  “There’s someone out there sure’s you’re alive,” Bob shouted as he closed the door. “Come on, we’ve got to make it snappy,” he said, as he began to pull on his moccasins. “Who in the world can it be?” Jack asked, as he donned his mackinaw and pulled his cap well down over his ears. In another moment they were fastening their snow-shoes on their feet on the porch. “I believe it’s worse than when we came in if such a thing is possible,” Jack declared, shouting at the top of his voice, in order to make himself heard, as they started toward the lake. And such seemed to be the case. It was impossible to see more than a half dozen feet ahead and the rays from their flashlights availed but little against the thick cloud of falling snow. Every few steps they paused to listen, but not a sound save the roar of the wind and the creaking of the trees as they bent their lofty tops to the strength of the blasts, came to their ears. “He must have given out,” Bob shouted, as they paused again at the end of the wharf, “and unless we find him mighty quick he’ll be buried.” “Well, we can only do our best,” Jack shouted back, as he plunged forward, sinking nearly to his knees in the light snow, despite his snow-shoes. Until they were out on the lake, facing into the storm, they had not realized the full strength of the wind; but here, where it had a clear sweep, they were hardly able to stand against it. But bending low, they crept on inch by inch, the beating particles of snow stinging their faces like so many needles. “It’s worse than looking for a needle in a hay stack,” Jack yelled as they again stopped to listen. “But,” he added, “he can’t be very far away or we’d never have heard him.” “I believe we’re out far enough,” Bob declared a few minutes later. “He could hardly have been farther away than this. Suppose you circle round to the right and I’ll do the same to the left. Yell if you find anything,” he shouted, as he started off at right angles to the course they had been pursuing. It was perhaps ten minutes later that he was brought to a sudden stop by the sound of his brother’s voice faintly piercing the storm. “Oh, Bob, I’ve found him.” “I’m a coming,” he shouted, retracing his steps as rapidly as possible. “Keep calling,” he added, bending his head to avoid so far as possible the stinging snow. Facing directly into the storm it seemed to the boy that he would never reach his brother, but at last he caught sight of him less than a dozen feet ahead. Jack was on his knees in the snow holding a man’s head close against his breast. “He’s pretty far gone, I’m afraid,” he shouted, as Bob plowed his way to his side. “He was entirely covered with the snow and I’d never have found him if I hadn’t stepped on him,” he explained. “It’s no wonder he gave out,” Bob declared a moment later, as he took hold of the man’s feet and pulled them out of the snow. “One of his snow-shoes has given out and his foot has gone clean through it. But we must get a move on and get him to the cabin, if we can,” he added doubtfully. It was indeed a task to test the endurance of the strongest. The man was large and heavy, but with a prayer on their lips, they did not hesitate. Quickly removing the man’s snow-shoes, Bob fastened them together by their thongs and slung them on his back. “You take his feet and I’ll lead,” he ordered, as he got his right arm under his shoulder pit. It was all he could do to straighten up under the load, but he managed it and they started. How they made it neither could tell; but, as Bob afterward declared, God must have given them the strength necessary. Foot by foot they plowed through the deep snow, sinking far down at every step, and obliged to stop to rest every few minutes. If the task was difficult while they were still on the lake, it was doubly so when they reached the shore. The cabin sat on a sharp rise about a hundred feet from the lake, and it took them all of half an hour to make that short distance. It was literally inch by inch that they struggled on, praying that their strength would hold. Not once since they started had the man given the slightest indication of life, and the thought that he might even now be dead was discouraging. But, as Jack had declared when they had started out, they had done their best and they could leave the rest in the hands of God. Finally, when their endurance seemed at the breaking point, they struggled onto the porch, and with what seemed his last ounce of strength, Bob pushed open the door not waiting to remove his snow-shoes. A good fire still burned in the fireplace and dragging the heavy body onto the bear skin directly in front of it, they quickly removed their snow-shoes, after which they stood for some moments leaning against the sides of the mantle exposing their half-numbed bodies to the grateful heat. But they both