And so they started again, half glad to go, half unwilling to leave. It was the terrible uncertainty that told on them. They shrank from facing the thought of what it would mean if they didn't find Peter, and forced themselves to believe that they would meet him.
Their objective point was a trapper's log house on the shore of the lake.
They reached it, tired, footsore, but full of hope for good news. A quick glance round the tiny interior, consisting of but two rooms, showed no smiling-faced Peter.
A few words from Joshua to the trappers gave no cause for rejoicing, and further conversation and explanation revealed the fact that the experienced trappers had no doubt as to Peter's fate.
Nor did they blame Joshua in any way. Had he stayed for a longer search, they averred, there would have been four dead men instead of one.
And then both Shelby and Blair realized that Joshua's expressed hopefulness of finding Peter safe at the end of their journey was merely by way of urging them to move on, knowing the result if they did not.
They also realized that he was right. The opinions and assertions of the experienced trappers could not be gainsaid. The two came to know that there was but one fate that could have overtaken their comrade and that there was no hope possible.
If Shelby had a slight feeling that Blair ought to have looked back oftener, he gave it no voice, for he knew he himself had never looked back with any idea of watching over Blair. To be sure the last one of the four was in the most dangerous position, but Peter had come last by mere chance, and no one had given that point a thought.
They surmised something must have disabled him. Perhaps a cramp or a fainting spell of exhaustion. But it was necessarily only surmise, and one theory was as tenable as another.
Long parleys were held by Blair and Shelby as to what was best to be done. It proved to be impossible to persuade any one to start on a search for the body of Crane. The winter had set in and it was a hopeless task to undertake in the snows of the wild. No, they were told, not until March at the earliest, could a search be undertaken, and there was small chance of finding the body until later spring melted the snow. It was to be an especially bad winter, all agreed, and no pleas, bribes or threats of the men could move the natives from their decision.
Then, they debated, should they go home, or wait till spring?
The latter plan seemed foolish, for it was now nearly November and to wait there idly for five or six months was appalling. Moreover, it seemed their duty to go home and report Peter's loss to his father, even if they returned in the spring to search for the body of their chum.
The last boat left for Newfoundland the middle of November, and they concluded that if there was no news of Peter by that time they would sail on it. "I feel cowardly to go," said Shelby, whose brain was weary, working out the problem of duty. "Yet, why stay?"
"It's right to go," Blair said, gravely. "You see, Mr. Crane must be told, – not written to."
"One of us might go, – and one stay," Shelby suggested.
"No use in that," Blair said, after a moment's consideration; "the remaining one couldn't do anything."
"You men talk foolishness," said Joshua, gravely. "Mr. Peter Crane is by this time buried under eight feet of snow. You can do nothing. You'd both better go home."
So they went.
CHAPTER IV
The Prophecy Recalled
The steamer from Newfoundland that brought Shelby and Blair to New York arrived during Christmas week.
The two men, however, were far from feeling holiday cheer as they reached the wharf and faced the hard trial of telling Mr. and Mrs. Crane of their son's death.
But it had to be done, and they felt it their duty to lose no time in performing the sad errand.
No one met them at the steamer, for its hour of arrival was uncertain and they had discouraged their friends from the attempt.
Indeed only telegrams from Newfoundland had apprised any one of their arrival, for letters would have come by the same boat they came themselves.
"Let's go straight to the Cranes' and get it over," said Blair; with a sigh. "I dread the ordeal."
"So do I," Shelby confessed. "I wish we could see Mr. Crane alone, first."
"We must do that, of course. It's only eight o'clock, and we're ready to start now. Come ahead."
They sent their luggage to their homes and took a taxi for the Crane town house, on upper Park Avenue.
By good fortune, Mr. Crane was at home and received them in his library. They had asked to see him alone, giving no names.
"My stars, if it isn't the wanderers returned!" exclaimed their host, as he entered and saw the two. "Where's my boy? Hiding behind the window curtain?"
But the expression on his visitors' faces suddenly checked his speech, and turning pale, Benjamin Crane dropped into the nearest chair.
"What is it?" he whispered, in a shaking voice. "I know it's bad news. Is Peter – "
"Yes," said Shelby, gently, but feeling that the shortest statement was most merciful. "The Labrador got him."
By a strange locution, Labrador, as we call it, is spoken of up there as The Labrador, and the phrase gives a sinister sound to the name. It personifies it, and makes it seem like a living menace, a sentient danger.
"Tell me about it," said Benjamin Crane, and his tense, strained voice told more of his grief than any outburst could have done.
"Lost in the snow! My little Peter Boots – " he said, after he had listened in silence to their broken recital. "Tell me more," he urged, and eagerly drank in any details they could give him of the tragedy and also of the doings of the party before that last, fatal day.
Blair looked at him in secret amazement. How could the man take it so calmly? But Shelby, a deeper student of human character, understood how the fearful shock of tragedy had stunned the loving father-heart. Slowly and quietly, Shelby related many incidents of the trip, drew word pictures of Peter in his gayest moods, told tales of his courage, bravery and unfailing good spirits.
But, though these things interested Crane and held his attention, there was no way to lessen the poignant sorrow of the last story, – the account of the terrible storm and the awful fate of Peter.
Shelby broke down, and Blair finished, with a few broken sentences.
The deep grief of the two, the sincere love of Peter and sorrow at his death proved better than protestations that they had done all mortal effort could do.
"I am not sure, sir," Shelby said, finally, "that we acted wisely, but it seemed the only course to take. We could not persuade any one to go for us or with us in search of Peter's body, until March at the earliest. To go alone, was mere suicide, and though I was tempted to do even that, rather than to return without him, it would not have been allowed."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," Crane said, quickly, "I wouldn't have had you do otherwise than just as you did. There was no use trying the impossible."
"But we will return in March – " began Blair.
"Perhaps," said Crane, a little preoccupied in manner, "or I will send a search party myself. There's no reason you boys should go."
This was a real relief, for though more than willing, the two men were far from anxious to undertake the gruesome errand.
"And now," their host went on, "if you agree, I'll send for Mrs. Crane. At first, I thought I'd rather tell her the news when we were by ourselves, – but, I know there are questions she will want to ask you, things that I might not think of, – and I know you'll be willing to answer her."
All unconscious of the scene awaiting her, Mrs. Crane came into the room.
A bewildered look on her sweet, placid face showed her inability to grasp the situation quickly.
Then,