The Come Back Read online

  CHAPTER II

  The Labrador Wild

  It was late in July before Peter Boots marshaled his merry men and lethimself be marshaled by the guide, Joshua, on the trip of explorationand recreation.

  A liner took them as far as Newfoundland, and at St. John's, a smallersteamer, the _Victoria Lake_, received them for their journey fartherNorth. This ship belonged to a sealing fleet and also carried mails. Itwas not especially comfortable, and neither staterooms nor food were ofthe best.

  But Peter was discomfort-proof, and his negligence of bothersome detailsand happy acceptance of existing conditions set a standard for themanners and customs of their party. Joshua, who had come to New YorkCity to meet them, was not, by nature, possessed of the sort of heartthat doeth good like medicine. But under the sunny smile of Peter's blueeyes, his customary scowl softened to a look of mild wonder at theeffervescent gayety of the man who was yet so efficient and evenhard-working when occasion required it.

  Shelby was a close second in the matter of efficiency. He was a bigchap, not handsome, but good-looking, in a dark, dignified way, and of alithe, sinewy strength that enabled him to endure as well as to meethardship bravely.

  Not that they looked especially for hardships. Discomfort, evenunpleasantness, they did anticipate, but nothing of more importance thaninclement weather or possible colds or coughs. And against the latterills Mrs. Crane had provided both remedies and preventions to such anextent that some were discarded as excess weight.

  For the necessities of their trip, including as they did, canoe, tent,blankets, tarpaulins, duffel bags, shooting irons and cookingutensils,--besides food, were of no small bulk and weight even dividedamong four porters.

  And Blair, though possessed of will and energy quite equaling theothers', was less physically fit to stand the hard going.

  It was already August when they were treated to a first sight of theLabrador.

  "Great Scott!" exclaimed Shelby, "and Shackelton, and Peary,--yes andold Doc Cook! What an outlook! If those breaking waves were looking fora stern and rockbound coast to dash on, they missed it when they chosethe New England shore instead of this! I've seen crags and cliffs, I'veclimbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, but this puts it over allthe earth! How do we get in, anyway?"

  "Great, isn't it?" and Peter lay back in his inadequate little deckchair and beamed at the desolation he saw.

  For the coast of Labrador is nearly a thousand miles of barren bleaknessand forbidding and foreboding rock wall. After buffeting untold ages oficy gales and biting storms the bare rocks seem to discourage humanapproach and crave only their own black solitude.

  The one softening element was the fog that rode the sea, and now andthen swooped down, hiding the dangerous reefs until the danger wasincreased tenfold by the obscurity.

  "Oh, great!" mocked Shelby. "You can have mine. I'm going to stay on theboat and go back."

  "Yes, you are!" grinned Peter, knowing full well how little importanceto attach to that speech; "inside of a week, you'll be crazy about it."

  "I am now," said Blair, slowly. "Most weird sight I ever saw. The rocksseem like sentient giants ready to eat each other. Termagant Nature,unleashed and rampant."

  "Idea all right," said Crane, lazily, "but your verbiage isn'thand-picked, seems to me."

  "You can put it more poetically, if you like, but it's the thing itselfthat gets me, not the sand-papered description of it."

  "Nobody wants you to sand-paper it, but you ought to hew to the line alittle more nearly----"

  "Lines be bothered! Free verse is the thing for this place!"

  "I want free verse and I want fresh air," bantered Peter, "and Lasca,down by the Brandywine,--or wherever it was that Friend Lasca hung out."

  "You're harking back to your school days and Friday afternoondeclamation," put in Shelby, "and Lasca was down by the Rio Grande."

  "Only Alaska isn't down there at all," Blair informed them, quiteseriously, and the others roared.

  * * * * *

  After delays, changes and transfers made necessary by the uncertaintiesof Labrador travel, they came at last to Hamilton Inlet, and the littlesteamer approached the trading post at Rigolet.

  "Reminds me of Hamilton Harbor, Bermuda," observed Shelby, shivering ashe drew his furs round him.

  "Oh, how can you!" exclaimed Blair; "that heavenly Paradise of aplace,--and this!"

  "But you'd rather be here?" and Crane shook a warning fist at him.

  "Yes,--oh, yes! This is the life!" and if Blair wasn't quite sincere hegave a fair imitation of telling the truth.

  "Will you look at the dogs!" cried Crane. "I didn't know there were somany in the world!"

