Chapter 5. Hand In Hand

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_ CHAPTER FIVE. HAND IN HAND

There was the sense of a terrible weight pressing the sufferers down, with their chests against the soft load bound upon the sledge in front; and utterly stunned, they lay for a time motionless, and almost breathless.

Then one began to struggle violently, striving to draw himself back, and after a tremendous effort succeeding, to find that beneath him the snow was loose, there being a narrow space along by the side of the sledge, and that though his breath came short he could still breathe.

He had hardly grasped this fact when the movement on his right told of a similar action going on, and he began to help his companion in misfortune, who directly after crouched down beside him, panting heavily, in the narrow space, which their efforts had, however, made wider.

"Horrible!" panted the second at last. "An avalanche. Surely this does not mean death."

There was no reply, and in the awful darkness a hand was stretched out and an arm grasped.

"Why don't you say something?" whispered the speaker hoarsely.

"What can I say, man? God only knows."

"But it is only snow. We must burrow our way out. Wait a moment. This way is towards the open valley."

"No, no; this. Beyond you is the wall of rock. Let me try."

For the next ten minutes there was the sound of one struggling to get through the snow, and then it ended with the hoarse panting of a man lying exhausted with his efforts.

"Let me come and try now," came in smothered accents.

"It is of no use. The snow was loose at first, but farther on it is pressed together hard like ice. Try your way."

The scuffling and tearing commenced now to the right.

"Yes; it's quite loose now, and falls down. Ah! _no good_; here is the solid rock running up as far as I can reach."

"I can hardly breathe. It is growing hotter every moment."

"No; it is cooler here. I can reach right up and stand against the rock."

The speaker's companion in the terrible peril crept over the snow to his side and rose to his feet, to find the air purer; and, like a drowning man who had raised his head for the moment above water, he drank in deep draughts of the cold, sweet air.

"Hah!" he gasped at last hoarsely, after reaching up as high as he could, "the rock has saved us for the moment. The snow slopes away from it like the roof of a shed."

"Yes; if we had been a few feet farther from it we should have been crushed to death. Let's try and tear a way along by the foot of the rock."

They tried hard in turn till they were utterly exhausted and lay panting; but the only result was that the loose snow beneath them became trampled down. No, not the only result; they increased the space within what was fast becoming a snow cavern, one of whose walls was the solid rocky side of the ravine.

"Are we to die like this?"

"Is this to be the end of all our golden hopes? Oh, heaven help us! What shall we do? The air is growing hotter; we have nearly exhausted it all, and suffocation is coming on fast. I can't, I won't die yet. Help! help! help!"

Those three last words came in a hoarse faint wail that sounded smothered and strange.

"Hush!" cried the other; "be a man. You are killing yourself. The air is not worse. I can breathe freely still."

There was a horrible pause, and then, in pitiful tones: "I am fighting down this fearful feeling of cowardice, but it is so hard--so hard to die so soon. Not twenty yet, and the bright world and all its hopeful promise before one. How can you keep like that? Are you not afraid to die?"

"Yes," came in a low, sad whisper; "but we must not die like this. Tell me you can breathe yet?"

"Yes," came in the husky, grating tones; "better and better now I am still."

"Then there is hope. We are on the track; others will come after a time, and we may be dug out."

"Hah! I dare not think it. I say."

"Yes?"

"Do you think those wretches have been caught by the fall as well?"

"If they were near they must have been."

"Yes, and we heard them."

"No, no," sighed the other; "those were patches of snow falling that we heard."

There was silence then, save that twice over a soft whisper was heard, and then a low, deep sigh.

"I say."

"Yes?"

"I feel sure that air must come to us. I can breathe quite easily still."

"Yes."

"Then we must try and bear it for a time. I'm going to believe that we may be dug out. Shall we try to sleep, and forget our horrible position?"

"Impossible, my lad. For me, that is. You try."

"No; you are right. I couldn't sleep. But, yes, I can breathe better still. There must be air coming in from up above. Well, why don't you speak? Say something, man."

"I cannot talk."

"You must--you shall, so as to keep from thinking of our being--oh, help! help! help!"

"Man, man! don't cry out in that horrible way;" and one shook the other fiercely, till he sobbed out, "Yes; go on. I am a coward; but the thought came upon me, and seemed to crush me."

"What thought? That we must die?"

"No, no," groaned the other in his husky voice; "that we are buried alive."

Once more there was silence, during which the elder and firmer grasped the hand of his brother in adversity. "Yes, yes," he whispered, "it is horrible to think of; but for our manhood's sake keep up, lad. We are not children, to be frightened of being in the dark."

"No; you are right."

