At midnight Injin Charley called a halt.He spread his blanket;leaned on one elbow long enough to eat strip of dried meat, and fell asleep.Thorpe imitated his example.Three hours later the Indian roused his companion, and the two set out again.
Thorpe had walked a leisurely ten days through the woods far to the north.In that journey he had encountered many difficulties.
Sometimes he had been tangled for hours at a time in a dense and almost impenetrable thicket.Again he had spent a half day in crossing a treacherous swamp.Or there had interposed in his trail abattises of down timber a quarter of a mile wide over which it had been necessary to pick a precarious way eight or ten feet from the ground.
This journey was in comparison easy.Most of the time the travellers walked along high beech ridges or through the hardwood forests.
Occasionally they were forced to pass into the lowlands, but always little saving spits of highland reaching out towards each other abridged the necessary wallowing.Twice they swam rivers.
At first Thorpe thought this was because the country was more open;but as he gave better attention to their route, he learned to ascribe it entirely to the skill of his companion.The Indian seemed by a species of instinct to select the most practicable routes.He seemed to know how the land ought to lie, so that he was never deceived by appearances into entering a cul de sac.His beech ridges always led to other beech ridges; his hardwood never petered out into the terrible black swamps.Sometimes Thorpe became sensible that they had commenced a long detour; but it was never an abrupt detour, unforeseen and blind.
From three o'clock until eight they walked continually without a pause, without an instant's breathing spell.Then they rested a half hour, ate a little venison, and smoked a pipe.
An hour after noon they repeated the rest.Thorpe rose with a certain physical reluctance.The Indian seemed as fresh--or as tired--as when he started.At sunset they took an hour.Then forward again by the dim intermittent light of the moon and stars through the ghostly haunted forest, until Thorpe thought he would drop with weariness, and was mentally incapable of contemplating more than a hundred steps in advance.
"When I get to that square patch of light, I'll quit," he would say to himself, and struggle painfully the required twenty rods.
"No, I won't quit here," he would continue, "I'll make it that birch.Then I'll lie down and die."And so on.To the actual physical exhaustion of Thorpe's muscles was added that immense mental weariness which uncertainty of the time and distance inflicts on a man.The journey might last a week, for all he knew.In the presence of an emergency these men of action had actually not exchanged a dozen words.The Indian led; Thorpe followed.
When the halt was called, Thorpe fell into his blanket too weary even to eat.Next morning sharp, shooting pains, like the stabs of swords, ran through his groin.
"You come," repeated the Indian, stolid as ever.
When the sun was an hour high the travellers suddenly ran into a trail, which as suddenly dived into a spruce thicket.On the other side of it Thorpe unexpectedly found himself in an extensive clearing, dotted with the blackened stumps of pines.Athwart the distance he could perceive the wide blue horizon of Lake Michigan.
He had crossed the Upper Peninsula on foot!
"Boat come by to-day," said Injin Charley, indicating the tall stacks of a mill."Him no stop.You mak' him stop take you with him.
You get train Mackinaw City tonight.Dose men, dey on dat train."Thorpe calculated rapidly.The enemy would require, even with their teams, a day to cover the thirty miles to the fishing village of Munising, whence the stage ran each morning to Seney, the present terminal of the South Shore Railroad.He, Thorpe, on foot and three hours behind, could never have caught the stage.But from Seney only one train a day was despatched to connect at Mackinaw City with the Michigan Central, and on that one train, due to leave this very morning, the up-river man was just about pulling out.He would arrive at Mackinaw City at four o'clock of the afternoon, where he would be forced to wait until eight in the evening.By catching a boat at the mill to which Injin Charley had led him, Thorpe could still make the same train.Thus the start in the race for Detroit's Land Office would be fair.
"All right," he cried, all his energy returning to him."Here goes! We'll beat him out yet!""You come back?" inquired the Indian, peering with a certain anxiety into his companion's eyes.
"Come back!" cried Thorpe."You bet your hat!""I wait," replied the Indian, and was gone.
"Oh, Charley!" shouted Thorpe in surprise."Come on and get a square meal, anyway."But the Indian was already on his way back to the distant Ossawinamakee.
Thorpe hesitated in two minds whether to follow and attempt further persuasion, for he felt keenly the interest the other had displayed.
Then he saw, over the headland to the east, a dense trail of black smoke.He set off on a stumbling run towards the mill.
Chapter XXI
He arrived out of breath in a typical little mill town consisting of the usual unpainted houses, the saloons, mill, office, and general store.To the latter he addressed himself for information.
The proprietor, still sleepy, was mopping out the place.
"Does that boat stop here?" shouted Thorpe across the suds.
"Sometimes," replied the man somnolently.
"Not always?"
"Only when there's freight for her."
"Doesn't she stop for passengers?"
"Nope."
"How does she know when there's freight?""Oh, they signal her from the mill--" but Thorpe was gone.
At the mill Thorpe dove for the engine room.He knew that elsewhere the clang of machinery and the hurry of business would leave scant attention for him.And besides, from the engine room the signals would be given.He found, as is often the case in north-country sawmills, a Scotchman in charge.
"Does the boat stop here this morning?" he inquired.
