  The first few yards of her trip downhill Sally managed with comparative comfort, but soon after the ice path grew steeper and her footing less secure. Then she would slide for a few feet, catching at any tree or frozen shrub along her route. A quarter of a mile away already she was sorry she had attempted the descent alone. “Alice! Alice! Dan! Dan!” she called, hoping that some one of her friends had discovered her absence and would come searching for her. But no one answered and no one came. Should she return up the slope, or wait where she was until the others returned? The time could not be long; already they had been away from Tahawus cabin two hours and had promised to return before twilight. Five minutes of waiting and Sally found herself growing numb from the cold. She had not been exercising, and toasting herself in front of the open fire evidently had made her more susceptible to the cold. Unquestionably she must move on in one direction or the other, and yet to go back would mean that the return journey would be doubly long. Besides, she wanted to be home. A vision of her mother and father, of the Camp Fire guardian, of their older guests seated about the great fire in the living-room of the cabin assailed her. Anxious they probably were already at the failure of the younger members of the house party to return. Moving cautiously a few feet further along, Sally’s foot struck against a stone concealed by the ice, yet her fall did not appear to have injured her; as she lay quiet she felt more dazed than hurt. Soon after she was up and on her way again. But now the snow trail was no longer so plain as it had been and she was therefore obliged to study the route more carefully. However, she concluded that if one kept steadily down the hill toward the valley one could not go far astray and once on level ground walking would be less difficult. Yet if only she had not suggested this outdoor excursion, which had proved such a disappointment to her! From cold, from fatigue and disappointment the slow tears coursing down her cheeks seemed to freeze into tiny crystals. By and by she was so cold that she could not move rapidly, although aware that in action lay her only safeguard. Another false step and Sally was glad to awaken to the realization that her second fall had brought her further down the hill. In a quarter of a mile more doubtless she would reach the frozen bank of Half Moon Lake and be able to see the lights of their camp on the farther side, for although the lake was of considerable length it was not more than fifty yards wide. At the foot of the hill Sally found herself in a small ravine, where the ice had formed only a thin layer above the drifting snow. Attempting to cross the ravine she sank to her knees, but managed to flounder out again. In order to console herself she attempted to recall various Camp Fire maxims which might afford her courage or inspiration, but concluded that concentration upon her task left no opportunity for other ideas. On the farther side of the ravine which she did not remember to have crossed earlier in the afternoon there was no gleaming surface of water frozen into the winter landscape. Instantly Sally appreciated that she had lost the trail and had come down the hill at some distant point from Tahawus cabin. Across the lake at any hour of the day or night one could see blue curls of smoke rising from the cabin, or at dusk the lights gleaming from the windows, but now no human habitation was visible. Sally was in a world of complete loneliness. There is no loneliness, no silence so absolute as the forest in winter. Except for the snow birds, all the other birds have departed. Save when they must seek food, the animals keep their own cloisters; there are no leaves to rustle on the trees, only the little crackling noises due to intense cold. How far was she at present from Tahawus cabin or any shelter? An instant Sally stood still. Curiously in the face of actual danger she lost her sense of discomfort and disenchantment and with a serious situation possessed an extraordinary capacity for calm judgment. In an hour the woods would be in darkness. There was no point in evading the issue; she appreciated what was inevitable. Yet she had no thought of surrender, not for the present. With the realization of the situation Sally seemed to feel added strength and faith. When the others arrived at Tahawus cabin, finding that she was not there, a search party would start out at once. If only she had not broken her compass a few days before, as she rarely left home without it, at least she might have managed to walk in the direction of Tahawus cabin and not face the risk of going the opposite way. Notwithstanding the barricade of hills, she could see toward the west that the sun had descended, leaving a faint afterglow of purple and yellow and rose on the dim white peaks. Sally moved westward, believing Tahawus cabin lay toward the west. But darkness came at length and she grew more bewildered. Moreover, she was nearly frozen. Now and then she would pause to wave her arms and stamp her feet, smiling at herself meanwhile, a half frozen, childish smile. In her fur coat with her waving arms, so stiff they moved with difficulty, she must have looked like an animated bear had anyone seen her in the dusk. Several times Sally stumbled and fell forward, only to pick herself up and go steadfastly on. She had no fear of wild animals, most of them were vanished from the Adirondack forest; nor of the darkness was she afraid; she was fearful of but two things, the cold and the silence. Moreover, always before her appeared the picture of the gleaming fireplace at the cabin. Once she put out her hands as if she would warm them before it. Again she felt her father’s arms about her and her head dropping half asleep against his shoulder. Then Sally aroused herself more completely, appreciating that drowsiness must be fought above all other sensations, if one would conquer the peril of freezing. Twice Sally was under the impression that she saw a tall figure approaching and called Dan Webster’s name, only to find later that the figure she had hoped might be human was a low tree with a pair of forked arms. Sally’s Hands Beat Against the Closed Door Toward the latter part of her journeying she had no impressions, almost no consciousness, yet something must have guided her—instinct, sub-conscious mind, call it what you will. A light drew her, as a light has drawn all wanderers on the face of the earth. Rising on the peak of a low hill appeared a fairy palace with only the towers visible as if built upon air, but nearer, almost beside her, a small, uncertain light. Sally’s hands beat against the closed door of a small, one-room house. The face of the man who opened the door she had a faint impression of having seen before, but afterwards she remembered nothing but her own effort to reach the fire and the man restraining her. |
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