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diff --git a/40337-0.txt b/40337-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f00f3a --- /dev/null +++ b/40337-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6268 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40337 *** + +[Illustration: "LIKE HIS FATHER BEFORE HIM, HE WAS ANSWERING THE CALL OF +THE GOLD."] + + + + + CONNIE MORGAN IN + ALASKA + + BY + JAMES B. HENDRYX + + AUTHOR OF + "THE PROMISE," "THE LAW OF THE WOODS," ETC. + + [Illustration] + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS + NEW YORK AND LONDON + The Knickerbocker Press + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1916 + BY + J.B. HENDRYX + + [Illustration] + + Made in the United States of America + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I.--SAM MORGAN'S BOY 1 + + II.--THE TEN BOW STAMPEDE 16 + + III.--THE NEW CAMP 30 + + IV.--PARTNERS 41 + + V.--ON THE TRAIL OF WASECHE 54 + + VI.--THE MEN OF EAGLE 70 + + VII.--IN THE LILLIMUIT 91 + + VIII.--WASECHE BILL TO THE RESCUE 105 + + IX.--THE WHITE DEATH 120 + + X.--THE _IGLOO_ IN THE SNOW 141 + + XI.--ON THE DEAD MAN'S LONELY TRAIL 156 + + XII.--IN THE HEART OF THE SILENT LAND 169 + + XIII.--O'BRIEN 185 + + XIV.--THE ESCAPE FROM THE WHITE INDIANS 203 + + XV.--O'BRIEN'S CANS OF GOLD 219 + + XVI.--FIGHTING THE NORTH 234 + + XVII.--THE SNOW TRAIL 251 + + XVIII.--ALASKA! 269 + + XIX.--ON THE KANDIK 283 + + XX.--THE DESERTER 296 + + XXI.--MISTER SQUIGG 312 + + XXII.--THE MAN WHO DIDN'T FIT 325 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + PAGE + + + "Like his father before him, he was answering + the call of the gold" _Frontispiece_ + + "Making sure that the boy slept, he began + silently to assemble his trail pack" 42 + + "McDougall's prize _malamutes_ shot out on the + trail" 52 + + "When Connie opened his eyes, daylight had + vanished" 67 + + "What could one small boy do in the face of + the ultimatum of these men of the North?" 81 + + "My dad would have got out, and, you bet, + so will I!" 103 + + "Now, what d' yo' think of that! I'd sho' hate + fo' this heah rope to break!" 116 + + Connie Morgan "stared spellbound at the + terrible splendour of the changing lights" 136 + + "Waseche Bill attacked the hard-packed snow + with his axe" 149 + + "We'ah lost, kid. It's a cinch we cain't find + the divide" 154 + + "The boy's lips moved in prayer, the only one + he had ever learned" 166 + + "The two partners stared open-mouthed at the + apparition. _The face was white!_" 183 + + "With a palsied arm he motioned to O'Brien, + who stepped before him" 195 + + "The boy's fifteen-foot lash sang through the + thin air" 216 + + "As they passed between the pillared rocks + the Indians broke cover, hurling their + copper-tipped harpoons as they ran" 232 + + "You make me tired!" cried Connie. "Anybody'd + think you needed a city, with the streets all + numbered, to find your way around" 237 + + "Without waiting for a reply, Connie slipped + softly over the edge" 262 + + "Recklessly O'Brien rushed out upon the + glittering span of snow while Connie and + Waseche watched breathlessly" 272 + + "My dad followed British Kronk eight hundred + miles through the snow before he caught + him--and then--you just wait." 299 + + "Mechanically he drew the knife from its sheath + and dragged himself to the body of the + moose." 310 + + "Between them walked a little, rat-faced man. + The man was Mr. Squigg." 331 + + "Squigg slunk into the star-lit night." 337 + + + + +Connie Morgan in Alaska + + + + +CHAPTER I + +SAM MORGAN'S BOY + + +Connie Morgan, or as he is affectionately called by the big, bearded men +of the Yukon, Sam Morgan's boy, now owns one of the crack dog teams of +Alaska. For Connie has set his heart upon winning the great Alaska +Sweepstakes--the grandest and most exciting race in all the world, a +race that crowds both driver and dogs to the very last measure of +endurance, sagacity, and skill. + +But that is another story. For Connie also owns what is probably the +most ludicrous and ill-assorted three-dog team ever assembled; and he is +never so happy as when jogging slowly over the trail behind old Boris, +Mutt, and Slasher. + +No sourdough in his right senses would give fifty dollars for the three, +but Sam Morgan's boy would gladly sacrifice his whole team of +thousand-dollar dogs to save any one of them. For it was the fine +courage and loyalty of this misfit team that enabled him to beat out the +Ten Bow stampede and file on "One Below Discovery," next to Waseche +Bill, the big sourdough who is his partner--and who loves him as Sam +Morgan loved him before he crossed the Big Divide. + +Sam Morgan was among those who went to Alaska in the first days of the +great gold rush. Like Peg's father in the play, Sam Morgan could do +anything but make money. So when the news came of gold--bright, yellow +gold lying loose on the floors of creeks up among the snows of the +Arctic--Sam Morgan bid his wife and boy good-bye at the door of the +little cottage in a ten-carat town of a middle State and fared forth to +win riches. + +The man loved his wife and son with all the love of his rugged nature, +and for their sakes cheerfully endured the perils and hardships of the +long trails without a murmur. But in spite of his dogged persistence and +unflagging toil he never made a strike. He was in the van of a dozen +stampedes--stampedes that made millionaires out of some men and stark +corpses out of others--but somehow his claims never panned out. + +Unlucky, men called him. And his name became a byword for ill-luck +throughout the length and breadth of the Northland. + +"She's a Sam Morgan," men would say, as they turned in disappointment +from an empty hole driven deep into frozen gravel, and would wearily hit +the trail to sink other shafts in other gulches. + +So Sam Morgan's luck became a proverb in the North. But Sam Morgan, +himself, men loved. He was known among the meat-eaters as a man whose +word was as good as other men's bonds, and his cheery smile made long +trails less long. It was told in the camps that on one occasion, during +a blizzard, he divided his last piece of bacon with a half-starved +Indian, and then, carrying the man on his back, made eighteen miles +through the storm to the shelter of a prospector's cabin. + +His word became law in the settling of disputes. And to this day it is +told on the trails how he followed "British Kronk," who struck it rich +on the Black Horn, and abandoned his wife, leaving her starving in the +cabin where she would surely have died had not Sam Morgan happened along +and found her; and of how, after eight hundred miles of winter trail, he +came upon him in Candle, and of the great man-fight that took place +there on the hard-packed snow; of the tight clamp of the square jaw, and +the terrible gleam of the grey eyes as, bare fisted, he made the huge +man beg for mercy; and of how he took the man back, single-handed and +without authority of law, clear to Fort Yukon, and forced him to +recognize the woman and turn over to her a share of his gold. + +It is not the bragging swashbucklers, the self-styled "bad men," who win +the respect of the rough men upon the edges of the world. It is the +silent, smiling men who stand for justice and a square deal--and who +carry the courage of their convictions in their two fists. + +Of these things men tell in gruff tones, to the accompaniment of hearty +fist-bangs of approval. With lowered voices they tell the story of "Sam +Morgan's Stumble," as the sharp elbow is called where the Ragged Falls +trail bends sharply around a shoulder of naked rock, with a sheer drop +of five hundred feet to the boulder-strewn floor of the creek bed. "Just +Sam Morgan's luck," they whisper. "The only place on the whole hundred +and fifty miles of the Ragged Falls trail where a man could come to +harm--right there he steps on a piece of loose ice and stumbles head +first into the canyon. He sure played in tough luck, Sam Morgan did. But +he was a _man_!" + +When the letters from the North ceased coming, Sam Morgan's wife +sickened and died. + +"Jest nach'lly pined away a-waitin' fer word from Sam," the neighbours +said. And when fifteen-year-old Connie returned to the empty cottage +from the bleak little cemetery on the outskirts of the village, he sat +far into the night and thought things over. + +In the morning he counted the few dollars he had managed to save by +doing odd jobs about the village, and placing them carefully in his +pocket, together with a few trinkets that had belonged to his mother, +left the cottage and started in search of Sam Morgan. He locked the door +and laid the key under the mat, just where he knew his father would look +for it should he return before he found him. + +Connie told nobody of his plans, said no good-byes, but with a stout +heart and a strange lump in his throat, passed quietly out of the +familiar village and resolutely turned his face toward the great white +North. + +Thus is was that a small boy stepped off the last boat into Anvik that +fall and mingled unnoticed among the boisterous men who crowded the +shore. As the boat swung out into the current, the men left the river +and entered the wide, low door of the trading post. + +Dick Colton paused in his examination of the pile of freight, and +noticing for the first time the forlorn little figure who stood watching +the departing boat, sauntered over and spoke: + +"Hello, sonny, where you bound?" + +The boy turned and gravely faced the smiling man. "I've come to find my +father," he answered. + +"Where is your father?" + +"He is here--somewhere." + +"Here? In Anvik, you mean?" + +"In Alaska." + +The man uttered a low whistle. The smile was gone from his face, and he +noted the threadbare cloth overcoat, and the bare legs showing through +the ragged holes in the boy's stockings. + +"What is your father's name, boy?" + +"Sam Morgan." + +At the name the man started and an exclamation escaped his lips. + +"Do you know him?" The boy's face was eager with expectation, and the +man found the steadfast gaze of the blue eyes disconcerting. + +"Just you wait here, son, for a minute, while I run up to the store. +Maybe some of the boys know him." And he turned and hurried toward the +long, low building into which the men had disappeared. + +"Boys!" he cried, bursting in on them, "there is a kid out here. Came in +on the boat. He is hunting for his dad." The men ceased their talk and +looked at the speaker with interest. "And, Heaven help us, it's Sam +Morgan's boy!" + +"Sam Morgan's boy! Sam Morgan's boy!" In all parts of the room men +repeated the words and stared uneasily into each other's faces. + +"He has got to be told," said Dick, with a shake of the head. "You tell +him, Pete. I couldn't do it." + +"Me neither. Here you, Waseche Bill, you tell him." + +"I cain't do it, boys. Honest I cain't. You tell him." Thus each man +urged his neighbour, and in the midst of their half-spoken sentences the +door opened and the boy entered. An awkward hush fell upon them--the +fifty rough, fur-clad men whose bearded faces stared at him from the +gloom of the long, dark room--and the one small boy who stared back with +undisguised interest. The silence became painful, and at length someone +spoke: + +"So you're Sam Morgan's boy?" the man asked, advancing and offering a +great hairy hand. The boy took the hand and bore the pain of the mighty +grip without flinching. + +"Yes, sir," he answered. "Do you know him--my father?" + +"Sure I know him! Do I know Sam Morgan? Well, I just guess I _do_ know +him! There ain't a man 'tween here an' Dawson don't know Sam Morgan!" +Others crowded about and welcomed the boy with rude kindness. + +"Is my father here, in Anvik?" the boy asked of the man called Pete. + +"No, kid, he ain't here--in Anvik. Say, Waseche, where is Sam Morgan at? +Do you know?" Thus Pete shifted the responsibility. But Waseche Bill, a +long, lank Kentuckian, was equal to the occasion. + +"Why, yes, Sam Mo'gan, he's up above, somewhe's," with a sweep of his +arm in the direction of the headwaters of the great river. + +"That's right," others added, "Sam Morgan's up above." + +"When can I go to him?" asked the boy, and again the men looked at each +other helplessly. + +"The's a bunch of us goin' up Hesitation way in a day or two, an' yo' +c'n go 'long of us. Sam's cabin's at Hesitation. But yo' cain't go 'long +in that rig," he added, eyeing the threadbare overcoat and ragged +stockings. + +"Oh! That's all right. I'll buy some warm clothes. I've got money. Eight +dollars!" exclaimed the boy, proudly producing a worn leather pocketbook +in which were a few tightly wadded bills. + +Eight dollars! In Alaska! And yet not a man laughed. Waseche Bill placed +his hand on the boy's shoulder and smiled: + +"Well, now, sonny, that's a right sma't lot o' money, back in the +States, but it don't stack up very high in Alaska." He noticed the look +of disappointment with which the boy eyed his hoard, and hastened to +proceed: "But don't yo' fret none. It's lucky yo' chanced 'long heah, +'cause I happen to be owin' Sam Mo'gan a hund'ed, an' it's right handy +fo' to pay it now." Hardly had he ceased speaking when Dick Colton +stepped forward: + +"I owe Sam fifty." "An' me!" "An' me, too!" "An' me, I'd most forgot +it!" The others had taken their cue, and it seemed to the bewildered boy +as though these men owed his father all the money in the world. + +"But I don't understand," he gasped. "Is father rich? Has he made a +strike, at last?" + +"No, son," answered Dick, "your father is not rich--in gold. He never +made a strike. In fact, he is counted the most unlucky man in the +North--in some ways." He turned his head. "But just the same, boy, +there's not a man in Alaska but owes Sam Morgan more than he can pay." + +"Tell me about him," cried the boy, his eyes alight. "Did my father do +some great thing?" The silence was broken by old Scotty McCollough: + +"Na', laddie, Sam Morgan never done no great thing. He di' na' ha' to. +He _was_ great!" And by the emphasis which the bluff old Scotchman +placed upon the word "was," of a sudden the boy knew! + +"My father is dead!" he moaned, and buried his face in his hands, while +the men looked on in silent sympathy. Only for a moment did the boy +remain so, then the little shoulders stiffened under the thin overcoat, +the hands dropped to his side and clenched, and the square jaw set +firm--as Sam Morgan's had set, that day he faced big "British Kronk" on +the snow-packed street of Candle. As the boy faced the men of the North, +he spoke, and his voice trembled. + +"I will stay in Alaska," he said, "and dig for the gold my father never +found. I think he would have liked it so." Suddenly the low-ceilinged +room rang with cheers and the boy was lifted bodily onto the shoulders +of the big men. + +"You bet, he'd liked it!" yelled the man called Pete. + +"Yo'r Sam Mo'gan's boy all right--jest solid grit clean through. It +looks f'om heah like Sam's luck has tu'ned at last!" cried Waseche Bill. + +Two days later, when he hit the long trail for Hesitation, in company +with Waseche Bill, Dick Colton, and Scotty McCollough, Sam Morgan's boy +was clad from _parka_ hood to _mukluks_ in the most approved gear of the +Northland. + +He learned quickly the tricks of the trail, the harnessing and handling +of dogs, the choosing of camps, and the hasty preparation of meals; and +in the evenings, as they sat close about the camp fire, he never tired +of listening as the men told him of his father. His heart swelled with +pride, and in his breast grew a great longing to follow in the footsteps +of this man, and to hold the place in the affections of the big, rough +men of the White Country that his father had held. + +All along the trail men grasped him by the hand. He made new friends at +every camp. And so it was that Sam Morgan's boy became the pride of the +Yukon. + +At Hesitation he moved into his father's cabin, and went to work for +Scotty McCollough, who was the storekeeper. Many a man went out of his +way to trade with Scotty that he might boast in other camps that he knew +Sam Morgan's boy. + +One day Waseche Bill took him out on the Ragged Falls trail where, at +the foot of the precipice, his father lay buried. The two stood long at +the side of the snow-covered mound, at the head of which stood a little +wooden cross with its simple legend burned deep by the men who were his +friends: + + SAM MORGAN + ALASKA + +The man laid a kindly hand on the boy's shoulder: + +"Notice, son, it don't say Hesitation, nor Circle, nor Dawson--but just +Alaska. It takes a mighty big man to fill that there description in this +country," and the man brushed away a tear of which he was not ashamed. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE TEN BOW STAMPEDE + + +With the passing of the winter Connie found himself the proud possessor +of a three-dog team. Shortly after the trip to "Sam Morgan's Stumble," +Waseche Bill disappeared into the north on a solitary prospecting trip. +Before he left he presented Connie with old Boris, a Hudson Bay dog +famed in his day as the wisest trail dog on the Yukon, and in spite of +his years, a lead dog whose sagacity was almost uncanny. + +"He's been a great dog, son, but he's gettin' too old fo' the long +trails. I aimed to keep him 'til he died, but I know yo'll use him +right. Just keep old Boris in the lead and he'll learn yo' mo' trail +knowledge than I could--or any otheh man." Thus Waseche Bill took leave +of the boy and swung out into the trail with a younger dog in the lead. +Old Boris stood with drooping tail beside his new master, and as the +sled disappeared over the bank and swept out onto the ice of the river, +as if in realization that for him the trail days were over, he threw +back his shaggy head and with his muzzle pointing toward the aurora-shot +sky, sent a long, bell-like howl of protest quavering into the chill +air. + +Later, a passing prospector presented Connie with Mutt, a slow, heavily +built dog, good-natured and clumsy, who knew only how to throw his great +weight against the collar and pull until his footing gave way. + +The third dog of the team was Slasher, a gaunt, untamed _malamute_, +red-eyed and vicious--a throwback to the wolf. His former owner, tired +of fighting him over the trails, was on the point of shooting him when +Connie interceded, and offered to buy him. + +"Why, son, he'd eat ye alive!" said the man; "an' if harm was to come to +Sam Morgan's boy through fault of a man-eatin' wolf-dog which same he'd +got off o' me, why, this here Alaska land 'ud be too small to hold me. +No, son, I guess we'll jest put him out o' the way o' harmin' folks." +But the boy persisted, and to the unspeakable amazement of the man, +walked up and loosened the heavy leather muzzle. + +White fangs an inch long gleamed wickedly as the boy patted his head, +but the vicious, ripping slash which the onlookers expected did not +follow. The crouching dog glared furtively, with back curled +lips--suspicious. Here was something he did not understand--this +man-brute of small size who approached him bare-handed and without a +club. So he glared red-eyed, alert for some new trick of torture. But +nothing happened, and presently from the pocket of his _parka_ this +strange man-brute drew a piece of smoked fish which the dog accepted +from his bare fingers with a lightning-like click of polished fangs, but +the fingers did not jerk away in fear even though the fangs closed +together a scant inch from their ends. + +A piece of ham rind followed the fish and the small man-brute reached +down and flung the hated muzzle far out into the snow, and with it the +collar and the thong lash. + +The wolf-dog rose for the first time in his life unfettered. He shook +himself and surveyed the astonished group of men. The stiff, coarse hair +along his spine stood erect and he uttered a low throaty growl of +defiance; then he turned and stalked toward the boy, planting his feet +deliberately and stiffly after the manner of dogs whose temper quivers +on a hair-trigger. Guns were loosened in the holsters of the men, but +the boy smiled and extended his hand toward the dog, which advanced, the +very personification of savage hate. + +The men gasped as the pointed muzzle touched the small bared hand and a +long, red tongue shot out and licked the fingers. At the sound, the dog +placed himself before the boy and glared at them, and then quietly +followed Connie to the corral at the rear of the log store. + +"He's yours, son," exclaimed the prospector, as the boy joined them. +"No, I won't take no pay for him. You saved his life, an' he b'longs to +you--only be careful. Don't never take your eyes off him. I don't trust +no _malamute_, let alone that there Slasher dog." + +With the lengthening of the days the Northland began to feel the +approach of spring. Snow melted on the more exposed mountain slopes, and +now and then the trails softened, so that men camped at midday. + +Connie found time to take short excursions with his team up the +neighbouring gulches, occasionally spending the night in the cabin of +some prospector. + +He was beginning to regard himself as a "sure enough sourdough" now, and +could talk quite wisely of cradles and rockers, of sluices and riffles, +and pay dirt and bed rock. + +Then, one day when the store was full of miners and prospectors awaiting +the mail, Waseche Bill burst into the room with the story of his big +strike on Ten Bow. Instantly pandemonium broke loose. Men in a frenzy +of excitement threw their outfits onto sleds and swung the dogs onto the +ice trail of the river, struggling and fighting for place. + +McDougall, with his mail team of ten fast _malamutes_, bet a thousand +dollars he would beat out Dutch Henry's crack Hudson Bays. Men came down +from the hills and joined the stampede, and by evening a hundred dog +teams were on the trail. + +During the excitement, Waseche Bill sought out Connie and drew him to +one side: + +"Listen, son," whispered Waseche, speaking hurriedly, and to the point, +"git in on this, d'yo heah? Quick now, git out yo' dogs an' hit the +trail. Old Boris'll take yo' theh. The's always one mo' pull in a good +dog, an' he'll unde'stand. I've been wo'kin' Ten Bow fo' six months, an' +he knows the sho't-cut. Keep up yo' nerve, an' follow that dog. He'll +swing off up Little Rampa't, an' the othe's will keep to the big +riveh--but it's the long way 'round. It's only 'bout eighty mile by the +sho't-cut, an' a good two hund'ed by the riveh. I come down the long way +so's to have a smooth trail fo' my new lead dog. The other's a rough +trail, over ridges an' acrost gulches, up hill an' down, but yo' c'n +make it! Boris, he'll see yo' through. An' when yo' strike Ten +Bow--yo'll know it, 'cause it's the only valley that shows red +rock--swing no'th 'til yo' come to a big split rock, an' theh yo'll find +my stakes. + +"Now, listen! My claim'll be Discovery." The man lowered his voice yet +more: "An' yo' stake out One Below Discovery--_below_, mind. 'Cause +she's a sho' winneh, an' togetheh we'll have the cream o' the gulch--me +an' yo' will." + +Many outfits passed Connie on the trail; the men laughing and joking, +good-naturedly urged the boy onward. He only laughed in return, as he +encouraged his ill-matched team--Big Mutt plunging against the collar, +Slasher pulling wide with the long jumps of the wolf-dog, and old Boris +with lowered head, in the easy lope of the born leader. Mile after mile +they covered on the smooth trail of the river, and it seemed to the boy +as if every outfit in Alaska had passed him in the race. But he urged +the dogs onward, for the fever was in his blood--and like his father +before him, he was answering the call of gold. + +Suddenly, without a moment's hesitation, old Boris swerved from the +trail and headed for the narrow cleft between two towering walls of +rock, which was the mouth of Little Rampart. On and on they mushed, +following the creek bed which wound crookedly between its precipitous +sides. + +Again old Boris swerved. This time it was to head up a steep, narrow +pass leading into the hills. Connie had his hands full at the gee-pole, +for it was dark now--not the black darkness of the States, but the +sparkling, star-lit dark of the aurora land. + +He camped at midnight on a flat plateau near the top of a high divide. +Morning found him again on the trail. He begrudged every minute of +inaction, for well he knew the fame of McDougall's mail dogs, and Dutch +Henry's Hudson Bays. It turned warmer. The snow slumped under foot, and +he lost two hours at midday, waiting for the stiffening chill of the +lengthening shadows. + +On the third day it snowed. Not the fierce, cutting snow of the fall and +winter, but large, feathery flakes, that lay soft and deep on the crust +and piled up in front of the sled. That night he camped early, for both +boy and dogs were weary with the trail-strain. + +During the night the snow stopped falling and the wind rose, driving it +into huge drifts. Progress was slow now and every foot of the trail was +hard-earned. Old Boris picked his way among boulders and drifts with the +wisdom of long practice. Slasher settled down to a steady pull, and Big +Mutt threw himself into the collar and fairly lifted the sled through +the loose snow. Toward noon they slanted into a wide valley, and the +tired eyes of the boy brightened as they saw the bold outcropping of +red rock. Then immediately they grew serious, and he urged the dogs to +greater effort, for, far down the valley, dotting the white expanse of +snow, were many moving black specks. + +Old Boris turned toward the north, and the boy saw the huge split rock a +mile away. He was travelling ahead of the dogs now, throwing his weight +onto the _babiche_ rope, his wide snowshoes breaking the trail. In spite +of his efforts the pace was dishearteningly slow. Every few minutes he +glanced back, and each time the black specks appeared larger and more +distinct. He could make out men and sleds, and he knew by the long +string of dogs that the first outfit was McDougall's. + +"Hi! Hi! Mush you! Mush you!" faintly the sound was borne to his ears, +and he knew that McDougall was gaining fast--he had already broken into +Connie's own freshly made trail. The dogs heard it, too, and with cocked +ears plunged blindly ahead. + +The split rock loomed tantalizingly near, and the boy thanked his stars +that he had prepared his stakes beforehand. He loosened them from the +back of the sled and, ax in hand, ploughed ahead through the loose snow. +His racket struck something hard and he pitched forward--it was one of +Waseche Bill's stakes. + +Feverishly he scrambled to his feet and drove in his own stakes, +following Waseche's directions. With a final blow of his ax, he turned +to face McDougall, who stared at him wide-eyed. + +"You dang little scamp!" he roared. "You dang little sourdough!" And as +he staked out number Two Below Discovery, the hillsides echoed back his +laughter. + +Other men came. Soon the valley of the Ten Bow was staked with claims +running into the forties, both above and below Discovery. But the great +prize of all was One Below, and it stood marked by the stakes of Sam +Morgan's boy. + +That night the valley of the Ten Bow was dotted with a hundred camp +fires, and the air rang with snatches of rude song and loud laughter. + +Men passed from fire to fire and Connie Morgan's name was on every +tongue. + +"The little scamp!" men laughed; "cut straight through the hills with +them old discarded dogs, an' beat us to it!" "Now, what d'ye know 'bout +_that_?" "If Sam Morgan c'd lived to seen it he'd be'n the tickledest +man in the world!" "Poor old Sam--looks like his luck's turned at last!" + +From the surrounding gloom a man stepped into the light of a large +camp-fire near which Connie Morgan was seated talking with a group of +prospectors. He was a little, rat-like man, with a pinched, weasel face +and little black eyes that shone beadlike from between lashless lids. + +"This Number One claim, boys, it ain't legal. It's staked by a boy. I'm +a lawyer, an' I know. He's a minor, an' he can't hold no claim!" He +spoke hurriedly, and eyed the men for signs of approval; then he +advanced toward Connie, shaking a long, bony finger. + +"You ain't twenty-one," he squeaked, "an' I command you to vacate this +claim in the name of the law!" From the boy's side came a low growl. +There was a flash of grey in the firelight, and the wolf-dog was at the +man's throat, bearing him backward into the snow. + +The boy was on his feet in an instant, pulling at the dog and beating +him off. Luckily for the man his throat was protected by the heavy +_parka_ hood, and he sustained no real damage. He arose whimpering with +fright. + +The other men were on their feet now, and one of them knocked the +revolver from the hand of the cowering man as he aimed it at the +growling Slasher. + +Big McDougall stepped forward, and, grasping the man by the shoulder, +spun him around with a jerk. + +"Look a here, you reptile! Kin ye guess what that dog 'ud of done to ye, +an' it hadn't be'n fer the kid? Well, fer my part he c'd gone ahead an' +done it as it was. But, seein' he didn't, just ye listen to me! What he +would done won't be a patchin' to what I _will_ do to ye, if ever ye +open yer head about that there claim ag'in. An' that ain't all. There's +a hundred men in this gulch--good men--sourdoughs, ev'ry one--an' the +kid beat us all fair an' square. An', law or no law, we're right here to +see that Sam Morgan's boy _does_ hold down that claim! _An' don't ye +fergit it!_" + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE NEW CAMP + + +The fame of Ten Bow travelled to far reaches, and because in the gold +country men are fascinated by prosperity, even though it is the +prosperity of others, the shortening days brought many new faces into +the mining camp of Ten Bow. Notwithstanding the fact that every square +foot of the valley was staked, gaunt men, whose hollow eyes and depleted +outfits spoke failure, mushed in from the hills, knowing that here +cordwood must be chopped, windlasses cranked, and fires kept going, and +preferring the certainty of high wages at day labour to the uncertainty +of a new strike in unscarred valleys. + +It was six months since Waseche Bill had burst into Scotty McCollough's +store at Hesitation with the news of his great strike in the red rock +valley to the southward--news that spread like wildfire through the camp +and sent two hundred men over the trail in a frenzied rush for gold. + +It was a race long to be remembered in the Northland--the Ten Bow +stampede. It is told to this day on the trails, by bearded _tillicums_ +amid roars of bull-throated laughter and deep man-growls of approval, +how the race was won by a boy--a slight, wiry, fifteen-year-old +_chechako_ who, scorning the broad river trail with its hundred rushing +dog teams, struck straight through the hill with a misfit three-dog +outfit, and staked "One Below Discovery" under the very noses of Big +McDougall and his mail team of gaunt _malamutes_, and Dutch Henry with +his Hudson Bays. + +From the glacier-studded seaboard to the great white death barriers +beyond the Yukon, wherever men forgathered, the fame of Connie Morgan, +and old Boris, Mutt, and Slasher, passed from bearded lip to bearded +lip, and the rough hearts of big, trail-toughened prospectors swelled +with pride at the mention of his name. Only, in the big white country, +he is never called Connie Morgan, but Sam Morgan's boy; for Sam Morgan +was Alaska's--big, quiet Sam Morgan, who never made a "strike," but +stood for a square deal and the right of things as they are. And, as +they loved Sam Morgan, these men loved Sam Morgan's boy. For it had been +told in the hills how Dick Colton found him, ill-clad and ragged, +forlornly watching the wheezy little Yukon steamer swing out into the +stream at Anvik, whence he had come in search of his father. And how, +when he learned that Sam Morgan had crossed the Big Divide, he bravely +clenched his little fists, choked back the hot tears, and told the big +men of the North, as he faced them there, that he would stay in Alaska +and dig for the gold his father never found. + +The Ten Bow stampede depopulated Hesitation, and the new camp of Ten Bow +sprang up in a day, two hundred miles to the southward. A camp of tents +and _igloos_ it was, for in the mad scramble for gold men do not stop +to build substantial cabins, but improvise makeshift shelters from the +bitter cold of the long nights, out of whatever material is at hand. For +the Ten Bow strike came late in the season and, knowing that soon the +water from the melting snows would drive them from their claims, men +worked feverishly in the black-mouthed shafts that dotted the valley, +and at night chopped cordwood and kept the fires blazing that thawed out +the gravel for the morrow's digging. When the break-up came men +abandoned the shafts and, with rude cradles and sluices, and deep gold +pans, set to work on the frozen gravel of the dumps. + +And then it was men realized the richness of the Ten Bow strike. Not +since the days of Sand Creek and the Klondike had gravel yielded such +store of the precious metal. As they cleaned up the riffles they laughed +and talked wildly of wealth undreamed; for the small dumps, representing +a scant sixty days' digging, panned out more gold than any man in Ten +Bow had ever taken out in a year--more than most men had taken out in +many years of disheartening, bone-racking toil. + +During the long days of the short summer, while the cold waters of Ten +Bow rushed northward toward the Yukon, log cabins replaced the tents and +_igloos_, and by the end of August Ten Bow assumed an air of stability +which its prosperity warranted. Scotty McCollough freighted his goods +from Hesitation and soon presided over a brand new log store, which +varied in no whit nor particular from the other log stores of other +camps. + +Those were wonderful days for Connie Morgan. Days during which the +vague, half-formed impressions of youth were recast in a rough mould by +association with the bearded men who treated him as an equal. He learned +their likes and dislikes, their joys and sorrows, their shortcomings and +virtues, and in the learning, he came instinctively to look under the +surface and gauge men by their true worth--which is so rarely the great +world's measure of men. And, under the unconscious tutelage of these +men, was laid the foundation for the uncompromising sense of right and +justice which was to become the underlying principle of the +hand-hammered character of the man who would one day help shape the +destiny of Alaska, and safeguard her people from the outreaching greed +of monopoly. + +Daily the boy worked shoulder to shoulder with his partner, Waseche +Bill, the man who had presented him with old Boris, and whispered of the +short-cut through the hills which had enabled him to beat out the Ten +Bow stampede. + +Now, the building of cabins is not easy work. Getting out logs, notching +their ends, and rolling them into place, one above another, is a man's +job. And many were the pretexts and fictions by which the men of Ten Bow +contrived to relieve Connie of the heavier work in the building of his +home. + +"Sonny," said Big McDougall one day, loafing casually over from the +adjoining claim where his own cabin was nearing completion, "swar to +gudeness, my back's like to bust wi' stoopin' over yon chinkin'. +C'u'dn't ye jist slip over to my place an' spell the auld mon off a bit. +I'm mos' petered out." So Connie obligingly departed and, as he rammed +in the moss and daubed it with mud, peered through a crack and smiled +knowingly as he watched the "petered out" man heaving and straining by +the side of Waseche Bill in the setting of a log. And the next day it +was Dutch Henry who removed the short pipe from his mouth and called +from his doorway: + +"Hey, kid! Them dawgs o' mine is gittin' plumb scan'lous fat an' lazy. +Seems like ef they don't git a workin' out they'll spile on me complete. +Looks like I never fin' no time to fool with 'em. Now, ef you c'd make +out to take 'em down the trail today, I'd sure take it mighty kind of +ye." And when Connie returned to the camp it was to find Dutch Henry +helping Waseche Bill in the rope-rolling of a roof log. And so it went +each day until the cabin stood complete under its dirt roof. Some one or +another of the big-hearted miners, with a sly wink at Waseche Bill, +invented a light job which would take the boy from the claim and then +took his place, grinning happily. + +But Connie Morgan understood, and because he loved these men, kept his +own counsel, and the big men never knew that the small, serious-eyed boy +saw through their deception. + +At last the cabin was finished and the boy took a keen delight in +helping his big partner in the building of the furniture. Two bunks, a +table, three or four chairs, and a wash bench--rude but +serviceable--were fashioned from light saplings and packing case boards, +brought up from Scotty's store. In the new camps lumber is scarce, and +the canny Scotchman realized a tidy sum from the sale of his empty +boxes. + +In the shortening days men returned to the diggings and sloshed about in +the wet gravel, cleaning up as they went; for before long, the freezing +of the water would compel them to throw the gravel onto dumps to be +worked out the following spring. + +The partners hired a man to help with the heavier work and Connie busied +himself with the hundred and one odd jobs about the claims and cabin. He +became a wonderful cook, and Waseche Bill, returning from the diggings, +always found a hot meal of well-prepared food awaiting his ravenous +appetite, while the men of other cabins returned tired and wet to growl +and grumble over the cooking of their grub. + +Late in September the creek froze. Blizzard after whirling blizzard +followed upon the heels of a heavy snowfall, and the Northland lay white +and cold in the grip of the long winter. Ten Bow was a humming hive of +activity. Windlasses creaked in the thin, frosty air, to the +half-muffled cries of "haul away" which floated upward from the depths +of the shafts, and the hillsides rang with the stroke of axes and the +long crash of falling trees. By night the red flare of a hundred fires +lighted the snow for miles and seemed reflected in the aurora-shot sky; +and with each added bucketful, the dumps grew larger and showed black +and ugly against the white snow of the valley. + +To conform to the mining laws the partners sank a shaft on each claim, +working them alternately, and the experienced eye of Waseche Bill told +him that the gravel he daily shovelled into the bucket was fabulously +rich in gold. + +And then, one day, at a depth of ten feet, Waseche Bill's pick struck +against something hard. He struck again and the steel rang loudly in the +cistern-like shaft. With his shovel he scraped away the thin covering of +loose gravel which was deepest where his claim joined Connie's. + +That evening the boy wondered at the silence of his big partner, who +devoured his beans and bacon and sourdough bread, and washed them down +with great draughts of black coffee. But he spoke no word, and after +supper helped Connie with the dishes and then, filling his pipe, tilted +his chair against the log wall and smoked, apparently engrossed in deep +thought. At the table, Connie, poring over the contents of a year-old +illustrated magazine, from time to time cast furtive glances toward the +man and wondered at his strange silence. After a while the boy laid the +magazine aside, drew the bootjack from beneath the bunk, pulled off his +small boots, and with a sleepy "good-night, pardner," rolled snugly into +his blankets. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +PARTNERS + + +For a long time Waseche Bill sat tilted back against the wall. His pipe +went out unheeded and remained black and cold, gripped between his +clenched teeth. At length he arose and, noiselessly crossing the room, +stood looking down at the tousled yellow curls that shone dully in the +lamp-light at the end of the roll of blankets. Making sure that the boy +slept, he began silently to assemble his trail pack. Tent, blankets, +grub, and rifle he bound firmly onto the strong dog-sled, and returning +to the room, slid back a loose board from its place in the floor. From +the black hole beneath he withdrew a heavy buckskin pouch and, pouring +the contents onto a folded paper, proceeded to divide equally the pile +of small glittering particles, and the flattened black nuggets of +water-worn gold. One portion he stuffed into a heavy canvas money belt +which he strapped about him, the other he placed in the pouch and +returned to its hiding place under the floor. He fumbled in his pocket +for the stub of a lead pencil and, with a sheet of brown paper before +him, sat down at the table and began laboriously to write. + +[Illustration: "Making sure that the boy slept, he began silently to +assemble his trail pack."] + +Waseche Bill had never written a letter, nor had he ever received one. +There was no one to write to, for, during an epidemic of smallpox in a +dirty, twenty-two calibre town of a river State, he had seen his mother +and father placed in long, black, pine boxes, by men who worked swiftly +and silently, and wore strange-looking white masks with sponges at the +mouth, and terrible straight, black robes which smelled strongly, like +the open door of a drug store, and he had seen the boxes carried out at +night and placed on a flat dray which drove swiftly away in the +direction of the treeless square of sand waste, within whose +white-fenced enclosure a few cheap marble slabs gleamed whitely among +many wooden ones. All this he watched from the window, tearful, +terrorized, alone, and from the same window watched the dray driven +hurriedly back through the awful silence of the deserted street and stop +before other houses where other black boxes were carried out by the +strange, silent men dressed in their terrible motley. + +The next day other men came and took him away to the "home." That is, +the men called it a "home," but it was not at all like the home he had +left where there was always plenty to eat, and where mother and father, +no matter how tired and worried they were, always found time to smile or +romp, and in the long evenings, to tell stories. But in this new home +were a matron and a superintendent, instead of mother and father, and, +except on visiting days, there was rarely enough to eat, and many rules +to be obeyed, and irksome work to be done that tired small bodies. And +instead of smiles and romps and stories there were frowns and whippings +and quick, terrifying shakings and scoldings over hard lessons. He +remembered how one day he stole out through an unlocked gate and hid +until dark in a weed patch, and then trudged miles and miles through +the long night and in the morning found himself in the bewildering +outskirts of a great city--he was not Waseche Bill then, but just Willie +Antrum, a small boy, who at the age of nine faced the great world alone. + +The solving of the problem of existence had left scant time for book +learning, and the man regretted the fact now when he was called upon for +the first time to express himself in writing. He had never examined a +letter; his brief excursions into the field of literature having been +confined to the recording of claim papers, and the painful spelling out +of various notices, handbills, and placards, which were posted from time +to time in conspicuous places about trading posts or docks. He puzzled +long over how to begin, and at each word paused to tug at his long +moustache, and glower helplessly and gnaw the end of his stubby pencil. +At last he finished, and weighting the paper with his own new, +six-bladed jackknife crossed again to the bunk and stood for a long +time looking down at the sleeping boy. + +"I sho' do hate to go 'way an' leave yo' li'l' pa'd," he murmured. +"Feels like pullin' teeth in yere." The big fingers pressed the front of +his blue flannel shirt. "But it cain't neveh be tole how Waseche Bill +done helt his pa'dneh to a bad ba'gain afteh his own claim run out--an' +him only a kid. Ef yo' was a man 'twould be dif'ent, but yo' ain't, an' +when you' grow'd up yo' might think I tuk advantage of yo'." + +"Sam Mo'gan unlucky!" he exclaimed, under his breath, "Why ef yo' was my +reg'lar own boy, pa'd, I'd be the luckiest man in Alaska--if I neveh +struck coleh. Unlucky, sho'!" And with a suspicious winking of the eyes, +and a strange lump in his throat, Waseche Bill blew out the lamp, closed +the door softly behind him, harnessed his dogs, and swung out onto the +moonlit trail which gleamed white and cold between low-lying ridges of +stunted spruce. + +Connie Morgan awoke next morning with a feeling that all was not well. +It was dark in the cabin, but his ears could detect no sound of heavy +breathing from the direction of his partner's bunk. Hastily he slipped +from under his blankets and lighted the tin reflector lamp. As the +yellow light flooded the room the boy's heart almost stopped beating and +there was a strange sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach, like that +day at Anvik when the little Yukon steamer churned noisily away from the +log pier. For Waseche Bill's bunk was empty and his blankets were gone, +and so was the tent that had lain in a compact bale in the corner, and +Waseche Bill's rifle was missing from its pegs over the window. + +Suddenly his glance was arrested by the scrap of paper upon the table, +where the rays of light glinted on the backs of the polished blades. He +snatched up the paper and holding it close to the light, spelled out, +with difficulty, the scrawling lines: + + NOTISS. + + dere Pard an' to Whom it may consern + + this here is to Notissfy that me W. Bill [he never could remember + how to spell Waseche, and the name of Antrum had long been + forgotten] has quit pardners with C. Morgan. him to hev both claims + which mine aint no good no moar it havin Petered Out an sloped off + into hissen. i, W. BILL done tuk wat grub i nead an 1/2 the dust + which was ourn, leavin hissen into the poke which i hid as per + always him noin whar its at--an also to hev the cabin an geer. + + SINED an SWORE TO befor ME OKT. 3 at ten Bow camp. so long. Kep the + jack nife Kid fer to rember me with. do like i tole yo an dont + drink no booz nor buck faro layouts like yer daddy never done an + sum day yull be like him barrin his heft which he was a big man but + mebe yull gro which ef yo dont dont wory none. ive saw runty size + men for now which they was _good men_ like Peat Moar down to rapid + City. play the game squr an tak adviz offen Mak Doogle an Duch + Henery an Scotty an D colton but not othes til yo no em wel. I + aimed to see yo thru but things turnin out as they done i caint. + but the boys will hand it to yo strate--thems GOOD MEN yurse troole + W. bill. + +The boy finished reading and, dropping his head in his folded arms, +sobbed as if his heart would break. + +Big McDougall was aroused in the early grey of the cold Alaska dawn by +an insistent pounding upon his door. + +"Come in, can't ye! D'ye want to break doon the hoose?" And as Connie +Morgan burst into the room, he sat upon the edge of his bunk and grinned +sleepily. + +"What's ailin' ye lad, ye look flustered?" + +"Waseche's gone!" cried the boy, in a choking voice, as he thrust the +paper into the great hairy hand. + +"Gone?" questioned the man, and began slowly to decipher the scrawl. At +length he glanced at the boy who stood impatiently by. + +"Weel?" the Scotchman asked. + +"I want your dogs!" + +The man scratched his head. + +"What'll ye be up to wi' the dogs?" + +"I'm going to find Waseche, of course. He's my pardner, and I'm going to +stay by him!" McDougall slowly drew on his boots, and when he looked up +his bearded face was expressionless. + +"D'ye onderstan' that Waseche's claim's no gude? It sloped off shallow +rock onto yourn, an' it's worked out a'ready. Waseche, he's gone, an' +ye're full owner o' the best claim on the Ten Bow. You ain't got no +pardner to divide up wi'--it's all yourn." + +The boy regarded him with blazing eyes: + +"What do you mean, I have no pardner? Waseche _is_ my pardner, and you +bet he'll find that out when I catch him! I'll stick by him no matter +what he says, and if he won't come back, I won't either! Of course I've +got the best claim on Ten Bow, but Waseche put me onto it, and gave me +old Boris, and--" his voice broke and the words came choking between dry +sobs--"and that day in Anvik he said he owed my father a hundred +dollars, and the others all chipped in--I thought it was true then--but +I know now--and I shut up about it because they thought I never knew! + +"I don't want the claim, I want Waseche! And I'll stick by him if I have +to abandon the claim. Pardners are pardners! and when I catch that old +_tillicum_ I'll--I'll bring him back if I have to _beat him up_! My dad +licked British Kronk at Candle--and British was bigger! He's _got_ to +come back!" The small fists were doubled and the small voice rang shrill +and high with righteous indignation. Suddenly Big McDougall's hand shot +out and gripped the little fist, which he wrung in a mighty grip. + +"Ah, laddie, fer all yer wee size, ye're a _mon_! Run ye the noo, an' +pack the sled whilst I harness the dogs. Wi' that ten-team ye'll come +up wi' Waseche anent Ragged Falls Post." Twenty minutes later the boy +appeared with his own dogs unleashed. + +[Illustration: "McDougall's prize _malamutes_ shot out on the trail."] + +"Mush! Boris, find Waseche! Mush!" And the old dog, in perfect +understanding, uttered a low whine of eagerness, and headed northward at +a run. The next instant the boy threw himself belly-wise onto the sled +and McDougall's prize _malamutes_ shot out on the trail of the old lead +dog, with big Mutt and the red-eyed Slasher running free in their wake. + +Standing in his doorway, the Scotchman watched them dwindle in the +distance, while distinctly to his ears, through the still, keen air, +was borne the sharp creak of runners and the thin shouts of the boy as +he urged the dogs over the hard-packed trail: + +"Hi! Hi! Mush-u! Mush-u! Chook-e-e-e!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ON THE TRAIL OF WASECHE + + +Waseche Bill loved the North. The awful grandeur of the naked peaks +towering above wooded heights, the wide sweep of snow valleys, the chill +of the thin, keen air, and the mystic play of the aurora never failed to +cast their magic spell over the heart of the man as he answered the call +of the long white trails. And, until Connie Morgan came into his life, +he had loved _only_ the North. + +Accustomed to disappointment--that bitter heritage of the men who seek +gold--he took the trail from Ten Bow as he had many times taken other +trails, and from the moment the dogs strung out at the crack of his +long-lashed whip, his mind was busy with plans for the future. + +"Reckon I'll pass up Ragged Falls. The's nothin' theh--Coal Creek's +staked, an' Dog Creek, an' Tanatat's done wo'ked out. Reckon I'll jest +drift up Eagle way an git holt of some mo' dogs an' a new outfit, an' +me'be take on a pa'dner an' make a try fo' the Lillimuit." Mile after +mile he covered, talking aloud to himself, as is the way of the men of +the silent places, while the smooth-worn runners of the sled slipped +over the well-packed trail. + +Overhead the sky was brilliant with the shifting, many-hued lights of +the aurora borealis, which threw a weird, flickering glow over the drear +landscape. It was the kind of a night Waseche loved, when the cold, hard +world lay veiled in the half-light of mystery. But his mind was not upon +the wild beauty of his surroundings. His heart was heavy, and a strange +sense of loneliness lay like a load upon his breast. For, not until he +found himself alone upon the trail, did he realize how completely his +little partner had taken possession of his rough, love-starved heart. +Yet, not for an instant did he regret his course in the abandonment of +the claim. + +"It's all in a lifetime," he murmured, "an' I didn't do so bad, at that. +I 'speck theh's clost to ten thousan' in my poke right now--but the +boy's claim! Gee Whiz! Fust an' last it ort to clean up a million! But, +'taint leavin' all that gold in the gravel that's botherin' me. +It's--it's--I reckon it's jest the boy _hisself_. Li'l ol' sourdough! + +"Hayr, yo' One Ear, yo'! Quit yo' foolin'! I'm talkie' like a woman. +Mush on!" + +At daybreak, when he struck the wide trail of the big river, Waseche +Bill halted for breakfast, fed and rested his dogs, and swung upstream +on the long trail for Eagle. + + * * * * * + +McDougall's ten _malamutes_ were the pride of McDougall and the envy of +the Yukon. As they disappeared in the distance bearing Connie Morgan on +the trail of his deserting "pardner," the big Scotchman turned and +entered his cabin. + +"He's a braw lad," he rumbled, as he busied himself about the stove. "To +Waseche's mind the lad's but a wee lad; an' the mon done what few men +w'd done when ut come to the test. But, fer a' his sma' size the lad's +uncanny knowin', an' the heart o' um's the heart o' a _tillicum_. + +"He'll fetch Waseche back, fer he'll tak' na odds--an' a gude job ut'll +be--fer, betwixt me an' mesel', the ain needs the ither as much as the +ither needs the ain. 