One day the missionary started out with his dog-team and a sled load of clothing, food, and a good supply of Testaments, Sunday school papers and tracts. He hoped to visit many lonely places where missionaries are seldom able to go.
At Chickaloon he stopped for a day with a Christian trapper to mend a worn-out runner on his sled. The next day he got an early start, for he wanted to make twenty-five miles over a new trail. Trappers and villagers advised him not to follow the highway where gravel often made sledding bad, but to follow up the river to a certain creek which would lead him back to the highway twenty-five miles farther on, where it was more snow packed.
Up the frozen river they went in the early morning. It was still dark, for the daylight would not begin until about nine, and the sun would appear about eleven o'clock-to shine for only two short hours. For the first few miles the dogs were eager on the trail, and all went well. Then came an unwelcome scratching sound beneath the runners, and the sled began to drag heavily-they had struck gravel in the stream bed! After an hour or two of slow travel over the gravel they stopped and made camp for the night.
The next day they ran out of the gravel after a bit, but ran into new trouble. An overflow of water from a glacier made the ice so slippery and treacherous that even the dogs could hardly keep to their feet. Finally, after only another slow five miles were covered it was time to pitch camp again. Finding a small, open, but sheltered spot in the forest, the missionary built a good fire and gathered a supply of wood to last for the night. The dogs were hungry and gulped down their food gratefully, and the missionary enjoyed his supper and coffee too, after the hard day. Then making sure the dogs were all safely tied in a circle about the fire the missionary made himself as comfortable as possible, and by the light of the fire read a few verses from God's Word.
As the night set in there came a low growl from several dogs as they began to hear the howling of coyotes and wolves in the distance. But the missionary's heart was trusting in the Lord, and soon the sound of his singing drowned out the cry of the wolves.
"Love sent my Lord to the cross of shame, Love sent my Lord, Oh, praise His holy Name!"
The third day was bright and cheery, but soon they found that they were getting into deep snow. The sled was not toboggan style, and the load was heavy. The runners cut down into the snow, and the sled dragged heavily. The missionary snowshoed ahead to break trail, and to try to pack the snow a bit. Then he would return and help the dogs tow the sled, but it was slow, hard pulling.
So they camped out again another night as there were still eleven miles to make to the highway. This night the cries of the wolf pack were much louder, and the missionary dared not close his eyes for even a few moments, lest he sleep and the fire would burn low. He knew from the cries of the wolves that they were hungry, and were growing braver.
The fourth day they got another early start, but the snow got deeper and deeper as they neared the glacier. Snow that is ordinarily blown off by the strong glacial winds, had settled loosely in the river bottom. After about four miles it was already getting dark, and the cries of the wolves were growing bolder.
Looking about, the missionary could see no good place to camp, so decided to just stay with his sled to protect the dogs through the night. But the night grew colder, and he soon realized that he was chilling, and his hands were freezing-he must build a fire!
So, snowshoeing to the cliff on the river bank, he found a place to climb up above an overflow. Stiff, and awkward with cold, he tripped over a log in the growing dusk.
Splash!-into the water he fell! It was only three feet deep, but a small avalanche of snow billowed down over him, too. Climbing out of the icy water, he tried desperately to scramble up the steep cliff, but his clothes began to freeze stiff and board-like, making it hard to move.
Fumbling under the snow with numb fingers for firewood, he finally found enough to make a cheerful welcome blaze. Almost dazed with the cold, he had to use his ax to hammer the ice off his boots and clothes before he could take them off to dry. Huddled close to the fire with a robe about him the missionary thanked the Lord that he was still breathing-but the glacial air had the feeling of cold death in it. As he sat there alone the Lord reminded him, "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, and delivereth them"-Psalm 34:77The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them. (Psalm 34:7).
During the long night watch the missionary again did not dare to sleep for a moment. Every little while he fired a shot into the blackness of the night, as the howling of the wolves, or a yelp from one of the dogs meant that the wolves were creeping too close. While his clothes were drying, he spent much time getting in wood to keep the blaze going. Finally the darkness began to break as the dawn came, and how good it was to see that the faithful dogs were still all alive, huddled about the sled!
The missionary loaded his sleeping roll and rifle on the sled. Then, after looking around to make sure that there were no wolves in sight, he returned to his camp for his food kit, ax, and lantern. After taking a moment to read a few verses from God's Word he started down the cliff. Suddenly there was a big whoop from the dogs.
The missionary looked and saw six great black wolves weaving around in circles within seventy-five feet of the sled. The missionary was still about a thousand feet away, and the wolves could easily pounce upon the dogs before he could reach them. With a prayer in his heart he gave a great shout and snowshoed quickly toward the sled to get his rifle.
By the time he reached the sled, the wolves had slunk back out of firing distance and up onto the banks of the river. Dropping to his knees he thanked the Lord and prayed for guidance.
There was another yelp from the dogs, and now he saw there were more wolves in his deserted camp spot! There seemed to be only one thing to do, and that was to get to the highway on snowshoes as quickly as possible, even though he hated to abandon the sled.
Unhitching the dogs, he put packs upon two of them, and taking his guns and two puppies himself, he left the sled with his possessions behind and started out with his dogs to make the remaining seven miles to the highway before dark. Utterly weary with his sleepless nights and exposure to the cold, the seven miles seemed endless, but he cheered himself along the way by singing, "Take your burden to the Lord."
Wolf, the largest husky kept scouting around instead of following the missionary closely, and suddenly he disappeared up a ravine. Shortly afterward there came a terrific howling as though he had been set upon by a pack of wolves. The missionary's heart was heavy as he felt Wolf had surely been outnumbered and killed.
It was growing dark again, and he pressed on desperately, knowing that he must make that highway. He could not stand another night of cold and sleeplessness. Then just before dark he sighted the highway-but away up on a five hundred foot cliff above him.
So near-and yet so far! It looked as though the steep cliff would be impossible to climb. There was snow on the sheer slopes, but it was soft and would slide under a climber's foot and cover him.
In utter weariness the missionary trudged on up the canyon, searching for a place he could possibly climb. Finally, he found a spot that looked as though he might be able to climb by making a desperate attempt. There was no place for snowshoes, so on foot, he sometimes sank waist deep into snow. Up and up he went, snatching at bushes for support, crawling up the steep sides of bare rock where the snow was blown away. Sometimes, sinking to his knees he would feel he surely had not the strength to go on, but after a moment's rest the Lord would enable him to try again. So, slipping, clambering-finally, life! They were on the highway!
Almost too weary to take another step, the missionary looked back over the way the Lord had safely brought them, down the steep, almost impossible cliff, and away back over the river valley where it seemed he could still hear the long, quavering howl of the wolves. He felt he could truly say with David, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me"- Psalm 23:44Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4).
It was bitterly cold there on the windswept highway, but they did not have long to wait before a highway maintenance truck came along. Realizing that their rescue was at hand the missionary found he could not even climb into the truck, but kind hands lifted him in, along with his faithful huskies. Then he knew no more until eighteen hours later he awoke, and found he was at the Highway Patrol Station.
Three days later there came the good news that his sled had been spotted by a plane. And faithfully guarding it was Wolf-the husky he thought the wolves had surely eaten. They found his foot had been caught in a trap, but he had dragged the trap and the log it was fastened to, two miles back to the sled, where he waited for his master. Only one toe was lost.
After a short time of rest the experience in the deep glacier snow with the wolf pack was a thing of the past. But the missionary would never forget the Lord's faithful, loving care, and he was soon eager to start out again on another gospel trip.