Chapter XXIV: Uncle Ben Appears

“Davy, I’ve got un! I’ve got un!” Andy suddenly shouted, seizing his sleeping bag with a display of frenzied joy.

“Got what?” asked David anxiously.

“Th’ sleepin’ bags! Th’ sleepin’ bags!” said Andy excitedly. “Don’t you see, Davy?”

“Aye, that’s a sleepin’ bag, I sees,” admitted David, quite startled by Andy’s unusual behavior, and certain enough the lad had gone stark mad, as sometimes happens with starving people.

“And we never thought of un!” explained Andy. “We never thought of un, and they right before our eyes all th’ time! We can cut un into strips and net th’ snowshoes with un!”

“Why didn’t we ever think o’ that, now!” exclaimed David, springing up and seizing his sleeping bag, now no less excited than was Andy himself.

It is the obvious that most of us overlook. The simple things that are before us are the things we never see. There, to be sure, were the sleeping bags. Cut into strips, the sealskins of which they were made would serve very well indeed for netting the snowshoes.

“A skin or two out of one of un’ll be plenty,” said David, opening his jackknife and proceeding at once to cut the sinew with which the bag was sewn. “One skin out’n my bag’ll be enough, Andy, don’t cut yours. You’re wonderful at thinkin’ up things, Andy. I never would have thought of un!”

“I just happened t’ think of un first,” said Andy, unwilling to take to himself all the credit.

Presently one of the sealskins was freed from the bag, and while Andy held it, David, working carefully with his jackknife, cutting around the edge in a spiral, soon reduced it into a single long string.

“Now we’ll have to soak un to make un soft,” said David, dropping the lashing into a kettle of water. “’Twon’t take long.”

Weaving the web upon the frames demanded patience, but late that night the snowshoes were finished, and though they were crude and roughly made, they were strong and serviceable enough for the purpose for which they were required.

“Pop always says right,” remarked Andy, when they hung the four snowshoes on the tilt wall to dry, and stood for a moment surveying their handiwork. “There is always a way out o’ the worst fix ever happened, if we only finds out what ’tis.”

“Aye,” agreed David, “out of _any_ fix!”

“They’ll save our lives,” said Andy. “I--I feels almost like cryin’, Davy.”

“Th’ Lard put un into your head t’ try th’ sealskin, Andy,” David spoke reverently. “Th’ Lard always seems t’ be watchin’ and helpin’ us, whatever happens, and we does what we can t’ help ourselves.”

“Aye,” said Andy, “He does that.”

And all in all the boys were right. He never does much for those who simply pray to Him, and then sit idly with folded hands and expect Him to do the rest. He gave us eyes to see and hands to work and planted in us the power to reason, and He filled the earth with all things necessary for the support of life. He expects us to do our best at all times--to use our brains, and hands and eyes and all our faculties--and then if we have faith He helps us to success, and our success in big things and little things alike depends upon how far we do our best.

It was scarce daybreak when, weak from their long fast, but happy in the assurance that their imprisonment was at an end and that safety was promised them, the boys donned their new snowshoes, and set out to the Narrows tilt.

The snowshoes proved over-small, and sank deeply into the new, soft snow. This held the boys to a slow pace, with the tedious and wearisome effort it demanded, and the sun had set before they made the last turn in the river above the tilt. David was hauling the toboggan, laden with their belongings, while Andy trudged in advance, both dragging their feet with painful effort. Suddenly Andy stopped, peering at the tilt, and shouted excitedly to David:

“Look! Look, Davy! There’s some one at the tilt!”

And David, looking, discovered smoke curling cheerfully up from the stovepipe.

Hurrying forward they were met at the door by a welcoming:

“Good gracious! Good gracious! And here you are! Both of you safe and sound. Dear eyes!” and a hearty handshake from Uncle Ben Rudder and Hiram Muggs.

Tears filled the eyes of both the lads as they grasped the big strong hands of their rescuers. The two men were a connecting link with The Jug and home, and with their appearance a vast load of responsibility rolled from the shoulders of David and Andy. Their lonely struggle with the wilderness was at an end.

“Where’s Indian Jake? Good gracious, where’s Indian Jake?” Uncle Ben exploded.

“We’re starvin’. We haven’t had anything to eat in days and days,” said David, irrevelantly.

Uncle Ben and Hiram were solicitous at once. They hurried the boys into the tilt, and would not permit them to talk or explain until they had eaten a supper of boiled partridges and camp bread and tea which Hiram had already prepared for himself and Uncle Ben.

