Blake's Burden

Nothing disturbed their sleep, which was sound, for the cold has less effect on the man who is fresh and properly fed. Breakfast was quickly dispatched, and after a short struggle with the dogs they set out again. It was another good day, and they travelled fast, over a rolling tableland on which the snow smoothed out the inequalities among the rocks. Bright sunshine streamed down on them, the sledge ran easily up the slopes and down the hollows, and looking back when they nooned Harding noticed the straightness of their course. Picked out in delicate shades of blue against the unbroken white surface surrounding it, the sledge trail ran back with scarcely a waver to the crest of a rise two miles away. This was not how they had journeyed north, with the icy wind in their faces, laboriously struggling round broken ridges and through tangled woods. Harding was a sanguine man, but experience warned him to prepare for much less favourable conditions. It was not often the wilderness showed a smiling face.

Still, the fine weather held and they were deep in the timber when they parted from their guide on a frozen stream which he must follow while they pushed south across a rugged country. He was not a companionable person, and spoke only a few words of barbarous French, but they were sorry to see the last of him when he left them with a friendly farewell. He had brought them speedily a long distance on their way, but they must now trust to the compass and their own resources, while the loads they strapped on were unpleasantly heavy. Before this task was finished dogs and driver had vanished up the white riband of the stream, and they felt lonely as they stood in the bottom of the gorge with steep rocks and dark pines hemming them in. Blake glanced at the high bank with a rueful smile.

"There are advantages in having a good guide, and we hadn't to face a climb like that all the way," he said. "Anyhow, we had better get up."

It cost them some labour and, after reaching the summit they stopped to look for the easiest road. Ahead, as far as they could see, small, ragged pines grew among the rocks, and breaks in the uneven surface hinted at troublesome ravines.

"It looks rough," said Benson. "There's rather a high ridge yonder. It might save trouble to work round its end. What do you think?"

"When I'm not sure," said Harding, "I mean to go straight south."

Benson gave him a sympathetic nod. "One can understand that; you have better reasons for getting back than the rest of us, though I've no particular wish to loiter up here. Break the trail, Blake; due south by compass!"

They plunged deeper into the broken belt, clambering down ravines, crossing frozen lakes and snowy creeks. Indeed, they were thankful when a strip of level surface indicated water, for the toil of getting through the timber was heavy. After two days of travel there was a yellow sunset, and the snow gleamed in the lurid light with an ominous brilliance, while as they made their fire a moaning wind got up. These things presaged a change in the weather, and they were rather silent over the evening meal. They missed the half-breed and the snarling dogs, while it looked as if the good fortune that had so far attended them was coming to an end.

Next morning there was a low, brooding sky, and at noon snow began to fall, but they kept on until evening over very rough ground and then held a council round the fire.

"The situation requires some thought," Blake remarked. "First of all, our provisions won't carry us through the timber belt. Now the shortest course to the prairie, where the going will be easier, is due south, but after we get there we'll have a long march to the settlements. I'd partly counted on our killing a caribou or perhaps a moose, but so far we've seen no tracks."

"There must be some smaller beasts that the Indians eat," Benson suggested.

"None of us knows where to look for them, and we haven't much time to spare for hunting."

"That's so," Harding agreed. "What's your plan?"

"I'm in favour of heading south-west. It may mean an extra hundred miles, or more, but it would bring us nearer the Stony village, and afterwards the logging camp on the edge of the timber, where we might get supplies."

"It's understood that the Indians are often half starved in winter," Benson observed. "For all that, they might have had good luck, and anyhow we couldn't cross the prairie with an empty grub-sack. My vote's for striking off to the west."

Harding concurred, though as his leg had threatened further trouble during the last day or two, he would have preferred the shorter route. Then Blake asked him: "What about the petroleum?"

"We can't stop to look for it unless we can lay in a good stock of food, and I don't suppose we could do much prospecting with the snow upon the ground." He paused a moment with a thoughtful air. "When we reach the settlement I must go home, but if the dollars can be raised, I'll be back as soon as the thaw comes to try for the oil. Clarke's an unusually smart man, and there's no doubt he's on the trail."

"We'll raise enough money somehow," Benson told him, and Blake signified his agreement with a nod. Then they dropped into casual talk which lasted until they went to sleep.

When dawn came it was snowing hard, and for a week they made poor progress with a bitter gale driving the flakes in their faces, while rations were cut down as the distance covered daily steadily lessened. Harding's leg was getting sore, but he did not mean to speak of this unless it was necessary. They were, however, approaching the neighbourhood of the Indian village and Blake began to speculate upon the probability of their finding its inhabitants at home. He understood that the Stonies wandered about, and realized with uneasiness that it would be singularly unfortunate if they were away on a hunting trip.

At length, after laboriously climbing the rough but gently rising slope of a long divide all one blustering day, they camped on a high tableland, and lay awake, too cold to sleep, beside a sulky, greenwood fire. In the morning it was difficult to get upon their feet, but as the light grew clearer, the prospect they looked down upon seized their attention. The hill summits were wrapped in leaden cloud, but a valley opened up below. It was wider and deeper than any they had met with since leaving the factory, the bottom looked unusually level, and it ran roughly south.

