salmon until he loathed the battered fish, but the salmon had begun to die.

"Your load's not big," said Deering, "Have you put up all the food you need?"

"I've got all the food I'm going to take," Jimmy rejoined. "I can load up at Kelshope, but you must wait until I get back."

"Oh, well; but since I know the bush and might make better time, you ought to let me go."

"You're obstinate," said Jimmy. "I know Jardine and we want his help."

"That is so," said Deering and gave him his hand. "Anyhow, you have got the Indian and I expect he'll hit the shortest line. I wish you luck."

Jimmy pulled up his pack and set off. Speed was important, for he imagined he had left Deering a larger supply of food than the other knew. Since he was going to Kelshope, he could get fresh supplies, but Deering could not. Yet if he was longer than he calculated, it would be awkward. Jimmy felt lonely and rather daunted. The shack was small and rude, but the bark walls kept out the wind and in the cold evenings he had liked to sit by the snapping fire.

Now the trackless wilderness was in front, and he must get across before his food was gone. He did get across, but he imagined the Indian's inherited talents accounted for his doing so. Jimmy himself did not know much about the journey. When he thought about it afterwards, he dully pictured the fatigue and strain, the sharpening pinch of hunger and the stern effort to push on.

At length they came down the rocks one morning and saw his clearing in the distance. Jimmy gave the Indian all the food he had, and telling him to camp at the ranch, started for Jardine's. He was hungry and for a day or two his side had hurt. Sometimes he was faint, and when he crossed a stony belt he stumbled awkwardly. For all that, in the evening he reached the split-rail fence at Kelshope.

Jimmy knew how one pulled out the bars, but they baffled him and he knocked down the crossed supports. In front of the house he stopped, for a flickering light shone from the window and he saw Margaret sewing by the fire. His broken boots and torn clothes embarra.s.sed him, but he braced up and went to the door.

Margaret put down her sewing and her look was rather strained. Jimmy leaned against the table and gave her an apologetic smile. His hair was long, his beard had begun to grow and his face was pinched. His ragged clothes looked slack and although he had given the Indian his blanket, his shoulders were bent from weariness.