'Tis the talk o' the camp that ne'er a nicht sin' +Ten Bow started has Waseche darkened the door o' Dog Head Jake's saloon, +an' they aint a sourdough along the Yukon but what kens when things was +different wi' Waseche Bill." + +Out on the trail, Connie urged the dogs forward. Like Waseche Bill, he, +too, had learned to love the great White Country, but this day he had +eyes only for the long sweep of the trail and the flying feet of the +_malamutes_. + +"I must catch him! I've _got_ to catch him!" he kept repeating to +himself, as the flying sled shot along hillsides and through long +stretches of stunted timber. "He'll make Ragged Falls Post tonight, and +I'll make it before morning." + +Darkness had fallen before the long team swept out onto the Yukon. +Overhead the stars winked coldly upon the broad surface of the frozen +river whose snow reefs and drifts, between which wound the trail, lay +like the marble waves of a sculptured ocean. + +Old Boris, running free in the lead, paused at the junction of the +trails, sniffed at the place where Waseche had halted early in the +morning, and loped unhesitatingly up the river. The old lead dog was +several hundred yards in advance of the team, and cut off from sight by +the high-piled drifts; so that when Connie reached the spot he swung the +_malamutes_ downstream in the direction of Ragged Falls Post, never for +an instant suspecting that his partner had taken the opposite trail. + +For several minutes old Boris ran on with his nose to the snow, then, +missing the sound of the scratching feet and the dry husk of the +runners, he paused and listened with ears cocked and eyes in close +scrutiny of the back trail. Surely, those were the sounds of the dog +team--but why were they growing fainter in the distance? The old dog +whimpered uneasily, and then, throwing back his head, gave voice to a +long, bell-like cry which, floating out on the tingling air like the +blast of a bugle, was borne to the ears of the boy on the flying dog +sled, already a half-mile to the westward. At his sharp command, the +well trained _malamutes_ nearly piled up with the suddenness of their +stop. The boy listened breathlessly and again it sounded--the long-drawn +howl he knew so well. "Why has Boris left the trail," wondered the boy. +"Had Waseche met with an accident and camped? Were the feet of his dogs +sore? Was he hurt?" Connie glanced at his own two dogs, Mutt and +Slasher, who, unharnessed, had followed in his wake. They, too, heard +the call of their leader and had crouched in the snow, gazing backward. +Quickly he swung the sled dogs and dashed back at a gallop. Passing the +point where the Ten Bow trail slanted into the hills, he urged the dogs +to greater effort. If something had happened and Waseche had camped, the +quicker he found him the better. But, if Waseche had not camped, and old +Boris was fooling him, it would mean nearly an hour lost in useless +doubling. With anxious eyes he scanned the trail ahead, seeking to +penetrate the gloom of the Arctic night. At length, as the sled shot +from between two high-piled drifts, he made out a dark blotch in the +distance, which quickly resolved itself into the figure of the old lead +dog sitting upon his haunches with ears alert for the approaching sled. +Connie whistled, a loud, peculiar whistle, and the old dog bounded +forward with short, quick yelps of delight. + +"Where is Waseche, Boris?" The boy had leaped from the sled and was +mauling the rough coat playfully. "Find Waseche! Boris! Go find him!" +With a sharp, joyful bark, the old dog leaped out upon the trail and the +wolf-dogs followed. A mile slipped past--two miles--and no sign of +Waseche! The boy called a halt. "Boris is fooling me," he muttered, +with disappointment. "He couldn't have come this far and gotten back to +the place I found him." + +Connie had once accompanied Waseche Bill to Ragged Falls Post and when +he took the trail it was with the idea that Waseche had headed for that +point. Unconsciously, Scotty McDougall had strengthened the conviction +when he told the boy he should overtake his partner at Ragged Falls. So +now it never occurred to him that the man had taken the trail for Eagle, +which lay four days to the south-east. + +Disappointed in the behaviour of the old dog, upon whose sagacity he had +relied, and bitterly begrudging the lost time, he whistled Boris in and +tried to start him down the river. But the old dog refused to lead and +continued to make short, whimpering dashes in the opposite direction. At +last, the boy gave up in despair and headed the team for Ragged Falls, +and Boris, with whimpered protests and drooping tail, followed beside +Mutt and Slasher. + +All night McDougall's _malamutes_ mushed steadily over the trail, and in +the grey of the morning, as they swept around a wide bend of the great +river, the long, low, snow-covered roof of Ragged Falls Post, with its +bare flagpole, appeared crowning a flat-topped bluff on the right bank. + +Connie's heart bounded with relief at the sight. For twenty hours he had +urged the dogs over the trail with only two short intervals of rest, and +now he had reached his goal--and Waseche! + +"Wonder what he'll say?" smiled the tired boy. "I bet he'll be surprised +to see me--and glad, too--only he'll pretend not to be. Doggone old +_tillicum_! He's the best pardner a man ever had!" + +Eagerly the boy swung the dogs at the steep slope that led to the top of +the bluff. A thin plume of smoke was rising above the roof; there was +the sound of an opening door, and a man in shirt sleeves eyed the +approaching outfit sleepily. Connie recognized him as Black Jack +Demaree, the storekeeper. And then the boy's heart almost stopped +beating, for the gate of the log stockade that served as a dog corral +stood open, and upon the packed snow before the door was no sled. + +"Hello, sonny!" called the man from the doorway. "Well, dog my cats! If +it ain't Sam Morgan's boy! Them's Scotty McDougall's team, ain't it?" + +"Where's Waseche Bill?" asked the boy, ignoring the man's greeting. + +"Waseche Bill! Why, I ain't saw Waseche sense you an' him was down las' +summer." The small shoulders drooped wearily, and the small head turned +away, as, choking back the tears of disappointment, the boy stared out +over the river. The man looked for a moment at the dejected little +figure and, stepping to his side, laid a rough, kindly hand on the boy's +arm. + +"Come, sonny; fust off, we'll git the dawgs unharnessed an' fed, an' +then, when we git breakfas' et, we c'n make medicine." The boy shook his +head. + +"I can't stop," he said; "I must find Waseche." + +"Now, look a here, don't you worry none 'bout Waseche. That there ol' +sourdough'll take care of hisself. Why, he c'n trail through a country +where a wolf w'd starve to death! + +"Ye've got to eat, son. An' yer dawgs has got to eat an' rest. I see +ye're in a hurry, an' I won't detain ye needless. Mind ye, they worn't +no better man than Sam Morgan, yer daddy, an' he worn't above takin' +advice off a friend." Without a word the boy fell to and helped the man, +who was already unharnessing the dogs. + +"Now, son, 'fore ye turn in fer a few winks," said Black Jack Demaree, +as he gulped down the last of his coffee and filled his pipe. "Jes' +loosten up an' tell me how come you an' Waseche ain't up on Ten Bow +workin' yer claim?" + +The man listened attentively as the boy told how his partner's claim had +sloped off into his own and "petered out." And of how Waseche Bill had +taken the trail in the night, so the boy would have an undivided +interest in the good claim. And, also, of how, when he woke up and +found his partner gone, he had borrowed McDougall's dogs and followed. +And, lastly, of the way old Boris acted at the fork of the trails. When +the boy finished, the man sat for several minutes puffing slowly at his +short, black pipe, and watching the blue smoke curl upward. Presently he +cleared his throat. + +"In the first place, sonny, ye'd ort to know'd better'n to go contrary +to the ol' dawg. In this here country it's as needful to know dawgs as +it is to know men. That there's a lesson ye won't soon fergit--never set +up yer own guess agin' a good dawgs nose. Course, ye've got to know yer +dawg. Take a rankus pup that ain't got no sense yet, an' he's li'ble to +contankerate off on the wrong trail--but no one wouldn't pay no heed to +him, no more'n they would to some raw shorthorn that come a +blustercatin' along with a sled load o' pyrites, expectin' to start a +stampede. + +"But, ye're only delayed a bit. It's plain as daylight, Waseche hit fer +Eagle, an' ye'll come up with him, 'cause, chances is, he'll projec' +round a bit among the boys, an' if he figgers on a trip into the hills +he'll have to outfit fer it." + +"Thank you, Jack," said the boy, offering his small hand; "I'll sure +remember what you told me. I think I'll take a little nap and then +mush." + +"That's the talk, son. Never mind unrollin' yer bed, jes' climb into my +bunk, yonder. It's five days to Eagle, an' while ye're sleepin' I'll +jes' run through yer outfit an' see what ye need, an' when ye wake up +it'll be all packed an' ready fer ye." + +When Connie opened his eyes, daylight had vanished and Black Jack sat +near the stove reading a paper-backed novel by the light of a tin +reflector lamp. + +"What time is it?" asked the boy, as he fastened his _mukluks_. + +"'Bout 'leven G.M.," grinned the man. + +"Why, I've slept twelve hours!" exclaimed the boy in dismay. + +[Illustration: "When Connie opened his eyes, daylight had vanished."] + +"Well, ye needed it, er ye wouldn't of slep' it," remarked the man, +philosophically. + +"But, look at the _time_ I've wasted. I might have been----" + +"Now, listen to me, son. Yere's another thing ye've got to learn, an' +that is: In this here country a man's got to keep hisself fit--an' his +dawgs, too. Forcin' the trail means loosin' out in the long run. Eight +or ten hours is a day's work on the trail--an' a good day. 'Course +they's exceptions, like a stampede or a rush fer a doctor when a man c'n +afford to take chances. But take it day in an' day out, eight or ten +hours'll git ye further than eighteen or twenty. + +"It's the _chechakos_ an' the tin horns that excrootiates theirselves +an' their dawgs to a frazzle, an' when a storm hits 'em, er they miss a +cache, it's good-night! Take an ol' sourdough an' he'll jes' sagashitate +along, eat a plenty an' sleep a plenty an' do the like by his dawgs, an' +when trouble comes he jes' tightens his belt a hole er two an' hits his +dawgs couple extra licks fer breakfas' an' exooberates along on his +nerve. + +"Eat yer supper, now, an' ye c'n hit the trail whenever ye like. Yer +sled's packed fer the trip an' a couple days to spare." + +"I came away in such a hurry I forgot to bring my dust," said the boy, +ruefully. + +"Well, I guess ye're good fer it," laughed the man. "Wisht I had a +thousan' on my books with claims as good as yourn an' Waseche's." + +After supper they harnessed the dogs and the boy turned to bid his +friend good-bye. The man extended a buckskin pouch. + +"Here's a poke with a couple hundred in it. Take it along. Ye mightn't +need it, an' then agin ye might, an' if ye do need it, ye'll need it +bad." The boy made a motion of protest. + +"G'wan, it's yourn. I got it all chalked up agin ye, an' I'd have to +change the figgers, an' if they's anything on earth I hate, it's to +bookkeep. So long! When ye see Waseche Bill, tell him Black Jack Demaree +says ye can't never tell by the size of a frog how fer he c'n jump." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE MEN OF EAGLE + + +Waseche Bill jogged along the main street of Eagle, past log cabins, +board shacks, and the deceiving two-story fronts of one-story stores. +Now and then an acquaintance hailed him from the wooden sidewalk, and he +recognized others he knew, among the small knots of men who stood about +idly discussing the meagre news of the camp. At the Royal Palm Hotel, a +long, low, log building with a false front of boards, he swung in and, +passing around to the rear, turned his dogs into the stockade. + +In the office, seated about the stove, were a dozen or more men, most of +whom Waseche knew. They greeted him loudly as he entered, and plied him +with a volley of questions. + +"Where ye headed?" + +"Thought ye'd struck it rich on Ten Bow?" + +"D'ye hear about Camaron Creek?" + +The newcomer removed his heavy _parka_ and joined the group, answering a +question here, and asking one there. + +"How's Sam Morgan's boy comin' on? We heard how you an' him was pardners +an' had a big thing over on Ten Bow," inquired a tall man whose doleful +length of sallow countenance had earned him the nickname of Fiddle Face. +As he talked, this man gnawed the end of his prodigiously long mustache. +Waseche's eyes lighted at the mention of the boy. + +"He's the finest kid eveh was, I reckon. Sma't as a steel trap, an' they +ain't nawthin' he won't tackle. C'n cook a meal o' vittles that'd make +yo' mouth wateh, an' jest nach'lly handles dogs like an ol' _tillicum_." + +"How come ye ain't workin' yer claim?" asked someone. + +"It's this-a-way," answered Waseche, addressing the group. "Mine's +Discovery, an' his'n's One Below, an' we th'ow'd in togetheh. 'Bout ten +foot down, mine sloped off into his'n--run plumb out. An' I come away +so's the kid'll have the claim cleah." A silence followed Waseche's +simple statement--a silence punctuated by nods of approval and +low-voiced mutterings of "Hard luck," and "Too bad." Fiddle Face was +first to speak. + +"That's what I call a _man_!" he exclaimed, bringing his hand down on +Waseche's shoulder with a resounding whack. + +"Won't ye step acrost to Hank's place an' have a drink?" invited a large +man, removing his feet from the fender of the big stove, and settling +the fur cap more firmly upon his head. + +"No thanks, Joe. Fact is, I ain't took a drink fo' quite a spell. Kind +o' got out o' the notion, somehow." + +"Well, sure seems funny to hear you refusin' a drink! Remember +Iditarod?" The man smiled. + +"Oh, sure, I recollect. An' I recollect that it ain't neveh got me +nawthin' but misery an' an empty poke. But, it ain't so much that. +It's--well, it's like this: Sam Mo'gan, he ain't heah no mo' to look +afteh the kid, an'--yo' see, the li'l scamp, he's kind o' got it in his +head that they ain't no one jest like me--kind o' thinks I really 'mount +to somethin', an' what I say an' do is 'bout right. It don't stand to +reason I c'n make him b'lieve 'taint no good to drink licker, an' then +go ahead an' drink it myself--does it, now?" + +"Sure don't!" agreed the other heartily. "An' that's what _I_ call a +man!" And the whack that descended upon Waseche's shoulder out-sounded +by half the whack of Fiddle Face. + +After supper the men drifted out by twos and threes for their nightly +rounds of the camp's tawdry places of amusement. Waseche Bill, declining +their invitations, sat alone by the stove, thinking. The man was lonely. +Until this night he had had no time to realize how much he missed his +little partner, and his thoughts lingered over the long evenings when +they talked together in the cabin, and the boy would read aloud from the +illustrated magazines. + +A chair was drawn up beside his, and the man called Joe laid a large +hand upon his knee. + +"This here Sam Morgan's boy--does he favour Sam?" he asked. + +"Like as two bullets--barrin' size," replied Waseche, without raising +his eyes. + +"I s'pose you talked it over with the kid 'fore you come away?" Waseche +looked up. + +"Why, no! I done left a lettah, an' come away while he was sleepin'." + +"D'ye think he'll stand fer that?" + +"I reckon he's got to. Course, it'll be kind o' hard on him, fust off, +me'be. Same as me. But it's bettah fo' him in the end. Why, his claim's +good fo' a million! An' the boys up to Ten Bow, they'll see him +through--McDougall, an' Dutch Henry, an' the rest. They-all think as +much of the boy as what I do." The big man at Waseche's side shook his +head doubtfully. + +"I know'd Sam Morgan well," he said, fixing the other with his eyes. "He +done me a good turn onct an' he never asked no odds off'en no one. Now, +if the kid's jes' like him--s'pose he follers ye?" + +"Cain't. He ain't got the dogs to." + +The other smiled and dropped the subject. + +"Where ye headin' fer, Waseche?" he asked, after a few moments of +silence. + +"I aim to make a try fo' the Lillimuit." + +"The Lillimuit!" exclaimed Joe. "Man, be ye crazy?" + +"No. They's gold theh. I seen the nuggets Sven Carlson fetched back two +ye'rs ago." + +"Yes! An' where's Sven Carlson now?" + +"I don'no." + +"An' no one else don't know, neither. He's dead--that's where he is! +Leastwise, he ain't never be'n heerd from after he started back fer the +Lillimuit." + +"Want to go 'long?" asked Waseche, ignoring the other's statement. + +"Who? Me! Not on yer life I don't--not to the Lillimuit! Not fer all +the gold in the world." + +"Oh, I reckon 'tain't so bad as folks claim." + +"Claim! Folks ain't in no shape to claim! They ain't no one ever come +back, 'cept Carlson--an' he was loco, an' went in agin--an' that's the +last of Carlson." + +"What ails the country?" asked Waseche. + +"They's talk of white Injuns, an' creeks that don't freeze, an'--well, +they don't no one really know, but Carlson." The man shrugged and +glanced over his shoulder. "If I was you, I'd hit the back trail. They's +a plenty fer two in the Ten Bow claim an' pardners is pardners." + +Waseche ignored the suggestion: + +"I'll be pullin' fer the Lillimuit in the mo'nin'. Sorry ye won't jine +me. I'll be rollin' in, now. Good-night." + +"So long! An' good luck to ye. I sure hate to see ye go." + + * * * * * + +Early in the evening of the fourth day after Waseche Bill's departure +for the unknown Lillimuit Connie Morgan swung McDougall's ten-dog team +into Eagle. + +The boy, heeding the advice of Black Jack Demaree, had curbed his +impatience and religiously held himself to a ten-hour schedule, and the +result was easily apparent in the way the dogs dashed up the steep trail +and swung into the well-packed street of the big camp. + +In front of a wooden building marked "Post Office," he halted. A large +man, just emerging from the door, stared in amusement at the tiny +_parka_-clad figure that confronted him. + +"Hello, son!" he called. "Where might you be headin' fer?" + +"I'm hunting for Waseche Bill," the youngster replied. "Have you seen +him?" + +"That'll be Scotty McDougall's team," observed the man. + +"Yes, but have you seen Waseche?" + +"You'll be Sam Morgan's boy," the man continued. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, come on along up to the _ho_tel." + +"Is Waseche there?" eagerly inquired the boy. + +"Well, no, he ain't jes' right there, this very minute," replied the +man, evasively. + +"Where has he gone?" asked the boy, with a sudden fear in his heart. + +"Oh, jes' siyou'd out on a little prospectin' trip. Come on, I'll give +ye a hand with the dogs--supper'll be about ready." + +That evening Connie Morgan found himself the centre of an interested +group of miners--rough, kindly men, who welcomed him warmly, asked the +news of Ten Bow, and recounted in awkward, hesitating sentences stories +of his father. Before turning into the bunk assigned to him, the boy +sought out the proprietor of the hotel, who sat in the centre of an +interested group, discussing local politics with a man from Circle. + +"I'll pay my bill now, because I want to hit the trail before +breakfast," he said, producing the well-filled pouch that Black Jack +Demaree had thrust into his hand. Big Jim Sontag chuckled way back in +his beard as he regarded his littlest guest. + +"Go 'long, yo', sonny! Shove yo' poke in yo' pocket. Yo' welcome to stop +undeh my roof long as yo' want to. Why, if I was to cha'ge yo' fo' boa'd +an' lodgin' afteh what yo' pap done fo' me, up on Tillimik--hope the +wolves'll eat me, hide an' taller!" + +The man called Joe came around the stove and stood looking down at the +boy. + +"Look here, son, where you aimin' to hit fer so early in the mornin'?" + +"Why, to find Waseche, of course!" The boy seemed surprised at the +question. + +"To the Lillimuit!" someone gasped, but Joe silenced him. + +"Son," he said, speaking slowly, "Waseche Bill's struck out fer the +Lillimuit--the country where men don't come back from. Waseche's a +man--an' a good one. He knows what he's up agin', an' if he wants to +take a chanct that's his business. But, jes' between us, Waseche won't +come back." The boy's small shoulders stiffened and his eyes flashed, as +the little face uptilted to look into the man's eyes. + +"If Waseche don't come back, then I don't come back either!" he +exclaimed. "He's my _pardner_! I've _got_ to find him!" + +"That's what I call a _man_!" yelled Fiddle Face, bringing his fist down +upon the table with a bang. + +"Jes' the same, sonny," continued Joe, firmly, "we can't let ye go. We +owes it to you, an' we owes it to Sam Morgan. They's too many a good +man's bones layin' somewhere amongst them fiendish peaks an' passes, +now. No, son, you c'n stay in Eagle as long as you like, an' welcome. +Or, you c'n hit the trail fer Ten Bow. But you can't strike out fer the +Lillimuit--_an' that goes_!" There was finality in the man's tone, and +one swift glance into the faces of the others told the boy that they +were of the same mind, to a man. For the first time in his life, Connie +Morgan faced the opposition of men. Instinctively he knew that every +man in the room was his friend, but never in his life had he felt so +helplessly alone. What could one small boy do in the face of the +ultimatum of these men of the North? Tears rushed to his eyes and, for a +moment, threatened to overflow upon his cheeks, but, in that moment, +there arose before him the face of Waseche Bill--his "pardner." The +little fists clenched, the grey eyes narrowed, forcing back the hot +tears, and the tiny jaw squared to the gritting of his teeth. + +[Illustration: "What could one small boy do in the face of the ultimatum +of these men of the North?"] + +"Good-night," he said, and selecting a candle from among the many on +top of the rude desk, disappeared down the dark corridor between the +rows of stall-like rooms. + +"Jes' fo' all the wo'ld like Sam Mo'gan," drawled big Jim Sontag. "I've +saw _his_ eyes squinch up, an' his jaw clamp shut, that-a-way, a many a +time--an' nary time but somethin' happened. We've shore got to keep an +eye on that young un, 'cause he aims to give us the slip in the +mo'nin'." + +"Ye said somethin', then, Jim," agreed Fiddle Face, gnawing at his +mustache. "The kid's got sand, an' he's game plumb through, an' when he +starts somethin' he aims to finish it--which like his dad used to." + +Connie Morgan, for all his tender years, knew men. He knew, when he left +the group about the stove, that they would expect him to try to slip out +of Eagle, and that if he waited until morning he would have no chance in +the world of eluding their vigilance. Minutes counted, for he also knew +that once on the trail, he need have no fear of pursuit; for no team in +the Yukon country, save only Dutch Henry's Hudson Bays, could come +anywhere near the trail record of McDougall's ten gaunt _malamutes_. + +Pausing only long enough in the little room with its scrawling "No. 27" +painted on the door to wriggle into his _parka_ and snatch his cap from +the bunk, he stole cautiously down the narrow passage leading to the +rear of the ell, where a small door opened directly into the stockade. +With feverish haste he harnessed the dogs and opened the gate. In the +shadow of the building he paused and peered anxiously up and down the +street. No one was in sight and, through the heavily frosted windows of +the buildings, dull squares of light threw but faint illumination upon +the deserted thoroughfare. + +"Mush! Mush!" he whispered, swinging the long team out onto the +hard-packed snow. + +As he passed a store the door opened and a man stood outlined in the +patch of yellow light. Connie's heart leaped to his throat, but the man +only stared in evident surprise that any one would be hitting the trail +at that time of night, and then the door closed and the boy breathed +again. He wished that he could stop and lay in a supply of grub, but +dared not risk it. Better pay twice the price to some prospector, or +trapper, than risk being stopped. + +Silently the sled glided over the smooth trail and slanted out onto the +river with Boris, Mutt, and Slasher capering in its wake. + +Connie had only a vague notion as to the location of the unknown +Lillimuit. He knew that it lay somewhere among the unmapped headwaters +of Peel River, and that he must head up the Tatonduk and cross a divide. +Toward morning he halted at the mouth of a river that flowed in from the +north-east. A little-used trail was faintly discernible and the boy +called the old lead dog. + +"Go find Waseche, Boris!" he cried, "go find him!" Notwithstanding the +fact that Waseche's trail was nearly five days old, the old dog sniffed +at the snow and, with a joyous yelp, headed up the smaller river. + +The next morning there was consternation in Eagle, and a half-dozen dog +sleds hit the trail. About ten miles up the Tatonduk, the men of Eagle +met a half-breed trapper with an empty sled. + +"Any one pass ye, goin' up?" asked Joe. + +The trapper grinned. + +"Yeste'day," he answered, "white man papoose"; he held his hand about +four feet from the snow. "Ten-dog team--Mush! Mush! Mush! Go like de +wolf! Stop on my camp. Buy all de grub. Nev' min' de cost--hur' up! He +try for catch white man, go by four sleeps ago." Joe cracked his whip +and the dogs leaped forward. + +"You no catch!" the half-breed shouted. "Papoose, him go! go! go! Try +for mak' Lillimuit. Him no come back." + +Disregarding the prediction of the half-breed, Joe, Fiddle Face, and big +Jim Sontag continued their pursuit of the flying dog team, despite the +fact that as they progressed the trail grew colder. After many days they +came to the foot of the great white divide and camped beneath overcast +skies, and in the morning a storm broke with unbelievable fury. + +Every man, woman, and child in eastern Alaska remembers the great +blizzard that whirled out of the north on the morning of the third of +December and raged unabated for four days, ceased as suddenly as it +started, and then, for four days more, roared terrifically into the +north again. + +On the ninth day, the three men burrowed from their shelter at the foot +of a perpendicular cliff. The trail was obliterated, and on every hand +they were confronted by huge drifts from ten to thirty feet in height, +while above them, clinging precariously to the steep side of the +mountain that divided them from the dreaded unknown, were vast ridges of +snow that momentarily threatened to tear loose and bury them beneath a +mighty avalanche. + +Silently the men stared into each other's faces, and then--silently, for +none dared trust himself to speak--these big men of the North harnessed +their dogs and began the laborious homeward journey with heavy hearts. + + * * * * * + +And, at that very moment, a small boy, eighty miles beyond the +impassable barrier of the snow-capped divide, tunnelled through a huge +drift that sealed the mouth of an ice cavern in the side of an inland +glacier, and looked out upon the bewildering tangle of gleaming peaks. +Thanks to the unerring nose of old Boris, and the speed of McDougall's +sled dogs, the trail of Waseche had each day become warmer, and the +night before the storm, when Connie camped in the convenient ice-cavern, +he judged his partner to be only a day ahead. When the storm continued +day after day, he chafed at the delay, but comforted himself with the +thought that Waseche must also camp. + +As he stood at the mouth of his cave gazing at the unfamiliar +mountains, towering range upon range, with their peaks glittering in the +cold rays of the morning sun, old Boris crowded past him and plunged +into the unbroken whiteness of the little valley. Round and round he +circled with lowered head. Up and down the jagged ice wall of the +glacier he ran, sniffing the snow and whining with eagerness to pick up +the trail that he had followed for so many days. And as the boy watched +him, a sudden fear clutched at his heart. For instead of starting off +with short, joyous yelps of confidence, the old dog continued his +aimless circling, and at length, as if giving up in despair, sat upon +his haunches, pointed his sharp muzzle skyward, and lifted his voice in +howl after quavering howl of disappointment. + +"The trail is buried," groaned the boy, "and I had almost caught up with +him!" He glanced hopelessly up and down the valley, realizing for the +first time that the landmarks of the back trail were obliterated. His +eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth: + +"I'll find him yet," he muttered. "My Dad always played in hard +luck--but he never _quit_! I'll find Waseche--but, if I don't find him, +the big men back there that knew Sam Morgan--they'll know Sam Morgan's +boy was no quitter, either!" He turned away from the entrance and began +to harness the dogs. + + * * * * * + +Way down the valley, high on the surface of the glacier, Waseche Bill +stopped suddenly to listen. Faint and far, a sound was borne to his ears +through the thin, cold air. He jerked back his _parka_ hood and strained +to catch the faint echo. Again he heard it--the long, bell-like howl of +a dog--and as he listened, the man's face paled, and a strange prickling +sensation started at the roots of his hair and worked slowly along his +spine. For this man of the North knew dogs. Even in the white fastness +of the terrible Lillimuit he could not be mistaken. + +"Boris! Boris!" he cried, and whirling his wolf-dogs in their tracks, +dashed over the windswept surface of the glacier in the direction of +the sound. + +"I can't be wrong! I can't be wrong!" he repeated over and over again, +"I raised him from a pup!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +IN THE LILLIMUIT + + +Speak _desolation_. What does it mean to you? What picture rises before +your eyes? A land laid waste by the ravages of war? A brain picture of +sodden, trampled fields, leaning fences, grey piles of smoking ashes +which are the ruins of homes, flanking a long, white, unpeopled highway +strewn with litter, broken wagons, abandoned caissons, and, here and +there, long fresh-heaved ridges of brown earth that cover the men who +were? Isn't that the picture? And isn't it the evening of a dull grey +day, just at the time when the gloom of twilight shades into the black +pall of night, and way toward the edge of the world, on the indistinct +horizon, a lurid red glow tints the low-hung clouds--no flames--only the +dull, illusive glow that wavers and fades in the heavens above other +burning homes? Yes, that is desolation. And, yet--men have been +here--everything about you speaks the presence of people. Here people +lived and loved and were happy; and here, also, they were heartbroken +and sad. The whole picture breathes humanity--and the inhumanity of men. +And, as people have lived here, instinctively you know that people will +live here again; for this is man-made desolation. + +Only those to whom it has been given to know the Big North--the gaunt, +white, silent land beyond the haunts of men--can realize the true +significance of _desolation_. + +Stand surrounded by range upon towering range of unmapped mountains +whose clean-cut peaks show clear and sharp through the keen air--air so +dry and thin that the slanting rays of the low-hung midday sun gleam +whitely upon the outlines of ice crags a hundred miles away. Stand there +alone, enveloped by the solitude of the land where men never lived--nor +ever will live--where the silence is a _thing_, pressing closer and +closer about you--smothering you--so that, instinctively, you throw out +your hands to push it away that you may breathe--then you begin to know +desolation--the utter desolation of the frozen wilderness, the cold, +dead land of mystery. + +The long howl of the great grey wolf as he lopes over the hunger trail +is an eerie sound; so is the cackling, insane laughter of a pack of +coyotes in the night-time, and the weird scream of the _loup-cervier_; +but of all sounds, the most desolate, the sound that to the ears of man +spells the last word of utter solitude and desolation, is the short, +quick, single bark of the Arctic fox as he pads invisible as a phantom +in his haunts among the echoing rim-rocks. Amid these surroundings, +brains give way. Not soften into maudlin idiocy, but explode in a frenzy +of violence, so that men rush screaming before the relentless solitude; +or fight foolishly and to the death against the powers of cold amid the +unreal colours of the aurora borealis whose whizzing hiss roars in +their ears when, at the last, they pitch forward into the frozen +whiteness--bushed! + +This was the scene of desolation that confronted Connie Morgan as +McDougall's straining _malamutes_ jerked the sled from the ice-cavern +that had served as a shelter through all the days of the great blizzard, +when the wind-lashed snow, fine as frozen fog, eddied and whirled across +the surface of the glacier which towered above him, and drifted deep in +the narrow pass. + +The sled runners squeaked loudly in the flinty snow, and Connie halted +the dogs and surveyed the forbidding landscape. Never in his life had he +been so utterly alone. For twenty days he had followed the trail of +Waseche Bill, and now he stood at the end of the trail--worse than that, +for the high piled drifts that buried the trail of Waseche covered his +own back trail, completely wiping out the one slender thread that +connected him with the land of men. He stood alone in the dreaded +Lillimuit! Before him rose a confusion of mountains--tier after tier of +naked peaks clear and sharp against the blue sky. Fresh as he was from +the great Alaska ranges, the boy was strangely awed by the vastness of +it all. It was unreal. He missed the black-green of the timber belt that +relieved the long sweep of his own mountains, for here, from rounded +foothill to topmost pinnacle, the mountains were as bare of vegetation +as floating icebergs. The very silence was unnatural and the boy's lips +pressed tightly together as thoughts of Ten Bow crowded his brain: the +windlass-capped shafts, the fresh dumps that showed against the white +snow of the valley; the red flash and glow of the fires in the night +that thawed out the gravel for the next day's digging; the rough log +cabins ranged up and down the gulch in two straggling rows--he could +almost hear the good-natured banter which was daily exchanged across the +frozen creek bed between the rival residents of Broadway and "Fiff +Avenue," as the two irregular "streets" of the camp were named. He +thought of his own cabin and the long evenings with his big partner, +Waseche Bill, sitting close to the roaring little "Yukon stove," +puffing contentedly upon his black pipe, which he removed now and then +from between his lips to judiciously comment upon the stories that the +boy read from the man-thumbed, coverless magazines of other years, which +had been passed from hand to hand by the big men of the frozen places. + +A lump came in his throat and he swallowed hard, and as he looked, the +naked peaks blurred and swam together; and two hot, salty tears stung +his eyes. At the sting of the tears the little form stiffened and the +boy glanced swiftly about him as, with a mittened hand, he dashed the +moisture from his eyes. The small fingers clenched hard about the handle +of the long-lashed, walrus hide dog whip, and he stepped quickly to the +gee-pole of the sled. + +"I'm a _piker_!" he cried, "a _chechako_ and a _kid_ and a _tin-horn_ +and a _piker_! Crying like a girl because I'm homesick! _Bah!