Lost in the Barrens by Farley Mowat Read Free Book Online Page B

pain in his leg, brought tears to his eyes.
    Jamie, who had done the leading while all went well, and who had once taunted his friend with being frightened, was now the more frightened of the two. Awasin, the cautious one who had held back from Jamie’s wild plans, seemed neither frightened nor particularly upset. His own life and the life of his people had always been filled with sudden and crushing accidents. And to survive these blows of fate the Crees had learned to waste no time worrying about what was past.
    Awasin had already grasped the situation fully. The canoe was completely wrecked. They were at least forty miles from the Killing Place and perhaps much farther. This was Eskimo country, and a dangerous place to linger. Jamie was evidently unfit to travel on foot, and probably most of the gear in the canoe was lost. The situation could hardly have been any worse. But all Awasin was considering at the moment were the ways and means to make the best of things.
    â€œLet’s see your leg, Jamie,” he said.
    Painfully Jamie rolled up his trouser leg. Along his shin was an ugly purple bruise and the knee was badly swollen. Awasin felt the injured leg with tender fingers. At last he looked up. “I bet it hurts,” he said smiling, “but it isn’tbroken. Only bruised. You will be able to run like a caribou in a week at least.”
    He put his hands under Jamie’s arms and half dragged him to a more comfortable place where he could rest with his back against a rock. “You stay here,” he said, “while I see what’s left in the canoe.”
    As Jamie watched Awasin haul out the shattered canoe and start salvaging its contents, he began to feel a little better. He hoped Awasin had not noticed his tears. The matter-of-fact way Awasin went to work relieved some of the fear that had filled Jamie’s heart and he made an effort to be of help. There was a pocket of driftwood near him—a handful of dry twigs—and he dragged himself to it and was about to light a fire when he realized he had no matches.
    â€œThrow me the match bottle, Awasin,” he called. “We’ll have a mug of tea. That is, if there is any tea.” It was a brave attempt at a joke—but it fell dreadfully flat when Awasin replied.
    â€œNo fire tonight. The grub box couldn’t swim—and the matches were in the box.”
    Jamie’s moment of bravery vanished. No fire and no food—these were blows too strong to bear. He gave way to a mood of self-pity.
    â€œYou’d better leave me and walk back by yourself,” he said, and his face was working. “I got us into this. It’s my fault. You’d better leave me here.”
    Awasin looked up in amazement.
    â€œYou must be crazy!” he replied. “Your head must have got a wallop too! Why would I leave you? In a day or two Etzanni and Telie-kwazie will probably come down the river looking for us. And if they don’t, we will walk back to their camp. We can do it as soon as your leg is better.”
    Awasin turned brusquely back to his work. He began to sort out the pile of water-soaked gear. Only one rifle had survived, but there were almost a hundred shells for it. There was a hatchet, the tea-billy, a frying pan, blankets, some deerskin robes, a fishline, part of a fish net and some other oddments of camp equipment. One of the paddles, broken at the blade, had washed up on shore nearby. The tracking line, used for hauling the canoe up rapids, had remained tied to the bow thwart, and Awasin salvaged the fifty feet of half-inch rope.
    As Awasin looked critically over the collection he felt almost confident. There was enough equipment here for any real woodsman to make a living with for several weeks at least.
    Twilight was falling fast as Awasin gathered up the wet blankets and brought them up to Jamie.
    â€œWe’re not so badly off,” he said, and awkwardly patted his friend’s shoulder.