Their faces had already grown gaunt and haggard, and each scanty meal had been further cut down to the smallest portion which would keep life and power of movement within them. Still, though the weight of it hampered him almost intolerably, Wyllard clung to the one rifle that they had saved from the disaster at the landing and a dozen cartridges. This was a folly which he and Charly had once virulent words about.
At length they came one evening to a river which flowed across their path, and lay down beside it, feeling that the end was not far away. Except in the eddies and shallows, the ice had broken up, and the stream swirled by between in raging flood, thick with heavy masses which it had brought down from its higher reaches. They crashed upon the gleaming spurs that here and there projected from the half-thawn fringe, and smashed with a harsh crackling among the boulders, and there was no doubt as to what would befall the stoutest swimmer who might attempt the passage. So far as Wyllard afterwards remembered, none of them said anything when they lay down among the wet stones, but with the first of the daylight they started up stream. The river was not a large one, and it seemed just possible that they might find a means of crossing higher up, though they afterwards admitted that this was a good deal more than they expected.
During the afternoon the ground rose sharply, and the stream flowed out of a deep ravine which they followed. The rocks, as far as Wyllard could remember, were of volcanic origin, and some of them had crumbled into heaps of ragged debris. The slope of the ravine became a talus it was almost impossible to scramble along, and they were forced back upon the boulders and the half-thawn ice in the slacker pools.
Still, they made some progress, and when evening drew near found a little clearer space between rock and river. The Indian had in the meanwhile wrenched his foot or knee, and when at length they stopped to make camp among the rocks it was some little time before he overtook them. Then he said that he had found the slot of some animal which he fancied had gone up the ravine. What the beast was he did not seem to know, but he assured them that it was, at least, large enough to eat, and that appeared to be of the most importance then. He would not, however, take the rifle. Nothing would compel him to drag himself another rod that night, he said, and the others, who had noticed how he limped, accepted his statement. He sat down among the stones with an expressionless face, and Charly decided that it was Wyllard's part to try to pick up the trail.
"You could beat me every time at trailing or shooting when we went ashore on the American side, and I'm not sorry to let it go at that now," he said.
Wyllard smiled very grimly, "And I've carried this rifle a week on top of my other load. You can't shoot when you're dead played out."
Then they called in the Indian and left it to him, and saying nothing he gravely pointed to Wyllard.
Charly grinned for the first time in several days.
"Well," he said, "in this case I guess I've no objections to let it be as he suggests."
Wyllard, who said nothing further, took up the rifle and strode very wearily out of camp. There was, he fancied, scarcely an hour's daylight left, and already the dimness seemed a little more marked down in the hollow. He, however, found the slot again, and as there was a wall of rock on one side of him up which he did not think a beast of any kind could scramble he pushed on up stream beside the ice. There was nothing except this to guide him, but he was a little surprised to feel that his perceptions which had been dull and dazed the last few days were growing clearer. He noticed the different sounds the river made, and picked out the sharp crackle of ice among the stones, though he had hitherto only been conscious of a hoarse, pulsating roar. The rocks also took distinctive shapes instead of looming in blurred masses before his heavy eyes, and he found himself gazing with strained attention into each strip of deeper shadow. Still, though he walked cautiously, there was no sign of any life in the ravine. He was horribly weary, and now and then he set his lips as he stumbled noisily among the stones, but he pushed on beside the water while the deep hollow grew dimmer and more shadowy.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE UNEXPECTED
By and bye Wyllard felt a troublesome dizziness creeping over him, and he sat down upon a boulder with the rifle across his knees. He had eaten very little during the last few days, which had been spent in arduous exertion, and now the leaden weariness which he had fought against since morning threatened to overcome him. In addition to this, he was oppressed by a black dejection, which, though his mind had never been clearer, reacted upon his failing physical powers, for it was now unpleasantly evident that he and his companions could not reach the inlet while their provisions held out. There was no longer any doubt that he had involved them in disaster, and the knowledge that he had done so was very bitter.