They gazed at it in silence for a time; and then Harding said, "I've a notion that this is the valley where Blake fell sick, and it's going to straighten out things for us if I'm right."

"That's so," Benson agreed. "We would be sure of striking the Stony village, and we could afterwards follow the low ground right down to the river. With the muskegs frozen solid, it ought to make an easy road."

Blake was conscious of keen satisfaction, but there was still a doubt.

"We'll know more about it after another march," he said.

No snow fell that morning, and as their packs were ominously light they made good speed across the hill benches and down a ravine where they scrambled among the boulders of a frozen creek. It was a grey day without the rise in temperature that often accompanies cloudiness, and the light was strangely dim. Rocks and pines melted into one another at a short distance, and leaden haze obscured the lower valley. Blake was, however, becoming sure it was the one they had travelled up and, dispensing with the usual noon halt, they pushed on as fast as possible. All were anxious to set their doubts at rest, for there was now a prospect of obtaining food and shelter in a few days, but they recognized no landmarks, and with the approach of evening the frost grew very keen. The haze drew in closer, the scattered pines they passed wailed drearily in a rising wind, and the men were tired, but they could see no suitable camping place and held on, looking for thicker timber.

It was getting dark when a belt of trees stretched across the valley, and they were thinking of stopping, when Benson, who led the way, cried out.

"What is it?" Harding asked.

Benson hesitated. "Well," he said, "the thing doesn't seem probable, but I believe I saw a light. Anyway, it's gone."

They stopped, gazing eagerly into the gloom. A light meant that there were men not far off, and after the grim desolation they had travelled through all were conscious of a longing for human society. Besides, the strangers would, no doubt, have something to eat and might be cooking a plentiful supper. There was, however, nothing to be seen until Blake moved a few yards to one side. Then he turned to Benson with a cheerful laugh.

"You were right; I can see a glimmer about a mile ahead. I wonder who the fellows are, though that's not important."

They set off as fast as they could go, though travelling among the fallen branches and slanting trees was difficult in the dark. Now and then they lost their beacon, but the brightening glow shone out again and when it was visible Blake watched it with surprise. It was low, and he thought hardly large enough for a fire, besides which it had a curious irregular flicker. Drawing nearer, they dipped into a hollow where they could only distinguish a faint brightness beyond the rising ground ahead which they eagerly ascended. Reaching the summit, they saw the light plainly, but it was very small, and there were no figures outlined against it. Benson shouted, and all three felt a shock of disappointment when he got no answer.

He ran as fast as his snowshoes would let him, smashing through brush, floundering over snowy stones, with Blake and Harding stumbling, short of breath, behind; and then stopped with a hoarse cry close to the light. There was nobody about, and the blaze sprang up mysteriously from the frozen ground.

"A blower of natural gas," said Harding in an excited tone. "In a sense, we've had our run for nothing, but this may be worth a good deal more than your supper."

"If I had the option, I'd trade all the natural gas in Canada for a thick, red moose steak, and a warm place to sleep in," Benson savagely rejoined. "Anyhow, it will help us to light our fire, and we have a bit of whitefish and a few hard bannocks left."

Blake shared his comrade's disappointment. He was tired and hungry, and felt irritated by Harding's satisfaction. For all that, he chopped wood and made camp, and their frugal supper was half eaten before he turned to the American.

"Now," he said, "you may as well tell us what you think about this gas."

"First of all," Harding answered good-humouredly, "it indicates that there's oil somewhere about; the two generally go together. Anyhow, if there were only gas, it would be worth exploiting so long as we found enough of it, but judging by the pressure there's not much here."

"What would you do with gas in this wilderness?"

"In due time, I or somebody else would build a town. Fuel's power and if you could get it cheap I expect you'd find minerals that would pay for working. Men with money in Montreal and New York are looking for openings like this, and no place is too remote to build a railroad to if you can ensure freight."

"You're the most sanguine man I ever met," Blake said, grinning. "Take care your optimism doesn't ruin you."

"I wonder," Harding continued, "whether Clarke knows about this gas, and on the whole I think it probable. We can't be very far from the Stony camp, and there's reason to believe he's been prospecting this district. It's oil he's out for."

"How did the thing get lighted?" Benson asked in an indifferent tone.

Harding smiled as he gave him a sharp glance. He had failed in his search for the gum and did not expect his companions to share his enthusiasm over a new plan. They had, however, promised to support him, and that was enough, for he believed he might yet show them the way to prosperity.

"Well," he said, "I guess I can't blame you for not feeling very keen, but that's not the point. I can't answer what you ask, and I believe our forest wardens are now and then puzzled about how bush fires get started. We have crossed big belts of burnt trees in a country where we saw no signs of Indians."

"If this blower has been burning long, the Stonies must have known of it," Blake remarked. "Isn't it curious that no news of it has reached the settlements?"

"I'm not sure," Harding rejoined. "They may venerate the thing, and anyway, they're smart in some respects. They know that where the white men come their people are rounded up on reserves, and I guess they'd sooner have the whole country to themselves for trapping and fishing. Then Clarke may have persuaded them to say nothing."

"It's possible," Blake said thoughtfully. "We'll push on for their camp first thing to-morrow."