  The big Eskimo dogs were prowling about, growling a little, andappearing anything but friendly. Not even to sunny-faced andkindly-voiced Peter Boots did they respond, but snarled and pawed theground until Joshua advised Crane to let them alone.

  "They're mighty good things to keep away from," the guide informed, andhis advice was taken.

  "I'm glad we have a trusty canoe instead of those villainous lookingcreatures," Blair admitted, and when, later on, they heard tales of thebrutality and treachery of the pack dogs, the others agreed.

  At Rigolet final arrangements were decided on and last purchases madefor the dash into the wilds.

  Peter Boots, in his element, was as excited and pleased as a child witha new toy.

  "Here I am, where I've longed to be!" he exulted; "at least, I'm on myway. Buck up, you fellows, and enjoy yourselves, or you'll answer to mewhy not!"

  "I'm for it," Kit Shelby cried; "I hated that dinky little old steamer,but now we're ashore in this live wire of a place, I'm as excited andglad as anybody. I say, the mail from England comes every year! Think ofthat!"

  "Once a year!" wondered Blair.

  "Yep; the good ship _Pelican_ brought it yesterday, and it's due againnext summer! Up and coming, this place, I tell you!"

  "It nothing means to us," said Crane, calmly; "I'm expecting novalentines from England myself, and we'll be back home before mails fromthe States get around again."

  "And, moreover," said Shelby, who had been acquiring information byvarious means, "old Captain Whiskers, forninst, says that we're bound toget lost, strayed and stolen if we go the route we've planned."

  "That's our route, then!" Peter said, satisfiedly; "they always prophesyall sorts of dismal fates, and, like dreams, they go by contraries.'Fraid, boys!"

  He extricated himself from the onslaught this speech brought and thenall set about getting the outfit into shape for the start.

  Pounds and pounds of flour, bacon, lard, pea meal, tea, coffee, rice,tobacco and other necessaries were packed and stowed and maneuvered bythe capable Joshua, before whose superior judgment Peter Boots had tobow.

  Some natives were hired to help carry things that were to be cachedagainst the return trip, and three tired but happy men went to rest fortheir last night beneath a real roof for many weeks.

  Next morning their happiness was even greater and their spirits higher,for the day was clear and perfect, the air full of exhilarating ozoneand the golden sunlight and deep blue sky seemed to promise a fair tripand a safe return.

  Gayly they started off, and gayly they continued, save when the rainpoured unpleasantly, or the swarms of Labrador flies attacked them orsteep banks or swift rapids made portage difficult.

  However as no threats or persuasions could induce Joshua to travel inthe rain, there were enforced rests that helped in the long run.

  Another trial was the midday heat. Though the temperature might be atthe freezing point at night, by noon it would buoyantly rise to ninetydegrees, and the sudden changes made for colds and coughs, that were noteasily cured by Mrs. Crane's nostrums.

  "Fortunes of war," said Peter, serenely, and Shelby responded, "Ifthat's what they are, I'm a regular profiteer!"

  Days went by, the hours filled with alternate joy and woe, but acceptedphilosophica
lly by willing hearts who had already learned to love thevicissitudes of the wild.

  One morning a portage route was of necessity winding and rough. Not asmuch as usual could be carried by any of them and two or three trips oftwo miles must be made by each.

  Joshua arranged the loads to weigh about seventy pounds each, but thesebecame tiresome after a time. The work took all day, and when towardsunset camp was made and the tired pleasure seekers sought rest, eachwas far more exhausted than he was willing to admit.

  "Had enough?" asked Peter, smiling. "Turn back any time you fellows say.Want to quit?"

  "Quit! Never!" declared Shelby. "Go home when you like, or stay as longas you please, but no quitting!"

  "It's goin' be nice now," put in Joshua, who was always sensitive toany discontent with his beloved North land. "Nice fishin', nicesleepin',--oh, yes!"

  And there was. Rest that night on couches of spruce branches, thatrocked like a cradle, and smelled like Araby the Blest, more than knitup the raveled sleeve of the hard day before.

  And when they fished in a small, rocky stream, for heaven sent trout,contentment could go no further. Unless it might have been when laterthey ate the same trout, cooked to a turn by the resourceful Joshua, andthen, lounging at ease before a camp-fire that met all traditions, theysmoked and talked or were silent as the spirit moved.

