The Masters of the Peaks: A Story of the Great North WoodsAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Masters of the Peaks: A Story of the Great North Woods
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- French and Indian War, 1754-1763 -- Juvenile fiction
They toiled on, now and then falling on the slippery trail, their
vitality sinking lower and lower. Occasionally they had glimpses of a
vast desolate region under a somber sky, peaks and ridges and slopes
over which clouds hovered, the whole seeming to resent the entry of
man and to offer to him every kind of resistance.
Robert was now wet through and through. No part of his body had
escaped and he knew that his vitality was at such a low ebb that at
least seventy-five per cent, of it was gone. He wanted to stop, his
cold and aching limbs cried out for rest, and he craved heat at the
cost of every risk, but his will was still firm, and he would not be
the first to speak. It was Willet who suggested when they came to a
slight dip that they make an effort to build a fire.
"The human body, no matter how strong it may be naturally, and how
much it may be toughened by experience, will stand only so much," he
said.
They were constantly building fires in the wilderness, but the fire
they built that morning was the hardest of them all to start. They
selected, as usual, the lee of a rocky uplift, and, then by the
patient use of flint and steel, and, after many failures, they
kindled a blaze that would last. But in their reduced state the labor
exhausted them, and it was some time before they drew any life from
the warmth. When the circulation had been restored somewhat they piled
on more wood, taking the chance of being seen. They even went so far
as to build a second fire, that they might sit between the two and dry
themselves more rapidly. Then they waited in silence the coming of the
dawn.
CHAPTER III
THE BRAVE DEFENSE
Robert hoped for a fair morning. Surely Areskoui would relent now! But
the sun that crept languidly up the horizon was invisible to them,
hidden by a dark curtain of clouds that might shed, at any moment,
torrents of rain or hail or snow. The whole earth swam in chilly
damp. Banks of cold fog filled the valleys and gorges, and shreds and
patches of it floated along the peaks and ridges. The double fires had
dried his clothing and had sent warmth into his veins, increasing his
vitality somewhat, but it was far below normal nevertheless. He had an
immense aversion to further movement. He wanted to stay there between
the coals, awaiting passively whatever fate might have for him.
Somehow, his will to make an effort and live seemed to have gone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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