"Here, help me sweep away the snow from under us. No, no. Here is the waterproof sheet. We can drag it out--yes, I can feel the sledges. Let's drag out those blankets."

"No, no, don't stir; you may bring down the snow roof upon our heads. I mean, yes. I'll try and help you."

They worked busily for a few minutes, and then knelt together upon what felt like a soft couch.

"There's food, and the snow for water; it would be long before we should starve. Why are you so silent now? Come, we must rest, and then try to cut our way out when the daylight comes."

"The daylight!" said the other, with a mocking laugh.

"Yes; we may see a dim dawn to show us which way to tunnel."

"Ah, of course!"

"Could you sleep now?"

"No, no; we must talk, or I shall go off my head. That brute hurt me so, it has made me rather strange. Yes, I must talk. I say: God bless you, old fellow! You saved my life from those wretches, and now you're keeping me from going mad. I say! The air is all right."

"Yes; I can breathe freely, and I am not cold."

"I am hot. I say, let's talk. Tell me how you came to be here."

"Afterwards; the words would not come now. You tell me how you came."

"Yes; it will keep off the horrors; it's like a romance, and now it does not seem to be true. And yet it is, and it happened just as if it were only yesterday. I never thought of coming out here. I was going to be a soldier."

He spoke in a hurried, excited way, and the listener heard him draw his breath sharply through his teeth from time to time, as if he shivered from nervous dread.

"I was not fit for a soldier. Fate knows best. See what a coward I am."

"I thought you brave."

"What!"

"For the way in which you have fought and mastered the natural dread; but go on."

"Oh, no; it seems nonsense to talk about my troubles at a time like this."

"It is not. Go on, if you can without hurting yourself more."

"I'll go on because it will hurt me more. It will give me something else to think of. Can you understand my croaking whisper?"

"Oh, yes."

"An uncle of mine brought me up after father and mother died."

"Indeed?"

"Dear old fellow! He and aunt quite took my old people's place; and their boy, my cousin, always seemed like my brother."

The listener made a quick movement.

"What is it? Hear anything?"

"No; go on."

"They were such happy times. I never knew what trouble was, till one day poor uncle was brought home on a gate. His horse had thrown him."

There was a pause, and then the speaker continued in an almost inaudible whisper:

"He was dead."

The listener uttered a strange ejaculation.

"Yes, it was horrible, wasn't it? And there was worse to come. It nearly killed poor dear old aunt, and when she recovered a bit it was to hear the news from the lawyers. I don't quite understand how it was even now--something about a great commercial smash--but all uncle's money was gone, and aunt was left penniless."

"Great heavens!" came in a strange whisper.

"You may well say that. Bless her! She had been accustomed to every luxury, and we boys had had everything we wished. My word! it was a knockdown for poor old Dal."

"Who was poor old Dal?" said the listener, almost inaudibly.

"Cousin Dallas--Dallas Adams. I thought the poor chap would have gone mad. He was just getting ready for Cambridge. But after a bit he pulled himself together, and 'Never mind, Bel,' he said--I'm Bel, you know; Abel Wray--'Never mind,' he said, 'now's the time for a couple of strong fellows like we are to show that we've got some stuff in us. Bel,' he said, 'the dear old mother must never know what it is to want.'"

It was the other's turn to draw in his breath with a low hissing sound, and the narrator's voice sounded still more husky and strange, as if he were touched by the sympathy of his companion, as he went on:

"I said nothing to Dal, but I thought a deal about how easy it was to talk, but how hard for fellows like us to get suitable and paying work. But if I said nothing, I lay awake at nights trying to hit on some plan, till the idea came--ah! is that the snow coming down?"

"No, no! It was only I who moved."

"But what--what are you doing? Why, you've turned over on your face."

"Yes, yes; to rest a bit."

"I'm trying you with all this rigmarole about a poor, unfortunate beggar."

"No, no!" cried the other fiercely. "Go on--go on."

The narrator paused for a few moments.

"Thank you, old fellow," he whispered softly, and he felt for and grasped the listener's hand, to press it hard. "I misjudged you. It's pleasant to find a bit of sympathy like this. I've often read how fellows in shipwrecks, and wounded men after battles, are drawn together and get to be like brothers, and it makes one feel how much good there is in the world, after all. I expect you and I will manage to keep alive for a few days, old chap, and then we shall have to make up our minds to die--like men. I won't be so cowardly any more. I feel stronger, and till we do go to sleep once and for all we'll make the best of it, like men."

"Yes, yes, yes! Go on--go on!" _

Read next: Chapter 6. A Strange Madness

Read previous: Chapter 4. Nature's Mistake

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