realized that this was a time when minutes might well mean the difference between life and death, and as soon as the first sign of returning strength began to flow back into their tired bodies, they sat to work. “If you’ll make some strong coffee, Jack, I’ll be getting the blankets warm,” Bob said, as he started up the stairs. He returned almost immediately, his arms full of thick woolen blankets which he draped over the backs of chairs as near the fire as he dared. “I suppose whiskey or brandy is what he ought to have,” he thought, “but we haven’t got any of either and I guess coffee is the next best thing.” The form on the bear skin was lying face down and now Bob turned him over and, unbuttoning the heavy mackinaw, he placed his ear on his chest. For a moment he could detect no signs of life, but just as he was about to give up, he moved his head a trifle and his quick ear caught the faint sound of heart beats. “Thank God, he’s alive,” he breathed as he lifted his head and for the time glanced at the man’s face. “Why, it’s Jean Larue,” he gasped in surprise. “If that don’t beat the Dutch,” and he hurriedly ran to the kitchen to tell Jack. “Well of all things, to think of an old stager like that getting lost up here where he has lived all his life,” Jack declared as he poured out a cup of very black coffee. “It was probably that broken snow-shoe,” Bob said, adding: “Anyhow he’s alive and we must get him into bed as soon as we can.” It was the work of but a minute to strip off the man’s outer clothes and wrapping him in the blankets now thoroughly warmed, they lifted him to a large couch, which they pulled as close to the fire as they could. “Now let’s see if we can get some of that coffee into him,” Bob said. It was slow work but by dint of much perseverance they managed to get a few spoonsful of the liquid down his throat. “Better see if his hands or feet are frozen,” Jack suggested, as he pulled off one of his moccasins. “I guess they’re all right,” he announced a moment later, as he dropped the other one to the floor. “How about his hands?” “They’re all right. I think it’s more exhaustion than cold,” Bob declared. “I don’t believe you could freeze one of those Kanucks anyway,” he added as he raised the man’s head again and told Jack to see if he could get some more of the hot coffee down him. “His heart is getting stronger,” he announced a moment later, “and he seems to be breathing quite easily now. He’ll be all right before long, see if he isn’t.” And his prediction was correct, for in a few minutes the man gave vent to a long moan and slowly opened his eyes. “Drink this,” Bob ordered, as he raised his head and held the cup to his lips. “I go Heaven, oui?” the man whispered faintly, as Bob laid his head back after he had swallowed nearly a cupful of coffee. “Not exactly,” Bob laughed. “You’re still on the earth but you had a pretty narrow call all right. Now you’d better not talk any just now. Just rest and we’ll get you something to eat.” In a few minutes Bob had ready a steaming bowl of oatmeal gruel which the man ate greedily and strength seemed to almost rush back into his body as the hot food warmed his stomach. “Now you go to sleep,” Bob ordered, when the last of the gruel had disappeared. And it was not many minutes before his deep breathing indicated that he had obeyed the order. “He’ll be all right now if he don’t get pneumonia, and I don’t think that’s likely,” Bob said as he laid his hand on the man’s forehead. “He hasn’t a speck of fever so far.” It was now after eleven o’clock and they decided that it would be safe to go to bed as Jean would probably sleep for a long time if undisturbed. “I’ll hear him if he wakes up,” Bob assured his brother, as they threw themselves in the bed in the little bedroom which opened out of the living room. “It’s lucky we’ve got plenty of blankets,” he muttered sleepily, as he pulled them up around his neck. During the night the storm blew itself out and when soon after eight o’clock Bob opened his eyes, the sun was shining in at the window. Jack still slept on and he got out of bed carefully so as not to waken him. A good bed of coals still glowed in the fireplace, and soon he had a roaring fire sending a shower of sparks up the broad chimney. The crackling of the fire woke Jean, and when Bob returned to the living room after starting a fire in the cook stove, he was sitting up. “How you feel?” he asked. “Feel ver’ goot, but ver’ hungry,” was the reply, as he got to his feet. “Well, we’ll remedy that last symptom in short order,” Bob laughed as he threw some more wood on the fire. Jack did not waken until breakfast was on the table, then he came from the bedroom with a sheepish look on his face. “Why didn’t you let a fellow sleep all day?” he demanded. “It’s all right, old man. You needed it and there was nothing