  The black firs showed gaunt against the sky; the stars came out intwinkling myriads and the dash and roar of the river was anaccompaniment to their desultory chat.

  "If I were a poet," Blair said, "I'd quote poetry about now."

  "Your own, for choice?" asked Shelby, casually.

  "You _are_ a poet, Gil," said Peter. "I've noticed it all the way along.You don't have to lisp in numbers to be a poet. You just have to----"

  "Well, to what?" asked Blair, as Peter paused.

  "Why, you just have to want to recite poetry."

  "Yes, that's it," put in Shelby, quickly; "understand, Gilbert, dear,you don't have to recite it, you know, only want to recite it. If youobey your impulse,--you're no poet at all."

  "I'll restrain the impulse then,--but it's hard--hard!"

  "Oh, go ahead," laughed Kit, "if it's as hard as all that! I'll bet it'shighbrow stuff you want to get out of your system!"

  "Yes, it is. In fact it's Browning."

  "Oh, I don't mind him. Fire away."

  "Only this bit:

  "You're my friend; What a thing friendship is, world without end. How it gives the heart and the senses a stir-up, As if somebody broached you a glorious runlet----"

  "That'll do," laughed Peter. "That's far enough. And you didn't say itquite right, any way."

  "No matter," said Blair, earnestly; "I mean the thing. Without anypalaver, we three fellows are friends,--and I'm glad of it. That's all."

  "Thank you very much," said Shelby, "for my share. And old Pete isfairly overflowing with appreciation,--I see it in his baby-blueeyes----"

  "I'll baby you!" said Peter, with a ferocious smile. "Yes, old Gilbert,we're friends, or I shouldn't have picked us as the fittest for thistrip."

  "Good you did, for the fittest have the reputation of surviving."

  "Let up on the croaks," Peter spoke abruptly. "Have you noticed anyfearful dangers, that you apprehend non-survival of them?"

  "No; but----"

  "But nothing! Now, Blairsy, if you're in thoughtful mood, let's go onwith that plot we started yesterday."

  "What plot?' asked Shelby.

  "Oh, a great motive for a story or play. Setting up here in the Labradorwilds and----"

  Shelby yawned. "Mind if I doze off?" he said; "this fire issoporific----"

  "Don't mind a bit," returned Peter gayly; "rather you would, then Giland I can maudle on as we like."

  And they did. Both were of a literary turn, and though they had achievednothing of importance as yet, both hoped to write sooner or later.

  "A story," Peter said, "maybe a book, but more likely a short story,with a real O. Henry punch."

  "H'mph!" came in a disdainful grunt from the dozing Shelby.

  "You keep still, old lowbrow," advised Peter. "Don't sniff at yourbetters. There's a great little old plot here, and we're going to make agood thing of it and push it along."

  "Push away," and Shelby rolled himself over and dozed again.

  "Where's Joshua?" asked Crane, later, as, the talk over, they preparedto bunk on their evergreen boughs.

  "Haven't seen him since supper," said Shelby, sitting up and rubbing hiseyes. "Queer, isn't it?"

  Queer it surely was, and more so, as time went by and they could find notrace of their guide.

  "He can't be lost," said Kit; "he's too good a scout for that."

  "He can't have deserted us," declared Peter. "He's too good a friend forthat! He'll no more desert us than we'd desert one another."

  "Well, he's missing anyway," Blair said, undeniably; "then somethingmust have happened. Could he be caught in a trap?"

  "Not he! he's used to them about. No, he's had an accident, I think."Peter's eyes were anxious and his voice told of a fear of some realdisaster.

  The dusk fell early and though only about nine o'clock, it was as darkas midnight. Clouds had obscured the stars, and only the firelightrelieved the black darkness.

  But after an hour's worriment and distress on the part of the three menthe guide returned. He looked a little shame-faced, and was disinclinedto reply to their questions.

  "Come, now, Joshua, own up," directed Peter; "I see by your eyes you'vebeen up to mischief. Out with it!"

  "I--I got lost!" was the astonishing reply, and they all burst intolaughter. More at the rueful countenance, however, than at the news, forit was a serious matter.

  "You, a guide, lost!" exclaimed Shelby. "How did it happen?"

  "Dunno. Jest somehow couldn't find the way."

  "Hadn't you a compass?"

  "No, sir; I got sort of turned around like,--and I went a long hike thewrong way."