He sat still awhile with haggard face and set lips, gazing up the ravine, for, although he scarcely fancied that either of the others had expected anything else, he shrank from going back as empty-handed as when he had left them. The light was getting very dim, but he could still see the ice fringe upon the pool in front of him, and a mass of rock that rose black against the creeping dusk not very far away. Beyond it on the one side there seemed to be a waste of stones amidst which a few wreaths of snow still gleamed lividly. Then a wall of rock scarcely distinguishable in the shadow shut in the hollow.
The latter was filled with the hoarse roar of the river and the sharp crash and crackle of stream-driven ice, but by and bye the worn-out man started as he caught another faint sound which suggested the clink of a displaced stone. His hands closed hard upon the rifle, but he sat very still, listening with strained attention until he heard the sound again. Then a thrill ran through him, for he was quite certain of its meaning. A stone had rolled over higher up the gorge, and he rose and moved forward cautiously, keeping the detached rock between him and the upper portion of the ravine. Once or twice a stone clattered noisily beneath his feet, and he stopped for a moment or two, wondering with tense anxiety whether the sound could be heard at any distance through the roar of the river. This was a very much grimmer business than crawling through the long grass for a shot at the prairie antelope, when in case of success it had scarcely seemed worth while to pack the tough and stringy venison back to the homestead.
By and bye he heard the clatter of a displaced stone again, and this time it was so distinct and near that it puzzled him. The wild creatures of the waste were, he knew, always alert, and their perception of an approaching danger was wonderful. It seemed strange, since he had heard it, that the beast he was creeping in upon could apparently not hear him, but he realised that he must face the hazard of its doing so, for in another few minutes it would be too dark to shoot. He had almost reached the rock by this time, and he shifted his grasp on the rifle, holding it thrust forward in front of him while crouching low he looked down for a spot on which to set his foot each time he moved. It would, he knew, be useless to go any further if a stone turned over now. None did, however, and he crept, strung up to highest tension, into the deeper gloom behind the rock.
A little pool ran in close beneath the latter from the river, but it was covered with ice and slushy snow, and treading very cautiously he crept across it, and held his breath as he moved out from behind the stone. Then he stopped suddenly, for a man stood face to face with him scarcely a stone's throw away. His fur-clad figure cut sharply against a gleaming bank of snow, and he held a gun in his hand. Though the light had almost gone, it was evident to Wyllard that he was a white man.
They stood very still for several seconds gazing at one another, and then the stranger dropped the butt of his weapon and called out sharply. Wyllard, who failed to understand him, did not move, and he spoke again. What he said was still unintelligible, but Wyllard, who had fallen in with a few Germans from Minnesota on the prairie, fancied that he recognised the language. He made a sign that it was still beyond his comprehension, and the stranger tried again. This time it was French he spoke.
"You can come forward, comrade," he said.
He did not seem to be hostile, and Wyllard, who tossed his rifle into the hollow of his left arm, moved out to meet him a pace or two.
"You are Russian?" he said, in the language the other had used, for French of a kind is freely spoken in parts of Canada.
The man laughed. "That afterwards," he answered. "It is said so. My name is Overweg – Albrecht Overweg. As to you, it appears you do not understand Russian."
Wyllard drew a little nearer, and sat down upon a boulder. Now the tension had somewhat slackened his weariness had once more become almost insupportable, and he felt that he might need his strength and senses. In the meanwhile he was somewhat bewildered by the encounter, for it was certainly astonishing to fall in with a man who spoke three civilised languages and wore spectacles in that desolate wilderness.
"No," he said, "it is almost the first time I have heard it."
"Ah," said the other, "there is a certain significance in that admission, my friend. It is permissible to inquire where you have come from, and what you are doing here?"
Wyllard, who had no desire to give him any information upon the latter point, pointed towards the east.
"That is where I come from. As to my business, at the moment you will excuse me. It is perhaps not a rudeness to ask what is yours?"