_ What +would Waseche say if he could see me now? And _Dad_? _There_ was a +_man_! Sam Morgan!" The little arms extended impulsively toward the +great white peaks and the big blue eyes glowed proudly: + +"Oh, Dad! _Dad!_ They call you unlucky! But I'd rather have the big men +back there think of me like they talk of _you_, than to have all the +gold in the world!" He leaped suddenly beyond the sled and shook a tiny +clenched fist toward the glittering crags. + +"I'm _not_ a piker!" he cried, fiercely. "I couldn't be a piker, and be +Sam Morgan's boy! I got here in spite of the men of Eagle! And I'll find +Waseche, too! I'm not afraid of you! You cold, white Lillimuit--with +your big, bare, frozen mountains, and your glaciers, and your stillness! +You can't bluff _me_! You may _get_ me--but you can't _turn_ me! _I'm +game!_" + +As the voice of the boy thinned into the cold air, Slasher, the gaunt, +red-eyed wolf-dog, that no man had ever tamed, ranged himself close at +his side and, with bristling hair and bared fangs, added his rumbling, +throaty growl to Connie Morgan's defiance of the North. + +With a high-pitched whoop of encouragement and a loud crack of the whip, +the boy swung the impatient ten-team to the westward and headed it down +the canyon into the very heart of the Lillimuit. High mountains towered +above him to the left, and to the right the sheer wall of the glacier +formed an insurmountable barrier. The dry, hard-packed snow afforded +excellent footing and McDougall's trained sled dogs made good time as +they followed the lead of old Boris who, trotting in advance, unerringly +picked the smoothest track between the detached masses of ice and +granite that in places all but blocked the narrowing gorge, into which +the trail of Waseche Bill had led on the first day of the great +blizzard. + +Mile after mile they covered, and as the walls drew closer together the +light dimmed, for the slanting rays of the winter sun even at midday +never penetrated to the floor of the narrow canyon. As he rounded a +sharp bend, Connie halted the dogs in dismay for, a short distance in +front of him, the ice-wall of the glacier slanted suddenly against the +granite shoulder of a high butte. Wide eyed, he stared at the barrier. +He was in a blind pocket--a _cul-de-sac_ of the mountains! But where was +Waseche? Weary and disappointed the boy seated himself on the sled to +reason it out. + +"There _must_ be a way out," he argued. "I didn't camp till the snow got +so thick I couldn't see, and he had to camp, too. If he doubled back I +would have seen him." He started to his feet in a sudden panic. "I +wonder if he did--while I slept?" Then, as his glance fell upon the +dogs, he smiled. "You bet, he didn't!" he cried aloud, "not with +thirteen wolf-dogs camped beside the trail. Slasher would growl and +bristle up if a man came within half a mile of us, and Waseche could +never get past old Boris." He remembered the words of Black Jack +Demaree: "Never set up yer own guess agin' a good dog's nose." Connie +Morgan was learning the North--he was trusting his dogs. + +"There's a trail, somewhere," he exclaimed, "and it's up to me to find +it!" He cracked his whip, but instead of leaping to the pull, the dogs +crouched quivering in the snow. The ground trembled as in the throes of +a mighty earthquake and the boy whirled in his tracks as the canyon +reverberated to the crash of a thousand thunders. He dashed to the point +where, a few minutes before, he had rounded the sharp angle of the trail +and gasped at the sight that met his gaze. The weather-whitened ice of +the glacier wall was rent and shivered in a broad, green scar, and in +the canyon a mass of broken ice fifty feet high completely blocked the +back trail. He was imprisoned! Not in a man-made jail of iron bars and +concrete--but a veritable prison of the wilderness, whose impregnable +walls of ice and granite seemed to touch the far-off sky. The boy's +heart sank as he gazed upon the perpendicular wall that barred the +trail. For just an instant his lip quivered and then the little +shoulders stiffened and the blue eyes narrowed as they had narrowed that +evening he faced the men of Eagle. + +"You didn't get me, Lillimuit!" he shouted. "You'll have to shoot the +other barrel!" His voice echoed hollow and thin between the gloomy +walls, and he turned to the dogs. Old Boris, always in search of a +trail, sniffed industriously about the base of the glacier. Big, +lumbering Mutt, who in harness could out-pull any dog in the Northland, +rolled about in the snow and barked foolishly in his excitement. +Slasher, more wolf than dog, stood snarling his red-eyed hate in the +face of the new-formed ice barrier. And McDougall's _malamutes_, wise in +the ways of the snow trail, stood alert, with eyes on the face of the +boy, awaiting his command. + +Forty rods ahead, where the _cul-de-sac_ terminated in a great moraine, +Connie could discern a tangle of scrub growth and dead timber pushed +aside by the glacier. The short, three-hour day was spent, and the +gloomy walls of the narrow gorge intensified the mysterious +semi-darkness of the long, sub-arctic night. The boy shouted to the +dogs, and the crack of his long whiplash echoed in the chasm like a +pistol shot. At the foot of the moraine he unharnessed and fed the dogs, +spread his robes in the shelter of a bold-faced grey rock, and unrolled +his sleeping bag. He built a fire and thawed out some bannock, over +which he poured the grease from the pan of sizzling bacon. Connie was +hungry and he devoured his solitary meal greedily, washing it down with +great gulps of steaming black coffee. After supper, surrounded by the +thirteen big dogs, he made a hasty inspection of the walls of his +prison. The light was dim and he realized he would have to wait until +daylight before making anything like a thorough examination; +nevertheless, he was unwilling to sleep until he had made at least one +effort to locate the trail to the outer world. + +An hour later he crawled into his sleeping bag and lay a long time +looking upward at the little stars that winked and glittered in cold, +white brilliance where the narrow panel of black-blue showed between the +towering walls of the canyon. + +"I'll get out someway," he muttered bravely. + +[Illustration: "My dad would have got out, and, you bet, so will I!"] + +"If I can't walk out, I'll _crawl_ out, or _climb_ out, or _dig_ out! My +dad would have got out, and, you bet, so will I! _He_ wasn't afraid to +tackle _big_ things--he was ready for 'em. What got him was a _little_ +thing--just a little piece of loose ice on a smooth trail--he wasn't +_looking_ for it--that's all. But, at that, when he pitched head first +into Ragged Falls canyon that day, he died like a _man_ dies--in the big +outdoors, with the mountains, and the pine trees, and the snow! And +that's the way I'll die! If I never get out of this hole, when they find +me they won't find me in this sleeping bag--'cause I'll work to the end +of my grub. I'll dig, and chop, and hack a way out till my grub's gone, +then I'll--I'll eat Mac's dogs--and when they're gone I'll--No! By +Jimminy! I _won't_ eat old Boris, nor Slasher, nor Mutt--I'll--I'll +_starve first_!" He reached for the flap of his sleeping bag, and as he +drew it over his head there came, faint and far from the rim-rocks, the +short, sharp bark of a starving fox. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WASECHE BILL TO THE RESCUE + + +When Waseche Bill sent his dogs flying over the surface of the glacier +in answer to the bell-like call of old Boris, he fully expected that the +end of a half-hour would find him at the dog's side. Sound carries far +in the keen northern air, and the man urged his team to its utmost. As +the sled runners slipped smoothly over the ice and frozen snow, his mind +was filled with perplexing questions. How came old Boris into the +Lillimuit? Had he deserted the boy and followed the trail of his old +master? + +"No, no!" muttered the man. "He wouldn't pull out on the kid, +that-a-way--an', what's mo', if he had, he'd of catched up with me long +befo' now." + +Was it possible that the boy had taken the trail? The man's brow +puckered. What was it Joe said, that night in Eagle? + +"S'pose he follers ye?" + +"He couldn't of!" argued Waseche. "It's plumb onpossible, with them +there three ol' dawgs. An' he'd of neveh got past Eagle--Fiddle Face, +an' Joe, an' Jim Sontag, they wouldn't of let him by--not fo' to go to +the Lillimuit, they wouldn't--not in a hund'ed yea's." + +The dogs swerved, bringing the outfit to an abrupt halt on the brink of +a yawning fissure. Waseche Bill scowled at the delay. + +"Sho' some crevasse," he growled, as he peered into the depths of the +great ice crack fifty feet wide, which barred his path. Suddenly his eye +lighted and he swung the dogs to the southward where, a quarter of a +mile away, a great white snow bridge spanned the chasm in a glittering +arch. Seizing his axe, he chopped two parallel trenches in the ice close +to the end of the bridge. Into these eight-inch depressions he worked +the runners of the heavily loaded sled, taking care that the blunt rear +end of the runners rested firmly against the vertical ends of the +trenches. Uncoiling a long _babiche_ line, he tied one end to the tail +rope of the anchored sled and, after making the other end fast about his +waist, ventured cautiously out upon the snow bridge. Foot by foot he +advanced, testing its strength. The bridge was wide and thick, and +evidently quite old and firm, but Waseche Bill was a man who took no +foolish risks. + +Men who seek gold learn to face danger bravely--it is part of the day's +work--for death dogs close upon the trail of the men of the North and +must be reckoned with upon short notice. Every _tillicum_ in the White +Country, if he would, could tell of hairbreadth escapes, and of times +when a clear brain and iron nerve alone stood between him and the Great +Beyond. But of these things they rarely speak--for they know of the +others, like Sam Morgan, whose work is done, and whose names are burned +into the little wooden crosses that dot the white snow of Aurora Land; +and whose memory remains fresh in the haunts of the sourdoughs, where +their deeds are remembered long and respected when the flash bravado of +the reckless tin-horn is scorned and forgotten. + +Satisfying himself that the bridge would bear the weight of the outfit, +Waseche Bill untied the rope and headed the dogs across at a run. + +The surface of the glacier became rougher as he advanced and Waseche was +kept busy at the gee-pole as the dogs threaded their way between ice +hummocks and made long detours to avoid cracks and fissures, so that the +winter sun was just sinking behind the mountains when the man at last +found himself upon the edge of the glacier, at a point some distance +above the cave where Connie Morgan had sought shelter from the storm. He +looked out over the undulating ridges of snow waste that stretched away +toward a nearby spur of the mountains. Intently he scanned each nook and +byway of the frozen desert, but not a moving object, not a single black +dot that might by any stretch of the imagination be construed as a +living thing, rewarded his careful scrutiny. Gradually his eyes focused +upon the point where the mountains dipped toward the great ice field. + +"Yonde's the mouth of the canyon I headed into befo' the blizza'd. I'd +bet a blue one the old dawg's trailed me in." Filling his lungs Waseche +sent call after call quavering through the still, keen air, but the only +answer was the hollow echoing of his own voice as it died away in the +mountains. A mile to the eastward he worked his outfit into the valley, +following the devious windings of a half-formed lateral moraine, and +headed the dogs for the mouth of the canyon. + +He searched in vain for tracks as he entered the narrow pass. The snow +was smooth and untrampled as the driving wind of the blizzard had left +it. + +"Sho' is queeah," he muttered. "Sweah to goodness, I hea'd that Boris +dawg--I'd know that howl if I hea'd it in Kingdom Come--an' I know it +_now_! I wondeh," he mused, as the team followed the devious windings of +the canyon, "I wondeh if this heah Lillimuit _is_ a kind of spirit land +like folks says. Did I really heah the ol' dawg howl, or has the big +Nawth got me, too, like it done got Carlson, an' the rest? 'Cause if +they was a dawg wheah's his tracks? An' if it was a ghost dawg, how +could he howl?" The sled dogs paused, sniffing excitedly at the snow, +and Waseche Bill leaped forward. Before the mouth of an ice-cavern were +many tracks, and the man stared dumbfounded. + +"Fo' the love of Mike!" he cried excitedly. "It's the _kid_!" He dropped +to his knees and patted affectionately the impressions of the tiny +_mukluks_. "Boy! Boy! Yo' li'l ol' sourdough, yo' li'l pa'dner--How'd +yo' get heah? Yo' done come, jes' as Joe 'lowed yo' would--yo' doggone +li'l _tillicum_! Come all alone, too! Jes' wait 'til I catch holt of +yo'--an' McDougall's dawgs! No one in Alaska could a loaned them +_malamutes_ offen Mac, 'cept yo'--theah's ol' Scah Foot, that lost two +toes in the wolf-trap!" The man leaped to the sled and cracked his +whip. + +"Mush! Mush!" he cried, and the dogs bounded forward upon the trail of +the boy. + +Waseche Bill traversed this same canyon on the day before the blizzard. +He, too, had run up against the dead end, and it was while retracing his +steps that he had discovered the sheep trail, by means of which he +gained the surface of the glacier a mile back from the termination of +the gorge. He grinned broadly as his sled shot past the foot of this +trail, entirely obliterated, now, by the new-fallen snow. + +"I got yo', now, _kid_," he chuckled. "Holed up like a silveh tip 'till +the sto'm blowed by, didn't yo', pa'dner? But I got yo' back ag'in, an' +from now on, me an' yo' sticks togetheh. I done the wrong thing--to go' +way--but yo' so plumb li'l, I fo'got yo' was a sho' nuff man." + +His soliloquy was cut short by the sudden stopping of the sled as it +bumped upon the heels of the "wheel" dogs, and for the next few minutes +the man was busy with whip and _mukluks_ straightening out the tangle of +fighting animals. Dashing in the darkness between a huge granite block +and the wall of the glacier, they had brought up sharply against the +new-formed ice barrier that completely blocked the trail. + +Slashing right and left with his heavy whip, and kicking vigorously and +impartially, he finally succeeded in subduing the fighting dogs and +removing the tangled harness. And then he stared dumbly at the great +mass of broken ice that buried the trail of the boy. In the darkness he +could form no conception of the extent of the barrier. Was it a detached +fragment? Or had the whole side of the glacier split away and crashed +into the canyon? Before his eyes rose the picture of a small body +crushed and mangled beneath thousands of tons of ice, and for the first +time in his life Waseche Bill gave way to his emotions. Sinking down +upon the sled he buried his face in his hands and in the darkness, +surrounded by the whimpering dogs, his great shoulders heaved to the +violence of his sobs. + +The great mass of ice that split from the glacier's side, while +presenting an unscalable face to the imprisoned boy, was by no means so +formidable a barrier when approached from the opposite side. + +Waseche Bill was not the man to remain long inactive. After a few +moments he sprang to his feet and surveyed the huge pile of ice +fragments. By the feeble light of the stars he could see that the walls +of the canyon towered high above the top of the mass. Tossing his dogs +an armful of frozen fish, he caught up the coil of _babiche_ rope and +stepped to the foot of the obstruction. + +"I cain't wait till mawnin'," he muttered, "I got to find out if the kid +is safe. Reckon I c'n make it, but I sho' do wish they was mo' light." + +It was not a difficult climb for a man used to the snow trails, and a +half hour later Waseche Bill stood at the top and, with a long sigh of +relief, gazed into the depths beyond the barrier. + +"Thank the Lawd, it's only a slivah!" he exclaimed. "But, at that, it +mout of catched him." With a kick he sent a small fragment of ice +spinning into the chasm. Almost instantly, the man heard a low growl, +and his eye caught the flash of an indistinct grey shape against the +snow floor below him. Straight as an arrow the shape shot toward the ice +wall, and Waseche Bill heard the scratching of claws upon the flinty +surface, and a low, throaty growl as the shape dropped back into the +snow. He laughed aloud. + +"Oh, yo' Slashah dawg!" he cried happily, as he proceeded to make the +end of his long line fast to a projecting pinnacle. + +"I'll jes' slip down an' s'prise the kid," he chuckled, "he's prob'ly +rolled in by now." Taking a couple of turns about his leg with the rope, +he lowered himself over the edge and slid slowly downward. Suddenly, he +gripped hard and checked his descent. He was ten feet from the bottom, +and something struck the rope just beneath his feet, and as it struck, +he heard again the low growl, and the vicious click of fang on polished +fang, and the soft thud with which the wolf-dog struck the snow. + +"Hey, yo' Slashah!" he called sharply. "Go lay down! It's only me, +Slashah--don't yo' know me?" For answer the dog sprang again, and the +man hastily drew himself higher--for this time the long white fangs +clashed together almost at his feet, and the low growl ended in a snarl +as the grey body dropped back upon the snow. + +"Doggone yo'! Quit yo' foolin'! Git out!" cried the exasperated man, as +he tightened his grip on the swaying line. And then, beneath him, the +canyon seemed filled with dogs--gaunt, grey shapes that sprang, and +snapped, and growled, and fell back to spring again. + +"Now, what d'yo' think of that," muttered the man disgustedly, as he +peered downward into green glaring eyes and slavering jaws. "Mac's +dawg's, too! I'd sho' hate fo' this heah rope to break! Theh's ol' +Boris!" he exclaimed, as the lead dog appeared at the edge of the +snarling pack. "Hello, Boris, ol' dawg! Yo' know me--don't yo', Boris?" +With a short, sharp yelp of delight, the dog dashed in and leaped +toward his old master, but his activity served only to egg on the +others, and they redoubled their efforts to reach the swaying man. +Waseche Bill laughed: + +[Illustration: "Now, what d'yo' think of that! I'd sho' hate fo' this +heah rope to break!"] + +"'Taint no use. Reckon I'll have to wake up the kid." And the next +moment the walls of the canyon rang with his calls for help. + +At the other end of the chasm Connie Morgan stirred uneasily and thrust +his head from under the flap of his sleeping bag. He listened drowsily +to the pandemonium of growls and yelps and snarls, from the midst of +which came indistinctly the sound of a voice. He became suddenly +wide-awake and, wriggling from the bag, caught up his dog whip and sped +swiftly up the canyon. + +It was no easy task for the boy to beat the excited dogs into +submission, but at length they slunk away before the stinging sweep of +the lash, and Waseche Bill, his hands numb from his long gripping of the +rope, slid squarely into the up-reaching arms of his little partner. + +"Yo' sho' saved my bacon that time, kid. Why, that theah Slashah +dawg--he'd of et me alive, an' the rest w'd done likewise, onct they +got sta'ted!" Waseche Bill's tongue rattled off the words with which he +sought to disguise the real emotion of his heart at finding the boy he +had learned to love, safe and sound in the great white wilderness. But +Connie Morgan was not deceived, and he smiled happily into the rough +hair of his big partner's _parka_, as the man strained him to him in a +bearlike embrace. + +That night the two sat long over the camp fire at the foot of the +moraine, and the heart of the man swelled with pride as the boy +recounted his adventures on the trail. + +"And now I've found you," concluded the boy, "I'm going to take you +back. Pardners are pardners, you know--and tomorrow we'll hit for Ten +Bow." + +The man turned his face away and became busily engaged in arranging the +robes into a bed close against the boy's sleeping bag. + +"We sho' will, kid. Pa'dners _is_ pa'dners, an'--me an' yo'--somehow--I +cain't jes' say it--but--anyways--Why! Doggone it! Me an' yo's mo'n jes +pa'dners--ain't we, kid?" + +Later, as the man burrowed deep into his robes a voice sounded drowsily +from the depths of the sleeping bag: + +"Waseche!" + +"Huh?" questioned the man. + +"Black Jack Demaree said to tell you--let's see--what was it he said? +Oh, yes--he said when I found you to tell you that 'you can't tell by +the size of a frog how far he can jump.'" + +Waseche Bill chuckled happily to himself: + +"Yo' sho' cain't," he agreed. "Black Jack's right about that--trouble +is, I nevah know'd much about frawgs." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE WHITE DEATH + + +It was yet dark when Waseche Bill opened his eyes and blinked sleepily +into the small face that smiled down at him in the light of the +flickering fire. The rich aroma of boiling coffee and the appetizing +odour of bacon roused him to his senses and he grinned happily at the +words of the boy: + +"Come on, pardner, grub's ready! And you better fly at it, too. 'Cause +if I know anything about it, we'll sure know we've done something by the +time we get the outfit out of this hole." + +Waseche glanced upward where the tiny stars winked coldly between the +high walls of the gloomy gorge in which Sam Morgan's boy found himself +held prisoner when the huge mass of ice detached itself from the side +of the glacier and crashed into the canyon. + +"Yo' sho's on the job, son--seem's if I jest got good an' asleep. What +time is it?" he asked, as he crawled from beneath his robes. + +"Six o'clock," answered the boy extending a cup of steaming coffee. + +"Six o'clock! Sufferin' cats! Three hours till daylight--Ain't yo got no +pity on the ol' man?" + +"Old man, nothing!" grinned Connie over the rim of his tin cup. "But if +you wait for daylight to come down into the bottom of this well, you +will be an old man before you get out." + +Breakfast over, the two packed the outfit and, without harnessing the +dogs, pulled the sled to the foot of the barrier. Here it was unloaded +and the pack made into bundles suitable for hoisting. The sled was the +heaviest piece and the only one that offered a serious problem. It was +decided that Connie should remain below and make the things fast, while +Waseche climbed to the top and did the hoisting. A sling was rigged +from a strip of old blanket, by means of which the dogs could be lifted, +by passing it under their bellies and fastening it to the rope at their +backs. When all was ready Waseche grasped the swaying _babiche_ line, by +means of which he had lowered himself the previous evening. + +"Cain't grip nothin' with mittens on," he grumbled, as he bared his +hands to the intense cold. Next moment he was pulling himself jerkily +upward, hand over hand, while Connie Morgan stood below and watched the +indistinct outline of the man who swayed and dangled above him, for all +the world like a giant spider ascending a thread of invisible web. + +The rope twitched violently as the man drew himself onto the top of the +barrier, and a few minutes later the regular taps of his ice axe +sounded, as Waseche chopped his "heel holts" as close to the edge as +safety permitted. The tapping ceased and the voice of the man rolled and +reverberated between the walls of the cistern-like chasm. + +"All set, kid!" + +"Haul away!" and immediately the bale containing the two sleeping bags +swung clear of the snow and was drawn upward, spinning and bumping the +ice wall. Other bales followed and soon there remained only the dogs and +the sled. After many unsuccessful efforts to induce the wolf-dogs to +submit to the unaccustomed sling, Connie hit upon the expedient of +harnessing them to the sled, for even McDougall's finely trained dogs, +like all _malamutes_, were wolves at heart and were trustworthy and +tractable only in harness. This accomplished, they submitted readily +enough and, beginning with the "wheel dogs," one at a time, Connie +passed the sling about them and cast off the harness at the same time. +Waseche hauled them, snarling and biting at the encircling band, up the +face of the perpendicular wall. Old Boris and good-natured Mutt +submitted without a growl of protest; but it was different with the +untamed savage Slasher. During the whole unusual proceeding the +suspicious wolf-dog had bristled and growled, and several times it was +only by the narrowest margin that Connie succeeded in averting a +tragedy, as Slasher leaped with flashing fangs toward a sled dog +dangling helplessly from the rope's end. At last Slasher alone remained. +The boy called him. He came, with hair abristle, stepping slowly and +stiffly. His eyes glared red, and way back in his throat rumbled long, +low growls. + +"Come on! You can't bluff _me_--you old grouch, you!" laughed the boy, +and stooping, slipped a heavy collar about his neck. Passing a running +noose about the long pointed muzzle, he secured the free end to the +collar, and to make assurance doubly sure, he tied a strip torn from the +old blanket tightly about the dog's jaws, affixed the sling, and gave +the signal. + +It was not for his own protection that the boy thus muzzled Slasher. In +all the Northland he was the only person who did not fear the wild, +vicious brute, for he knew that rather than harm him the _malamute_ +would have allowed himself to be torn in pieces. But he feared for +Waseche Bill when he came to release him. Despite the fact that he had +lived with Waseche for a year, the dog treated him no whit differently +than he treated the veriest stranger. To one person in all the +world--and only one--the wolf-dog owed allegiance, and that person was +Connie Morgan--the first and only creature of the hated man tribe who +had used him with fairness. + +Again the line was lowered and Connie, making his own line fast to the +sled, grasped the loose end, seated himself in the loop of Waseche's, +and gave the signal. Up, up, he rose, fending off from the wall with +feet and hands. At length he reached the top and the strong arms of +Waseche helped him over the edge. After a brief rest, both laid hold of +the remaining line and hauled away at the sled. The pull taxed their +combined strength to the utmost, but the heavy sled was up at last, and +they stood free upon the top of the barrier. + +Their labours had consumed the greater part of the day, and it was well +after noon when they sat down to a hasty lunch of caribou _charqui_ and +suet. + +"I would never have made it!" exclaimed the boy, thoughtfully, as his +eyes travelled over the perpendicular walls of the yawning chasm. "Put +her there, pardner," he said, gravely extending his hand toward Waseche. +The man grasped the small, mittened hand and wrung it hard: + +"Sho' now! Sho' now!" he protested hastily. "Yo' mout of." But the boy +noticed that Waseche turned from the place with a shudder. + +The work of packing the outfit down into the canyon occupied the +remainder of the day and that night they camped at the foot of the +barrier, where Waseche had left his own outfit. + +"Now for Ten Bow! I sure do love every log and daub of chinking in that +cabin. When fellows own their own home--like we do--when they built it +with their own hands, you know--a fellow gets homesick when he's +away--'specially if he's all alone. Didn't you get homesick, too, +pardner?" + +Waseche Bill dropped the harness he was untangling, and stepping to the +boy's side, laid a big hand upon the small shoulder: + +"Yes, kid," he answered, in a soft voice, "I be'n homesick every minute +I be'n gone. An' that night--jest befo' I left, I was homesickest of +all. I thought it was the squa'h thing to do--but I've learnt a heap +since, that I didn't know then. Tell me, son, if yo' love the cabin so, +why did yo' come away? The claim was yo'n. I wrote it out that way a +purpose." The clear grey eyes of the boy looked up into the man's face. + +"Why--why, after you were gone, it--it wasn't the same any more. I--I +_hated_ the place. Maybe it's because I'm only a boy----" + +"Yes," interrupted the man, speaking slowly, as if to himself. "Yo' only +a boy--jest a little boy--an' yet--" his voice became suddenly husky, +and he turned away: "Folks calls Sam Mo'gan _unlucky_!" He cleared his +throat loudly, and again the big hand rested on the boy's shoulder: + +"Listen, kid, I've had cabins befo' now--a many a one, on big creeks an' +little--an' I've come off an' left 'em all, an' neveh a onct was I +homesick. But this time I was--it was diffe'nt. Shucks, kid, don't yo' +see? It takes mo'n jest a cabin to make--_home_." + +Soon the outfits were ready for the trail. + +"We sho' got dawgs enough," grinned Waseche, as he eyed the two teams; +"McDougall's ten, eight of mine, an' them three of yo'n--we betteh mush, +too, 'cause it takes a sight of feed fo' twenty-one dawgs. I 'lowed to +run acrost meat befo' now--caribou, or moose, or sheep--but this heah +Lillimuit's as cold an' dead as the outeh voids that the lecture felleh +was tellin' about in Dawson. I got right int'rested in the place--till I +come to find out it was too fah off to botheh about, bein' located way +oveh back of the sun somewheahs." + +At a crack of the whip, Waseche's dogs sprang into the lead, and +McDougall's _malamutes_, with Connie trotting beside them, swung in +behind. There was no wind, and in the narrow canyon sounds were +strangely magnified. The squeak of sled runners on the hard, dry snow +sounded loud and sharp as the creak of a windlass, and, as they passed +the foot of the snow-covered sheep trail, the voice of Waseche boomed +and reverberated unnaturally: + +"Yondeh's the ol' sheep trail wheah I got out of the canyon. Neah's I +c'n make out it ain't be'n used fo' mo'n a month. I tell yo' what--times +is sho' hawd when the sheep pulls out of a country." + +It was very cold. Toward midday the windings of the canyon allowed them +occasional glimpses of the low-hung sun. It had a strange unfamiliar +appearance, like a huge eye of polished brass, glaring coldly in a +bright white light not its own. As each turn of the trail cut off his +view, the boy glanced furtively at his partner and was quick to note the +man's evident uneasiness. Mile after mile they mushed in silence. The +fragmentary conversation of the earlier hours ceased, and each +experienced a growing sense of exhaustion. The motionless air hung heavy +and dead about them. Its vitality was wanting, so that they were forced +to breathe rapidly and concentrate their minds upon the simple act of +keeping up with the dogs. Each was conscious of a growing lethargy that +sapped his strength. Even the dogs were affected, and plodded +mechanically forward with lowered heads and drooping tails. + +They were approaching the cavern in which Connie had sought refuge from +the blizzard. For several miles the boy had been wondering whether +Waseche would camp at the cave. He hoped that he would. He was growing +terribly sleepy and it was only by constant effort that he kept his eyes +open, although they had been scarcely five hours on the trail. His head +felt strangely light and hollow, and white specks danced before his +eyes. He closed his eyes and the specks were red. They danced in the +darkness, writhing and twisting like fiery snakes. He opened his eyes +and held doggedly to his place beside the team. His mind dwelt longingly +upon the soft, warm feel of his sleeping bag. The boy's nerves were +tense and strained, so that his lips and eyelids twitched spasmodically, +with a sting as of extreme cold. + +As they drew nearer the mouth of the cavern he felt that he would scream +aloud if Waseche did not halt. His gaze became fixed upon the broad back +of his partner as he mushed beside his dogs, and he noted that the man +walked with quick, jerky steps. He wondered vaguely at this, for it was +not Waseche's way. This passing thought vanished, and again his mind +reverted to the all-important question: would Waseche camp? He would ask +him. He filled his lungs--then, suddenly the thought flashed through his +brain: "I'm a _piker!_ I won't ask him--I'll drop in my tracks first." +The deep breath stung his lungs and he coughed--a sharp, dry cough that +rasped his throat. The man turned at the sound and eyed him sharply. + +"Keep yo' mouth shut! An' hurry--_hurry!