you could do,” Bob assured him, giving him a good hug. It was evident that Jean had nearly recovered his strength and would soon be as good as ever. “It takes a lot to kill one of those fellows,” Bob whispered to Jack as they were washing the dishes. With a few strips of rawhide which Bob found, Jean soon had the broken snow-shoe repaired temporarily and by eleven o’clock they were ready to start for the camp. “But you haven’t told us how you came to get lost,” Bob said as he pulled on his mackinaw. “I go Nor’East Carry yes’day mornin’. Come back, she ver’ hard goin’, geet ver’ tired, then shoe she bust, no can mak’ mooch go. See light in here, then yell, then no more,” Jean explained in his broken English. “You save life, me ver’ mooch tank, no ought. Me no goot, trow ax on purpose, ver’ sorry now. You no forgive, non?” “Surest thing you know, old man. Forget it. We’ll be great friends from now on. How about it?” and Bob held out his hand, a kindly smile on his face. The Frenchman had held his eyes steadily on the floor as he stammered out the confession, and it took some time for Bob’s eager words of forgiveness to penetrate his understanding. “An eye for an eye” has always been his creed and he was slow to grasp any other. But as he glanced up and saw the outstretched hand and the smile which accompanied it, the true meaning of forgiveness entered his mind for the first time in all his life. Tears glistened in his eyes as he grasped the proffered hand and stammered: “Oui, we friends, you let me.” “All right, that’s settled,” Bob declared joyfully, as Jack in turn held out his hand. The going, though still heavy, was not so bad as they had feared, as the wind had packed the snow to some extent, and for the most of the way their snow-shoes sank only three or four inches. They reached the camp shortly after one o’clock and were received with shouts of joy by the crew. “Sure an’ we were jest after startin’ out ter look fer yez,” Tom Bean declared as he followed them to the mess house, where, between mouthfuls, they told him of their adventure. Not until Jean had left them, declaring that he was all right and was going to work, did Bob tell the foreman about his conversation with the Frenchman. “Do yer think he meant it?” Tom asked as he finished. “I’m sure of it,” Bob replied. “You’ll see that Jean’s a different man or I miss my guess. But why all the gloom?” he asked, as for the first time he noted a worried look on Tom’s face. “Sure an’ the devil’s ter pay,” and the foreman shook his head sadly. “Well, shoot it,” Jack demanded. “It’s hooch, so it is.” “Hooch,” repeated both boys in the same breath. “Where are they getting it?” “Sure an’ it’s meself thot don’t know thot same, but six or seven of them were drunk last night and it’s sick men they are this day,” and again he shook his head. “It’s nadin’ ivery man we’ve got it is ter fill thot contract.” “I’ll bet it’s some more of Big Ben’s work,” Jack declared as he got up from the table. “Anyhow we’ve got to find out where they are getting it and put a stop to it. Do you know when they got it?” he asked, turning to Tom. “It must a bin some time yes’day afternoon fer they were all right at dinner time,” Tom told him. Fully three feet of snow had fallen during the night and it took the crew all of that day to get the tote road shoveled out and the snow cleared away at the chopping. That meant the loss of a day so far as getting the lumber out was concerned, and the boys could see that Tom was much worried. Until a late hour that night Tom and the boys sat in the office discussing the situation. “It’s evident that Ben doesn’t intend to stop at anything to keep Father from filling that contract,” Bob declared. “But why do you suppose he is so anxious to do it? Is it just a matter of spite?” “Not at all, at all. Yer see if yer father falls down on thot contract, then Ben thinks he’ll be dead sure ter land it nixt year,” Tom explained. “I see, and there are so many ways that he can put a spoke in our wheel that we’ve got to be mighty sharp to get the better of him,” and Bob gave Jack a glance which told him that it was up to them to do it. The stars were still shining the next morning when the two boys crept quietly from their bunks and groped their way to the door. Once outside they quickly made their way to the office where they kept their snow-shoes. “It’s more than likely a wild goose chase but we’ve got to do something,” Bob said as he took a 38 Winchester from the closet. “But what makes you think some one’s coming today?” Jack asked as they were fastening their snow-shoes. “Well, I’ll tell you. I didn’t dare tell Tom for fear he wouldn’t let us go; but last night, just before supper, I was out back of the cook house. It was dark, of course, and I heard two of the men talking only a few feet away but I couldn’t see them. I was hunting for my knife which I missed and thought I knew just where I had dropped it, right by that big spruce, the one where we were digging gum just before dark you know. Well, I didn’t pay any attention to them till I heard one of them say, ‘He say he be out by big pine this morning.’ That was all I heard, as they walked away then. Now it may be something entirely different of course, but I believe that someone is going to bring some more of that stuff this morning.” “Why not tell Tom and try to catch him?” Jack asked. “Because that might make some of the men mad and then they’d up and quit. You know how fickle they are. They want the stuff and we’ve got to keep them from getting it without letting them know that we’re doing it.” By this time they were ready to start and swinging the rifle beneath his arm Bob led the way toward Big Ben’s camp. It was twenty below by the thermometer on the office porch, but there was no wind, and without wind the clear dry air of Northern Maine is not penetrating. “I have an idea that he’ll start about daybreak so we want to find a good hiding place before it begins to get light,” Bob said as they swung along between the towering spruces. The snow had settled enough to make good snow-shoeing and they made good time although it was still dark when Jack who was in the lead stopped. “I guess we’re there,” he whispered, “I can see a light just a little ahead.” “It’s in the cook house, I guess,” Bob said, moving a little to one side to get a better view. “Yes, that’s it,” he added in a low voice, “now to find a good hiding place. Let’s go over this way a bit.” “Here’s just the place,” Jack declared a few minutes later, as he spied a thick clump of bushes in between two large pines. It was indeed an ideal place for their purpose and just as the first hint of the coming day was showing in the east, they crouched down in their hiding place. “Hope we don’t have to wait long,” Jack whispered, “because it’s not exactly warm here.” His hopes were realized for they had not been there more than fifteen minutes when his sharp ears caught the creaking of snow. “Somebody’s coming,” he whispered, and soon they could see a man coming toward them. It was now fairly light and as he came nearer they could see that he carried a jug in one hand. “You hit it all right,” Jack whispered. Just then the man caught sight of the tracks of their snow-shoes and stopped as though undecided what to do. But after a short pause he started off again. Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle rang through the forest and the jug smashed in pieces. “Honestly, if ever a man was scared it was that fellow, and I nearly died trying not to laugh,” Jack afterward told Tom. For an instant the man stood as if petrified; then, with a wild yell, he turned and started back. In his haste he tripped and fell headlong in the deep snow. He was so scared that it took him some little time to get on his feet again, but he finally accomplished it and soon disappeared. “Come on now we’ve got to beat it,” Bob said, as he crept out of the hiding place closely followed by Jack. “I don’t believe they’ll try it that way again very soon,” Jack panted as they made the best time possible toward home. “Where in the name of goodness yer been?” Tom was standing in the doorway of the office as they returned. “Just taking a morning stroll,” Jack laughed. “Did you save any breakfast for us?” “Sure an’ I guess cookie’ll give yer some, but I thought sure ye’d gone an’ got inter some kind o’ fix agin, so I did.” When they had finished telling him of their trip, Tom laughed long and loudly. “Sure an’ who but ye’d iver have thought of it? I’d give a year of me life ter have seen thot guy when his jug went smash. Sure an’ it’s meself thot’s bettin’ thot he thought the devil was after him.” Six of the crew were nearly an hour late at work that morning. Bob saw them crossing the clearing as he was coming from the mess house after he had finished his belated breakfast. Stepping back into the room he watched them from the half-closed door. “They seem disappointed about something,” he said to Jack, who had joined him. “I guess the party they were looking for failed to materialize,” Jack laughed as he watched them. “I wonder if those fellows could talk at all if their hands were tied behind their backs,” he added, laughing at their vigorous gesticulations. “It would certainly be a serious handicap to them,” Bob declared, as he stepped outside the door. Before Jack had time to follow him, however, he dodged back again. “Now for it,” he said, closing the door. “Who do you suppose is making us a call?” “From your excitement I should guess it’s Big Ben himself,” Jack quickly replied. “Right the first time. Now watch for fireworks.” |
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