The stranger laughed. "Caution, it seems, is necessary; and to the east, where you have pointed, there is only the sea. I will, however, tell you my business. It is the science, and not" – he seemed to add this with a certain significance – "in any way connected with the administration of the country."
Wyllard was conscious of a vast relief on hearing this, but as he was not quite sure that he could believe it, he felt that prudence was still advisable. In any case, he could not let the stranger go away until he had learned whether there were any more white men with him. He sat still, thinking rather hard for a moment or two.
"You have a camp somewhere near?" he asked at length.
"Certainly," said the other. "You will come back with me, or shall I come to yours?"
"There are several of you?"
"Besides myself, two Kamtchadales."
"Then," said Wyllard, "I will come with you. I have left two comrades a little further down the ravine. Will you wait until I bring them?"
The stranger made a sign of assent, and sitting down upon a ledge of rock took out a cigar. Wyllard now felt more sure of him, since it was evident that had he meditated any treachery he would naturally have preferred him to make the visit unattended. In any case, it seemed likely that he would have something to eat in his camp.
Wyllard plodded back down the ravine, and when he reappeared with the others Overweg was still sitting there in the gathering darkness. He greeted them with a wave of his hand, and rising, silently led the way up the hollow until they came into sight of a little tent that glimmered beneath a rock. There was a light inside it, and two dusky figures were silhouetted against the canvas. When the party reached it, Overweg drew the flap back, and the light shone upon his face as he signed them to enter. Wyllard standing still a moment looked at him steadily, and then seeing the little smile in his eyes quietly went in.
After that Overweg called to one of the Kamtchadales, who came in and busied himself about the cooking lamp, while his guests sat down with a sense of luxurious content among the skins that were spread upon the ground sheet. After the raw cold outside the tent was very snug and warm. They said little, however, and Overweg made no attempt at conversation until the Kamtchadale laid out a meal, when he watched them with a smile while they ate voraciously. He had stripped his furs off, and sat with his knees drawn up on one of the skins, a little, plump, round-faced man, with tow-coloured hair, and eyes that gleamed shrewdly behind his spectacles.
"Shall I open another can?" he asked at length.
"No," said Wyllard. "We owe you thanks enough already. Provisions are evidently plentiful with you."
Overweg nodded. "I have a base camp two or three days' journey back," he said. "It is possible that I shall make a depôt. We brought our stores up from the south with dog sleds before the snow grew soft, but it is necessary for me to push on further. My business, you understand, is the scientific survey; to report upon the natural resources of the country."
He paused, and his manner changed a little when he went on again. "I have," he added, "to this extent taken you into my confidence, and I invite an equal candour. Two things are evident. You have made a long journey, and your French is not that one hears in Paris."
"First of all," said Wyllard, "I must ask again are you a Russian?"
Overweg spread his hands out with a little whimsical gesture. "My name, which I have told you, is not Sclavonic, and it may be admitted that I was born in Bavaria. In the meanwhile, it is true that I have been sent on a mission by the Russian Government."
"I wonder," said Wyllard reflectively, "how far you consider your duty towards your employers goes."
Overweg's eyes twinkled. "It covers all that can be ascertained about the geological structure and the fauna of the country, especially the fauna that produce marketable furs. At present I am not convinced that it goes very much further."
It was clear to Wyllard that he was to a large extent in this man's hands already, since he could not reach the inlet without provisions, and Overweg could, if he thought fit, send back a messenger to the Russian authorities. He was one who could think quickly and make a momentous decision, and he realised that if he could not win the man's sympathy there must be open hostility between them. It seemed possible that he might obviate any necessity for the latter.
"In that case I think I may tell you what has brought me here," he said. "If you have travelled much in Kamchatka you can, perhaps, help me. To begin with, I sailed from Vancouver, in Canada, going on for a year ago."
It took him some time to make his errand clear, and then Overweg looked at him in a rather curious fashion.