  Simply enough, to be sure, but apparently it was only good fortune thathad made him find at last the road home to camp.

  Light-hearted Peter dismissed the whole affair with a "Look out afterthis; and always carry a compass or take one of us boys along," and thenhe sought his fragrant, if not altogether downy couch.

  Blair, too, gave the episode little thought, but to Shelby it seemedmore important. If a hardened guide could get lost as easily as that, itmight happen to any of them. And a compass was not a sure safeguard. Aman could wander round and round without finding a fairly nearby camp.Shelby was a few years older than the other two, and of a far moreprudent nature. He had no dare-devil instincts, and not an overweeninglove of adventure. He was enjoying his trip because of the outdoor lifeand wildwood sports, but as for real adventure, he was content to omitit. Not from fear--Kit Shelby was as brave as any,--but he saw no sensein taking unnecessary risks.

  While risks were as the breath of life to Peter Boots. Indeed, he wassighing because the conditions of modern camping ways and the efficiencyof the guide left little or no chance for risk of life or limb.

  He didn't by any means want to lose life or limb, but he was not at allunwilling to risk them pretty desperately. And he found no opportunity.The days were pleasantly taken up with fishing, shooting, moving on,setting up and taking down camp, and all the expected routine of amountain expedition; but, so far, there had been nothing unusual or evenuncomfortable to any great degree.

  The next day brought a fearful storm, with gales and sleet and drivingrain and the temperature dropped many degrees.

  The party experienced their first really cold weather, and though itdepressed the others Peter seemed to revel in it.

  The tent was practically a prison, and an uncomfortable one, for thewind was terrific and the squalls became hourly more menacing.

  Shelby was quiet, by reason of a sore throat, and Blair was quiet with asilence that was almost sulky.

  Not quite though, for irrepressible Peter kept the cro
wd good-natured,by the simple process of making jokes and laughing at them himself, socontagiously, that all were forced to join in.

  But at last he tired of that, and announced that he was going to writeletters.

  "Do," said Shelby, "and hurry up with them. The postman will be alongany minute now."

  Peter grinned, and really set himself to work with paper and pencil.

  "I know what you're doing," said Blair; "you're beginning our story."

  "I'm not, but that isn't half a bad idea. Let's start in, Gil. We canplan it and make up names and things----"

  "Why can't you really write it?" asked Shelby. "I should think it wouldbe the psychological moment. Isn't it to be all about the storms andother indigenous delights of Labrador?"

  "You take that tone and I'll pitch you out into the indigenousdelights," threatened Peter. "Come on, Gilbert, let's block out thebackbone of the yarn right now."

  They set to work, and by dint of much discussing, disagreeing,ballyragging and bulldozing each other, they did make a fair start.

  "What's the heroine like?" asked Shelby, beginning to be interested.

  "Like Carly Harper," said Blair promptly.

  "Not the leastest, littlest mite like Carly Harper," said Peter, hisblue eyes hardening with determination.

  "Why not?" demanded Blair, who cared little what the heroine was like;but who objected to contradiction without reason.

  "Because I say not," returned Peter, impatiently. "The heroine is alittle rosy-cheeked, flaxen-haired doll. She has blue eyes,--somethinglike mine,--and a saucy, turn-up nose, and a dimple in her left cheek."

  "A peach," said Shelby, "but no sort of a heroine for that yarn you twofellows are spinning. I'm no author, but I'm an architect, and I can seethe incongruity."

  "If you know so much, write it yourself," said Peter, but not pettishly."If I'm doing it, I create my own heroine or I quit."

  "Oh, don't quit," begged Blair. "We're just getting a good start. Havethe treacle and taffy heroine if you like, only keep on."

  His point won, Peter did keep on, and a fair bit of work wasaccomplished. For the first time it began to seem as if the two authorswould really produce something worth while.

  "Not likely," Peter said, as they talked this over. "I'm no sort of acollaborator,--I'm too set in my ways. If I can't have it the way I wantit, I can't do it at all."

  "But you can have your own way in details," said Blair, musingly. "Theydon't matter much. Give me the swing of the plot and let me plan theclimaxes, and I care not who makes the laws for the heroine'scomplexion."

  "Well, I'm for a run in the rain," said Peter. "I've worked my braininto a tangled snarl, and I must go out and clear it out."

  He shook himself into his storm togs, and as no one cared to go withhim, he started off alone.