The Come Back. Wells Carolyn
me of Hamilton Harbor, Bermuda," observed Shelby, shivering as he drew his furs round him.
"Oh, how can you!" exclaimed Blair; "that heavenly Paradise of a place, – 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 he gave a fair imitation of telling the truth.
"Will you look at the dogs!" cried Crane. "I didn't know there were so many in the world!"
The big Eskimo dogs were prowling about, growling a little, and appearing anything but friendly. Not even to sunny-faced and kindly-voiced Peter Boots did they respond, but snarled and pawed the ground until Joshua advised Crane to let them alone.
"They're mighty good things to keep away from," the guide informed, and his advice was taken.
"I'm glad we have a trusty canoe instead of those villainous looking creatures," Blair admitted, and when, later on, they heard tales of the brutality and treachery of the pack dogs, the others agreed.
At Rigolet final arrangements were decided on and last purchases made for the dash into the wilds.
Peter Boots, in his element, was as excited and pleased as a child with a new toy.
"Here I am, where I've longed to be!" he exulted; "at least, I'm on my way. Buck up, you fellows, and enjoy yourselves, or you'll answer to me why 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 and glad as anybody. I say, the mail from England comes every year! Think of that!"
"Once a year!" wondered Blair.
"Yep; the good ship Pelican brought it yesterday, and it's due again next summer! Up and coming, this place, I tell you!"
"It nothing means to us," said Crane, calmly; "I'm expecting no valentines from England myself, and we'll be back home before mails from the States get around again."
"And, moreover," said Shelby, who had been acquiring information by various means, "old Captain Whiskers, forninst, says that we're bound to get lost, strayed and stolen if we go the route we've planned."
"That's our route, then!" Peter said, satisfiedly; "they always prophesy all sorts of dismal fates, and, like dreams, they go by contraries. 'Fraid, boys!"
He extricated himself from the onslaught this speech brought and then all 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 by the capable Joshua, before whose superior judgment Peter Boots had to bow.
Some natives were hired to help carry things that were to be cached against the return trip, and three tired but happy men went to rest for their 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 ozone and the golden sunlight and deep blue sky seemed to promise a fair trip and a safe return.
Gayly they started off, and gayly they continued, save when the rain poured unpleasantly, or the swarms of Labrador flies attacked them or steep banks or swift rapids made portage difficult.
However as no threats or persuasions could induce Joshua to travel in the rain, there were enforced rests that helped in the long run.
Another trial was the midday heat. Though the temperature might be at the freezing point at night, by noon it would buoyantly rise to ninety degrees, and the sudden changes made for colds and coughs, that were not easily cured by Mrs. Crane's nostrums.
"Fortunes of war," said Peter, serenely, and Shelby responded, "If that's what they are, I'm a regular profiteer!"
Days went by, the hours filled with alternate joy and woe, but accepted philosophically by willing hearts who had already learned to love the vicissitudes of the wild.
One morning a portage route was of necessity winding and rough. Not as much as usual could be carried by any of them and two or three trips of two miles must be made by each.
Joshua arranged the loads to weigh about seventy pounds each, but these became tiresome after a time. The work took all day, and when toward sunset camp was made and the tired pleasure seekers sought rest, each was 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 long as you please, but no quitting!"
"It's goin' be nice now," put in Joshua, who was always sensitive to any discontent with his beloved North land. "Nice fishin', nice sleepin', – oh, yes!"
And there was. Rest that night on couches of spruce branches, that rocked like a cradle, and smelled like Araby the Blest, more than knit up 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 later they ate the same trout, cooked to a turn by the resourceful Joshua, and then, lounging at ease before a camp-fire that met all traditions, they smoked and talked or were silent as the spirit moved.
The black firs showed gaunt against the sky; the stars came out in twinkling myriads and the dash and roar of the river was an accompaniment 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 you obey 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's highbrow 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 it quite right, any way."
"No matter," said Blair, earnestly; "I mean the thing. Without any palaver, 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 is fairly overflowing with appreciation, – I see it in his baby-blue eyes – "
"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 this trip."
"Good you did, for the fittest have the reputation of surviving."
"Let up on the croaks," Peter spoke abruptly. "Have you noticed any fearful dangers, that you apprehend non-survival of them?"
"No; but – "
"But nothing! Now, Blairsy, if you're in thoughtful mood, let's go on with that plot we started yesterday."
"What plot?' asked Shelby.
"Oh, a great motive for a story or play. Setting up here in the Labrador wilds and – "
Shelby yawned. "Mind if I doze off?" he said; "this fire is soporific – "
"Don't