Luck | Page 3

their furs and packed the gold; nor as
they turned out of the shack, shutting the door swiftly behind them, and
faced the stinging splendour of the windy winter day. The cold had
lessened with the sunrise, but what cold there was the wind took and
drove to the bone. The air was filled with a glittering mist of blown
snow, and all the lower slopes of the hills and the climbing spruce
forests were hidden. Above the poudre the mountains lifted like iron in
the unpitying day, and every snowfield and glacier was crowned with a
streaming feather of white against a hard turquoise sky.
"You think we'll get through?" asked Desmond, doubtfully.
"Ay t'ank so." Ohlsen was striding heavily, tirelessly, just behind his
shoulder. His grey eyes, still fixed on Desmond, were like little bits of
glacier ice inset above his high cheek bones.
"We may."
"We may. It ain't far." Desmond was talkative. "This gold weighs
heavy. I like the colour o' gold. Ohlsen, you got any children?"
"Ay, got two kids."
"Wisht I had. Maybe I will, though--little boy 'n' gal, with kind o' gold
hair. See here, you ever had a garden?"
"No."
"I've me a garden on me back here, hey? With them blue things that
smell, and hens. You come and see me, Ohlsen, and you'll have the best
there is."
"T'anks. I like fresh eggs."
"So do I. And apples. Say, Ohlsen, I'm sorry this luck ain't for you."
Ohlsen did not answer or slacken his heavy, stooping stride against the
wind. The curved hills opened slowly, swung aside. The spruce stood
up, came nearer, and closed in around them like the outposts of a

waiting army. The wind roared through the trees like a flood of which
the surf was snow.
"Do you think we'll do it?" shouted Desmond again and Ohlsen
answered:
"Ay t'ank so."
In a little while the trees were a dark mass beneath them, and they were
out on the bare heights, fighting with the wind for every foothold.
Desmond staggered under it, but Ohlsen seemed untiring, climbing
very close at his shoulder. The glare of the sun seared their eyes, but
they had no heat of it. In all the vast upheaval of the hills, in all the
stark space of the sky, there was no warmth, no life.
Something took Desmond by the throat.
"We'll not do it," he cried, to Ohlsen. "Let's turn back."
For answer Ohlsen unstrapped the heavy pack of gold, fastened it on
his shoulders, and went on. This time he was ahead, and his huge body
sheltered Desmond from the wind.
"I been drinking too much," thought Desmond, "and here's Ohlsen
having to do my work for me. It ain't right."
They were on a high ridge, and the wind was at its worst. On the left
lay a precipice, and the dark masses of the spruce. On the right the
depths were veiled with glittering silver, now and then shot through
with the blue-green gleam of a glacier. It was fair going for a steady
head, but the wind was dangerous. It took Desmond, as with hands, and
thrust him to his knees at the narrowing of the ledge. He slipped a little.
The dark grey ice, white veined, gave him no hold. He lost his head,
slipped a little farther, and the white driven foam of snow and cloud
above the glacier was suddenly visible. He called to Ohlsen.
Ohlsen could not have heard, yet he turned and came slowly back.
Desmond could have raged at him for his slowness if his lips had not

been so stiff and dry. Inside his fur mitts his hands were suddenly wet.
Gently he slid a little farther, and the wind-driven white below was
plainer, cut through with turquoise as with a sword. He shut his eyes.
And when he opened them Ohlsen had stopped and was standing
quietly watching him.
Desmond shrieked hoarsely, for he understood. Between the two drove
the torrent of the wind, shutting slayer and all but slain into a separate
prison of silence. But even the wind did not stir Ohlsen; he stood like a
grey rock, watching Desmond. Presently he leaned forward, hands on
knees, his back humped grotesquely under the pack, as the cruel or the
curious might watch the struggles of a drowning kitten. Desmond was
shaken to his fingers by the terrible thudding of his heart. He could not
make a sound. Earth and sky flashed away. There remained only the
grey inhuman shape beyond the barrier of the wind.
Presently that also flashed away. Yet, as Desmond fell, he was aware of
light, a great swift relief, for he knew that he dreamed.
Then came darkness.
Chapter III
IT was a darkness glittering