_ CHAPTER THREE. IN THE DARK
The horrible chill of impending death, the bright light of reason, and the intense desire to live, roused the half-stunned adventurer to action.
Die? Like that? No!--when salvation was offered to him in this way.
It was horrible, but it was for life. There, close by him, slightly powdered with snow, was the unfortunate's sledge, and in an instant he was tearing at the rope which bound its load to the framework.
He could hardly believe his good fortune, for as the rope fell from the packages the first thing he set free was a fur-lined coat, possibly one which the dead man was too much exhausted to assume.
Suffering keenly from the cold, this was put on at once; and then, continuing the search, it was to find that a rifle was bound along one side, balanced by tools on the other. Then there were blankets and stores similar, as far as he could judge, to those with which his own sledge had been laden.
The warmth afforded by the thick garment and the exertion increased the thrill of returning energy. For he was no longer helpless to continue his journey. It could be no act of injustice to the dead to take possession of the means of saving his own life; and now all thought of giving up without making a desperate struggle was completely gone.
Soon after a fresh thrill of returning energy swept through him, and, turning quickly back to where the dead were lying, he knelt there, hesitating for a few moments before, with his determination increasing, he softly thrust the dog aside, and felt about the dead man's waist.
He shuddered as his hands came in contact with the icy feeling of cold, but it was for life, and a feeling of joy shot through him, for it was as he had hoped. In a few minutes he had unfastened a buckle, turned the body over slightly, and that which he sought to obtain yielded to the steady pull he gave.
He had drawn free the dead man's belt, bringing with it his revolver in its little holster and the pouchful of cartridges.
That seemed to give new life to him as he buckled the belt about his waist. Then, taking out the pistol, he felt it in the dark, to find that it was loaded in every chamber, and that the lock worked easily and well.
The pistol replaced in the belt, the young man remained thinking, with all his energy seeming to have returned. What was he to do next? There was food of some kind on the sledge, and he must eat. There were blankets, and with them and the sledge for shelter he must rest and sleep.
There was the dead man and his faithful dog, but their near presence brought no feeling of horror. He felt that he could kneel down by the poor fellow and offer up a prayer for His mercies, and then lie down to sleep in perfect trust of awakening at daybreak, for he was no longer suffering from exhaustion, and hardly felt the cold.
"But not yet--not yet," he muttered, and a faint sound broke the silence as he stood there, his teeth grinding softly together, while his next words, uttered half aloud, told the direction his thoughts had taken.
"The cowardly dogs!" he exclaimed. "Three to one, and him unarmed. But not now--not now."
A brief search brought his hands in contact with a canvas satchel-bag, in which were ship's biscuits, and one of these he took. It would suffice.
Breaking it and beginning to eat, he set off at once on the back track to execute his daring project, one which made him glow to his finger-tips.
"Better go on," he said with a mocking laugh. "Yes, but not yet. They're cowards--such scoundrels always are--and the darkness will magnify the number of the attack.
"Bah! talking to myself again; but I'm not going mad. I can't go on without letting them taste something of what they have given me."
He tramped on slowly, but the return journey seemed less difficult, and he wondered now that he should feel so fresh and glowing with a spreading warmth. It was as dark as ever, but he had no fear of not finding his way; and sooner than he expected, and just as he was finishing the last scrap of hard biscuit, he caught sight of the faint light of the fire from which he had been driven.
The sight of it sent fresh vigour through his limbs, and his plan was soon made. He would keep on till there was the risk of being heard, and then creep closer till well within shot, and his sleeping enemies thrown up by the fire, which they had evidently made up well before settling themselves down for the night.
He felt sure that at the first report they would spring up and run for their lives, and he meant to fire at each if he had time, and scare them, for he felt disposed to show as much mercy as he would to a pack of savage wolves.
But matters were not to fall out exactly as he had calculated. He tramped steadily on, with the fire growing brighter, and at last he took out the revolver to examine it by touch once more, as he walked on more swiftly now, meaning to go forward a hundred yards or so and then proceed more cautiously, so as to make sure the enemy was asleep.
All at once he stopped short, startled.
The enemy was not asleep, for he saw a dark shadow pass before the glowing light.
The adventurer stopped short for a few moments, but not in hesitation. It was merely to alter his plan of attack; but the next minute all planning was cast to the winds, for there rang out on the night air a wild cry for help--such an appeal as he had himself uttered so short a time before.
The cry was repeated, sending a thrill of excitement through the listener, and telling its own tale. To the hearer it was as plain as if he had been told that the gang of ruffians had waylaid another unfortunate, who was about to share his own fate.
He rushed forward at once, and as he ran and stumbled he could see that a desperate struggle was going on, figures in fierce contention passing in front of and once trampling through the fire, whose embers were kicked and scattered in all directions.
Suddenly two figures stepped aside into the full light, leaving two others wrestling together; and this was the opportunity needed. Their first victim could see plainly that the former were enemies, and stopping short when about twenty yards away, he fired. Both turned to gaze in the direction from which the flash and report had come.
They were in time to see another flash. Another report raised the echoes, and they turned and fled.
Then the struggle ceased, and the adventurer saw another figure disappearing into the darkness after his two companions.
As he dashed off the young fellow rushed up in time to seize the victim, who staggered helplessly, trampling among the burning embers, among which he would have fallen but for the willing hands which dragged him aside, and lowered him down, before their owner began to kick about and scatter the fire, which hissed and smoked and steamed, as snow was heaped over, and raised a veil to hide the pair from their enemies while the bright light was dying out.
The next act was to find out whether the enemy were yet in the vicinity. The adventurer advanced for some distance into the darkness, but all was still.
Satisfied that he could not be seen, the young man went on for some little distance; but it was evident that the sudden attack had done its work, and the party had fled for their lives.
"The question is, will they recover themselves and come back?" he muttered. "Well, we must be on our guard. Two in the right against three in the wrong. Those are fair odds. _Two_ in the right! Suppose it is only one."
He hurried back towards the scene of the encounter, guided by the faintly glowing embers lying here and there, and the dark, blinding wood-smoke which was borne towards him by the light icy wind which came down the defile.
"Suppose they have killed him!"
"Who are you? But whoever you are," came in a hoarse whisper, "if it hadn't been for you those ruffians would have settled me."
"Thank heaven, then, I was in time. Can you help me trample out the rest or this fire?"
"Hadn't we better escape? You might help me drag my sled into a place of safety."
"There is no place of safety near," was the reply; "and it's cold enough to freeze us to death. We had better stay here."
"But we dare not light a fire; they would see us, and come and pick us off."
"I don't think the cowardly hounds will dare to come back."
"But they might, and I dare not risk it."
"Are you hurt?"
"Not seriously, but wrenched and strained in the struggle. Can you understand what I say? I don't know my own voice."
"Yes, I can hear you. What is it--a cold?"
"No; I was right enough an hour ago. That red-bearded dog caught me by the throat. He was trying to strangle me. I fired at random, and then my senses were going, but I heard your shots. He has quite taken away my voice. Where is your hand, sir?"
"Here: what do you want?"
"Just to make mine speak to it in a friendly grip. God bless you, sir! you've saved my life. I can't say more now."
"Don't. There: we have no light to betray us now." _