“Don’t talk, now, but eat! Good gracious! starvin’! Eat, now, lads! Fill up! Fill up!” Uncle Ben kept repeating, though the manner in which the boys ate made it manifestly unnecessary for him to urge them.

When they had eaten until they could eat no more, and altogether more than was well for them, David recounted the events of the preceding weeks, while Uncle Ben interjected at frequent intervals one or all of his favorite exclamations:

“Good gracious! I told you so! D-e-a-r eyes!”

“And,” added David at the conclusion of his narrative, “’twas wonderful fine for you t’ come here t’ help us out.”

“And so Indian Jake has gone!” said Uncle Ben. “Good gracious! I warned Thomas Angus not t’ trust that half-breed!”

“But--but don’t you suppose now he’s gone home with th’ fur?” asked David anxiously.

“Gone home with un? Good gracious, no! I’d never go home with un!” declared Uncle Ben. “And you saw no tracks which way he were goin’?”

“No,” answered David dejectedly, “th’ snow had covered un before we gets here.”

“Hum-m-m! Hum-m-m!” grunted Uncle Ben several times. “He’s well out o’ th’ country by now. Good gracious, yes! No catchin’ him now. And gone with all th’ fur! Good gracious! Good gracious me, with all th’ fur!”

Then he explained that he and Hiram had gone directly to his home at Tuggle Bight after his visit at The Jug in the fall, and all the way home they had talked of how foolish and headstrong Thomas Angus was in sending Indian Jake to the trails with David and Andy.

“And I says t’ Hiram: ‘Hiram,’ says I, ‘Thomas Angus and Doctor Joe has got t’ have th’ fur them lads gets, t’ have th’ little lad cured, and we got t’ see to it that Indian Jake don’t steal un!’ Good gracious, yes! I says that t’ Hiram. Didn’t I, Hiram?”

“You did, now,” agreed Hiram.

“Then we fixes it up t’ trap along the Nascaupee th’ winter, where no one could get out o’ th’ country without our seein’ ’em,” continued Uncle Ben. “Dear eyes, we had un all fixed right, but our plan missed fire! Good gracious! She missed fire! Indian Jake must ha’ seen our tilt with his Indian eyes, and sneaked past down t’other side o’ th’ river in th’ night, and we never see him! Good gracious, never seen hide or hair or feather of him! He must ha’ done that, Hiram?”

“He must ha’ done it,” said Hiram solemnly.

“I were expectin’ he’d try t’ steal Tom Angus’s third o’ th’ fur he hunted, _what_ever,” declared Uncle Ben, “but I weren’t certain he’d steal your fur, too, lads. Good gracious, no! I knew he were bad, but I didn’t think he’d do _that_! And he’s gone with un all, lock, stock _and_ barrel! And we’ll never see him again. The _scamp_! Good gracious, yes, a _scamp_! Nothin’ else but a scamp, and such a scamp as I never thought lived! D-e-a-r eyes!”

“A _wonder_ful scamp!” agreed Hiram.

Uncle Ben and Hiram had struck up their traps, and then come up the river to Seal Lake to “keep an eye,” as Uncle Ben said, on Indian Jake until the break-up. They had expected to return with the boys and Indian Jake, stopping at their tilt for their own furs as they passed down the Nascaupee, and then, still acting as guard, continue with the boys until the furs were safely delivered to Thomas at The Jug.

“You lads need us now to cheer you a bit! Dear eyes! You _needs_ cheerin’,” Uncle Ben declared. “We’ll wait here for th’ break-up and all go home together, and _we’ll_ cheer you. Good gracious, yes!”

But now that David and Andy were assured their precious furs were really gone they felt anything but cheered. And that night, and for many nights that followed, their hearts were heavy indeed.

“What, now, would become of Jamie?” was the question always on their mind, and they could not answer it, and they even forgot Doctor Joe’s cheerful song.

They could picture Jamie, and their father, and Margaret, and Doctor Joe, with loving and abiding confidence and faith in them waiting at home for their return. Jamie’s lifelong happiness depended upon the furs that had been stolen. Doctor Joe had said that Jamie would become blind if he did not go to the great doctor for the cure. Now Jamie could not go, and the ordeal of their homecoming empty-handed, and the disappointment of Jamie and the others, seemed to them more than they could bear. And when they thought of all this they almost regretted that they had not indeed perished in the blizzard, or starved in the tilt.