"It is," he said, "a tale that in these days one finds some little difficulty in believing. Still, it must be admitted that I am acquainted with one fact which appears to substantiate it."
Then as he saw the blood rise to Wyllard's forehead he broke off with a little soft laugh.
"My friend," he added, "is it permitted to offer you my felicitations? The men who would attempt a thing of this kind are, I think, singularly rare."
"The fact?" said Wyllard, impatiently.
"There is a Kamtchadale in my base camp who told me of a place where a white man was buried some distance to the west of us. He spoke of a second white man, but nobody, I understand, knows what became of him."
Wyllard straightened himself suddenly. "You will send for that Kamtchadale?"
"Assuredly. The tale you have told me has stirred my curiosity. As my path lies west up the river valley, we can, if it pleases you, go on for a while together."
Wyllard, who thanked him, turned to Charly with a faint sigh of relief.
"It seems that we shall not bring those men back, but I think we may find out where they lie," he said. Charly made no comment, for this was the most he had expected, and a few minutes later there was silence in the little tent when the men lay down to sleep among the skins.
They started at sunrise next morning, and followed the river slowly by easy stages until the man sent back to Overweg's base camp overtook them with another Kamtchadale. Then they pushed on still further inland, and it was a week later when one evening their guide led them up to a little pile of stones upon a lonely ridge of rock. There were two letters very rudely cut on one of them, and Wyllard, who stooped down beside it, took off his cap when he rose.
"There's no doubt that Jake Leslie lies here," he said, and looked at Overweg. "Your man is sure it was only one white man who buried him?"
Overweg spoke to the Kamtchadale, who answered him.
"There was only one white man," he said. "It seems he went inland afterwards – at least a year ago."
Then Wyllard turned to Charly, and his face was very grave. "That makes it certain that two of them have died. There was one left, and he may be dead by this time." He spread his hands out with a forceful gesture. "If one only knew!"
Charly made no answer. He was not a man of education or much imagination, but like others of his kind he had alternately borne many privations in the wilderness, logging, prospecting, trail-cutting about the remoter mines, and at sea. As one result of this there crept into his mind some recognition of what the outcast who lay at rest beside their feet had had to face – the infinite toil of the march, the black despair, the blinding snow, and Arctic frost. He met his leader's gaze with a look of comprehending sympathy.
By what grim efforts and primitive devices their comrade, had clung to life so long as he had done it seemed very probable that they would never know, but they clearly realised that though some might call it an illegal raid, or even piracy, it was a work of mercy this outlaw who had borne so much had undertaken when he was cast away. In the word to swing the boats over and face the roaring surf in the darkness of the night he had heard the clear call of duty, and had fearlessly obeyed. His obedience had cost him much, but as the man who had come so far to search for him looked down upon the little pile of stones that had been raised above his bones in the desolate wilderness, there awoke within him a sure recognition of the fact that this was not the end. That, at least, was unthinkable. His comrade, sloughing off the half-frozen, suffering flesh, had gone on to join the immortals – with his duty done.
It was with a warmth at his heart and a slight haziness in his eyes that Wyllard turned away at length, but when he put on his fur cap again he was more determined than ever to carry out the search. There were many perils and difficulties to be faced, but he felt that he must not flinch.
"One man went inland," he said to Overweg. "I must go that way, too."
The little spectacled scientist looked at him curiously.
"Ah," he said, "the road your comrade travelled is a hard one. You have seen what it leads to."
Then Wyllard did what is in the case of such men as he was a somewhat unusual thing, for he gave another a glimpse of the feelings he generally kept hidden deep in him.
"No," he said, quietly, "the hard road leads further – where we do not know – but one feels that the full knowledge will not bring sorrow when it is some day given to those who have the courage to follow."
Overweg spread his hands out. "It is not the view of the materialists, but it is conceivable that the materialists may be wrong. In this case, however, it is the concrete and practical we have to grapple with, my friend. You say you are going inland to search for that man, and for awhile I go that way, but though I have my base camp there is the question of provisions if you come with me."
They discussed the matter until Wyllard suggested that he could replace any provisions his companion supplied him with from the schooner, to which Overweg agreed, and they afterwards decided to send the Siwash and one of the Kamtchadales on to the inlet with a letter to Dampier. The two started next day when they found a place where the river was with difficulty fordable, and the rest pushed on slowly into a broken and rising country seamed with belts of thin forest here and there. They held westwards for another week, and then one evening made their camp among a few stunted and straggling firs. The temperature had risen in the day-time, but the nights were cold, and when they had eaten their evening meal they were glad of the shelter of the tent. A small fire of resinous branches was sinking into a faintly glowing mass close outside of it.
The flap was, however, drawn back, and Wyllard, who lay facing the opening, could see a triangular patch of dim blue sky with a sharp sickle moon hanging low above a black fir branch. The night was clear and still, but now and then there was a faint elfin sighing among the stunted trees that died away again. He was then, while still determined, moodily discouraged, for they had seen no sign of human life during the journey, and his reason told him that he might search for years before he found the bones of the last survivor of the party. Still, he meant to search while Overweg was willing to supply him with provisions.
By and bye he saw Charly sharply raise his head and gaze towards the opening.
"Did you hear anything outside?" he asked.
"It would be the Kamtchadales," said Wyllard.
"They went back a mile or two to lay some traps."
"Then," said Wyllard, decisively, "it couldn't have been anything."
Charly did not appear satisfied, and it seemed to Wyllard that Overweg was also listening, but there was deep stillness outside now, and he dismissed the matter from his mind. A few minutes later it, however, seemed to him that a shadowy form appeared out of the gloom among the firs and faded into it again. This struck him as very curious, since if it had been one of the Kamtchadales he would have walked straight into camp, but he said nothing to his companions, and there was silence for a while until Charly rose softly to his feet.
"Get out as quietly as you can," he said, as he slipped by Wyllard, who crept after him to the entrance.
When he reached it his companion's voice rang out with a startling vehemence.
"Stop right now!" he cried, and after a pause, "Nobody's going to hurt you. Walk right ahead."
Then Wyllard felt his heart beat furiously, for a dusky, half-seen figure materialised out of the gloom, and grew into sharper form as it drew nearer to the sinking fire. The thing was wholly unexpected, almost incredible, but it was clear that the man could understand English, and his face was white. In another moment Wyllard's last doubt vanished, and he sprang forward with a gasp.
"Lewson – Tom Lewson," he said.
Then Charly thrust the man inside the tent, and when somebody lighted a lamp he sat down stupidly and looked at them. His face was gaunt and furrowed, and almost blackened by exposure to the frost, his hair was long, and tattered garments of greasy skins hung about him. There was also something that suggested bewildered incredulity in his eyes.
"It's real?" he said, slowly and haltingly. "You have come at last?"
They assured him that this was the case, and for a moment or two the man's face worked and he made a hoarse sound in his throat.
"Lord," he said, "if I'm dreaming I don't want to wake."
Charly leaned forward and smote him on the shoulder.
"Shall I hit you like I did that afternoon in the Thompson House on the Vancouver water front?" he asked.
Then the certainty of the thing seemed to dawn upon the man, for he quivered, and his eyes half closed. After that he straightened himself with an effort.
"I should have known, and I think I did," he said. "Something seemed to tell me that you would come for us when you could."
Wyllard's face flushed, but he said nothing, and it was Charly who asked the next question.
"The others are dead?"
Lewson made a little expressive gesture. "Hopkins was drowned in a crevice of the ice. I buried Leslie back yonder."
He broke off abruptly, as though speech cost him an effort, and Wyllard turned to Overweg.
"This is the last of the men I was looking for," he said.
Overweg quietly nodded. "Then you have my felicitations – but it might be advisable if you did not tell me too much," he said. "Afterwards I may be questioned by those in authority."