_" The man's voice was low and +hard, and he, too, coughed. + +At the mouth of the cavern the dogs stopped of their own accord and lay +down in harness. The boy noted this, and also that instead of waiting +alert, with cocked ears and watchful eyes for a word of command, they +lay with their pointed muzzles pressed close against the hard snow, as +if fearing to move. + +Swiftly and silently Waseche began to remove the harness from the dogs +and Connie followed his example. As soon as a dog was released, instead +of rolling about and ploughing and rooting his snout into the snow, he +slunk quickly into the cave. The hitches were cast loose and sleeping +bags, robes, grub, and frozen fish for the dogs were carried into the +cavern. Waseche made another trip into the canyon while the boy sank +down upon his rolled sleeping bag and stared stupidly at the dogs +huddled together in the farther end of the cave, their eyes gleaming +greenly in the darkness. A quarter of an hour later the man returned +with a huge armful of gnarled, grubby brushwood that he had hacked from +the crevices of the rocks. Near the entrance he built a small fire, +filled the coffeepot with snow, and thawed some pemmican in the frying +pan. He filled his pipe, threw a handful of coffee into the pot, and +turned toward Connie. The boy had fallen asleep with his back against +the ice wall. Waseche shook him gently: + +"Wake up, son! Grub pile!" He stirred uneasily and opened his eyes. + +"Let me alone," he muttered, sleepily, "I'm not hungry." + +"Yo' got to eat. Heah's some hot coffee--jest climb outside of this, an' +then yo' c'n sleep long as yo' like." + +The hot liquid revived the boy and he ate some pemmican and bannock. +Having finished, he spread his robes and unrolled his sleeping bag. +Before turning in, however, he stepped to the door and looked out. He +was surprised that it was yet daylight and the sun hung just above the +shoulder of a sharp, naked peak. Again the white spots danced before his +eyes, and he turned quickly: + +"Look! Look at the sun!" he cried in a sudden panic. "One, two, three, +four--look Waseche, I can't count 'em." + +"Come away, kid," said the man at his side, pulling at his sleeve. + +"But the suns! Look! Can you count them?" + +"No, kid, we cain't count 'em." The man's voice was very low. + +"But what is the matter? There is only one real sun! Where do they come +from?" + +"I do'no, I do'no. It's--we got to camp heah till--" He was interrupted +by the boy: + +"It's what?" he asked, bewildered. + +"It's--I neveh seen it befo'--but I've hea'd tell--It's the _white +death_. Heah, in the Lillimuit, an' some otheh places--nawth of the +Endicotts, some say. Tonight--the flashin' lights, an' the blood-red +aurora--tomorrow, a thousan' suns in the sky. They ain't no wind, an' +the air is dead--dead, an' so cold yo' lungs'll crackle an' split if +yo'r caught on the trail. We got to keep out of it, an' then--" His +voice trailed into silence. + +"And then _what_?" asked the boy, drowsily. + +"I do'no, I do'no, kid--that depends." + +Connie Morgan was awakened by the whimpering of dogs. In his ears was a +strange sound like the hiss of escaping steam. He wondered, drowsily, +how long he had slept, and lay for some moments trying to collect his +senses. The sounds in the night terrified him--filled him with an +unnamed dread. The strange hissing was not continuous, but broken and +interrupted by a roaring crackle, like the sound of a burning forest. +But there was no forest--only ice and snow, and the glittering peaks of +ranges. With a trembling hand he raised the hood of his sleeping bag and +peered cautiously out. To the boy's distorted imagination the whole +world seemed on fire. The interior of the cave glowed dimly with a dull +red light, while beyond the entrance the snow flashed brilliant lights +of scarlet. + +[Illustration: Connie Morgan "stared spellbound at the terrible +splendour of the changing lights."] + +"Don't get scairt, son. It's only the aurora. It's like they +said--Carlson, an' one or two mo' I've hea'd talk. The blood-red aurora +in the night time, an' the thousan' suns in the day." Waseche's +sleeping bag was close against his own, and the sound of his voice +reassured the terrified boy. Together, in silence, they watched the +awful spectacle. Red lights--scarlet, crimson, vermilion flashed upon +the snow, and among the far-off peaks which stood out distinctly above +the farther wall of the long stretch of canyon that their viewpoint +commanded. Upon the green ice at the entrance to the cavern the lights +showed violet and purple. The boy stared spellbound at the terrible +splendour of the changing lights, while above the hiss and crackle of +the aurora he could hear the whimpering and moaning of the terrified +dogs. He shrank back into his sleeping bag, pulling the flap tight to +keep out the awful sights and sounds, and lay for hours waiting for +something to happen. But nothing did happen and when he awoke again it +was day. The dogs had ceased to whine, and Waseche Bill was moving about +in the cave. The man had hung a robe over the entrance, but around the +edges Connie could see narrow strips of light. The air was oppressive +and heavy. His head ached. The acrid smell of smoke permeated the +interior of the cavern and Connie wriggled from his sleeping bag and, +while Waseche busied himself with the coffee and bacon, he broke out a +bale of fish for the dogs. + +"Cut 'em down to half ration, son," warned the man, eyeing the scanty +supply. "We got to get out of this heah Lillimuit--an' we got to get out +on what we got with us. I don't reckon they's a livin' critteh in the +whole blame country, 'cept us, an' we got to go easy on the grub." + +"I heard a fox bark the other night," ventured the boy. + +"Yo' won't get fat on fox bahks," grinned the man, "an' that's all the +clost yo' even get to 'em. Outside of white goats, them foxes is about +the hah'dest vahmint to get a shot at they is." + +"Aren't we going to hit the trail?" asked the boy in evident surprise, +when, after breakfast, instead of packing the outfit, Waseche lighted +his pipe and stretched out on a robe. + +"Not _this_ day, we ain't," replied the man; "An' me'be not tomorrow--if +the wind don't come. Do yo' know how fah we'd get today?" + +"How far?" + +"I do'no--a hund'ed steps, me'be--me'be half a mile--'twouldn't be fah." + +"Tell me what's the matter, Waseche. What's going to happen? And why +have you closed up the door?" + +"It's the _white death_," answered the man in an awed tone. "Nothin' +won't happen if we stay inside. I've hea'd it spoke of, only I +somehow--I neveh believed it befo'. As fo' the robe--hold yo' breath an' +peek out through that crack along the aidge. Hold yo' breath, +mind--_don't breathe that air!_" + +Connie filled his lungs and drew back the edge of the robe. Instantly +his face seemed seared by the points of a million red-hot needles. He +scarcely noticed the pain, for he was gazing in awestruck wonder where a +thousand suns seemed dancing in the cloudless sky. As upon the previous +day, the air was filled with dancing white specks, and the suns glared +with a glassy, yellow brightness. They looked wet and shiny, but their +light seemed no brighter than the light of a single sun. No blue sky was +visible, and the mountain peaks, even the nearer ones, were nowhere to +be seen. The whole world seemed enveloped in a thick haze of sickly +yellow. + +He let go the edge of the robe and drew back from the opening. + +"Gee whiz! but it's cold," he exclaimed, rubbing his stinging cheeks. +"How cold is it, pardner?" For answer Waseche shifted his position, +reached swiftly beneath the bottom of the robe, and withdrew from the +outside a small spirit thermometer which he held up for the boy's +inspection. It was frozen solid! + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE _IGLOO_ IN THE SNOW + + +"Now, kid," said Waseche Bill the following morning, "we got to make +tracks fo' the Tatonduk. We got too many dogs, an' we got to cut down on +the feed. I hate to do it--on the trail--but they's no two ways about +it. Three or fo' days ort to put us at the divide. I made a _cache_ +the'h comin' in an' we'll be all right when we strike it." + +The two stood in front of the cavern, breathing deeply of the clear, +pure air. A stiff breeze was blowing from the south-west, and the day +was warm and pleasant. The sun had not yet risen, and as the dogs swung +into the trail Connie glanced at the little thermometer lashed firmly to +the back of his sled. It registered twenty degrees below zero, an ideal +temperature for trail travel and the boy cracked his whip and yelled +aloud in the very joy of living. + +At the mouth of the canyon they swerved in a north-westerly direction, +toward the northernmost reach of the Ogilvie Range. All day they mushed +across the wide caribou barrens and flat tundra that separated the great +nameless range behind them from the high mountains to the westward that +lay between them and Alaska. For, upon ascending the Tatonduk, they had +passed out of Alaska into the unmapped Yukon district of sub-arctic +Canada. Evening of the second day found them among the foothills of the +mountains. Patches of stunted timber appeared and the lay of the land +forced them to keep to the winding beds of frozen creeks and rivers. The +end of the next day found them camped on the snow-covered ice of a small +river. Waseche divided the few remaining fish, threw half of them to the +dogs, and sat down beside the boy, who had prepared a meal of caribou +_charqui_ and coffee: + +"Seems like this _must_ be the creek--but I ain't sho'. I thought the +one we tackled yeste'day was it, too--but it petered out on us." + +"I don't know," replied Connie, "I thought I'd remember the back trail, +but since the big snow everything looks different. And I was in an awful +hurry to catch up with you, besides." + +"Sho', kid, I know. I'd ort to took mo' pains myself, but I wasn't so +pa'ticlah about gettin' back--then. Anyways, we'll try this one. We got +to watch the grub now, fo' sho'. Them _malamutes_ is hongry! Day afteh +tomorrow, if we don't find the _cache_, we'll have to kill a dawg." +Connie nodded. + +"We'll find it, all right. This looks like the creek. Still, so do they +all," he added reflectively. + +The next day was a repetition of the day preceding. They followed the +bed of the creek to its source in a narrow canyon which lost itself upon +the steep side of a gigantic mountain. Wearily, they retraced their +steps and once again among the foothills, turned to the northward. + +"They's no dodgin' the truth, son," said Waseche gloomily, as they +mushed on, scrutinizing the mouths of creeks in a vain endeavour to +locate a landmark. "We're lost--jest na'chly plumb _lost_--like a couple +of _chechakos_." + +"The divide's _somewhere_," answered the boy, bravely. "We'll find it." + +"Yes, it's somewhe'h. But how many thousan' of these creeks, all jest +alike, do yo' reckon they is? An' how about grub?" + +"I hate to kill a dog," the boy said. + +"So do I, but the rest has got to eat. I know them wolf-dawgs; onct they +get good an' hongry they'll begin tearin' one another up--then they'll +lay fo' _us_--folks is meat, too, yo' know." + +Night overtook them on a small wooded plateau and they camped in the +shelter of a dense thicket of larch and stunted spruce. At the very edge +of the thicket was a low white mound, its crown rising some three or +four feet above the surrounding level. The sleds were drawn up at the +foot of this mound, the dogs unharnessed, and, unslinging his axe, +Waseche Bill went to the thicket for firewood, leaving Connie to unpack +the outfit. The boy noted as he spread the robes that the mound was +singularly regular, about twelve feet in diameter at the base and having +evenly rounded sides--entirely different from the irregular ridges and +spurs of the foothills. + +"You're a funny little foothill," he murmured, "way off by yourself. You +look lonesome. Maybe you're lost, too--in the big, white Lillimuit." + +Waseche returned with the wood and lighted the fire while Connie tossed +the last of the fish to the dogs. Supper was finished in silence, the +fire replenished, and the two partners lay back on the robes and watched +the little red sparks shower upward from among the crackling flames. + +"We ain't the first that's camped heah," remarked Waseche, between noisy +puffs at his pipe. "Yondeh in the thicket is stubs wheah fiahwood's be'n +chopped--an' one place wheah consid'able poles has be'n cut. The axe +mawks is weatheh-checked, showin' they was cut green. But it wasn't +done this yeah--an' me'be not last." + +"I wonder who it was? And what became of them? What did they want with +poles?" + +"Built a _cache_, me'be--mout of be'n a sled--but mo'n likely a _cache_. +We'll projec' around a bit in the mo'nin'. Me'be we c'n find out who +they was, an' wheah they was headin'. Me'be they'll be a trail map to +some _cache_ befo' this or to the divide." + +"I hope we will find a _cache_. Then we wouldn't have to kill a dog." + +Waseche's brow puckered judicially: + +"Yes--we would. Yo' see, son, it's like this: We got mo' dawgs than is +needful fo' a two-man outfit. If we was down to six dawgs, or even +seven, an' one sled, an' they was weak or stahvin, then we could bust a +fish _cache_--but to feed twenty-one dawgs--that ain't right. Likewise +with ouah own grub--a man's supposed to take from anotheh man's _cache_ +jest so much as is needful fo' life; that is, what will get him to the +neahest camp--not an ounce mo'. This is the unwritten law of the Nawth. +An' a good law. Men's lives is staked on a _cache_--an' that's why when, +onct in a while, a man's caught robbin' a _cache_--takin' mo'n what's +needful fo' life, they ain't much time wasted. He gets--what's comin' to +him." + +The dogs had licked up the last crumbs of their scant ration and, +burrowing into the snow, wrapped themselves snugly in their thick, bushy +tails. Old Boris and Slasher dug their beds in the side of the mound +near where Connie had spread his robes. The boy watched them idly as +they threw the hard, dry snow behind them in volleys, and long after the +other dogs had curled up for the night, the sound of old Boris' claws +rasping at the flinty snow could be heard at the fireside. + +"Boris is digging _some bed_!" exclaimed the boy, as he glanced toward +the tunnel from which emerged spurts of sand-like snow. + +"He ain't diggin' no bed," answered Waseche. "He smells somethin'." Even +as he spoke the snow ceased to fly, and seemingly from the depths of +the earth, came the sound of a muffled bark. Instantly Slasher was on +his feet growling and snarling into the tunnel from which the voice of +old Boris could be heard in a perfect bedlam of barking. + +"Oh! It's a cave! A cave!" cried Connie, pushing aside the growling +wolf-dog. "Maybe it's the _cache_!" + +Waseche Bill finished twisting a spruce twig torch. He shook his head +dubiously: + +"Come heah, Boris!" he called, sharply, "come out of that!" The old dog +appeared, barking joyously over his discovery. Waseche Bill lighted his +torch at the fire, and pushing it before him, wriggled into the opening. +After what, to the waiting boy, seemed an age, the man's head appeared +at the entrance, and he pulled himself clear. + +"What is it?" inquired the impatient boy. "What did you find?" + +The man regarded him gravely for a moment, and then answered, speaking +slowly: + +[Illustration: "Waseche Bill attacked the hard-packed snow with his +axe."] + +"It's an _igloo_, son--an _igloo_ buried in the snow. An' the'h's a man +in the'h." + +"A _man_!" cried the astonished boy. + +"Yes, kid--it's Carlson. He's _dead_." + +Tired as they were after a hard day on the trail, the two partners were +unwilling to sleep without first making a thorough examination of the +buried _igloo_. More firewood was cut, and by the light of the leaping +flames Waseche Bill attacked the hard-packed snow with his axe, while +Connie busied himself in removing the cakes and loose snow from the +excavation. At the end of an hour a squared passageway was completed and +the two entered the _igloo_. + +"He had a plenty grub, anyways," remarked Waseche, as he cast an +appraising eye over the various bags of provisions piled upon the snow +floor. "He didn't stahve, an' it wasn't the red death (smallpox)--I +looked pa'tic'lah, fo' I went out of heah." + +Connie glanced at the body which lay partially covered by a pile of +robes. The man's features were calm and composed--one could have fancied +him asleep, had it not been for the marble whiteness of the skin. One by +one, they examined all the dead man's effects; the little Yukon stove, +half filled with ashes, the bags of provisions, his "war-bag"--all were +carefully scrutinized, but not a map--not even a pencil mark rewarded +their search. + +"He's met up with Eskimos, somewhe'h," said Waseche, examining a rudely +shaped copper pan in which a bit of wicking made from frayed canvas +protruded from a quantity of frozen blubber grease. + +Finally the two turned to the body. The coarse woollen shirt was open at +the throat, and about the man's neck, they noticed for the first time, +was a thin caribou skin thong. Cutting the thong Waseche removed from +beneath the shirt a flat pouch of oiled canvas. Connie lighted the wick +in the copper pan and together the two sat upon a robe and, in the +guttering flare of the smoky lamp, carefully unwrapped the canvas cover. +The packet contained only a battered pocket notebook, upon whose worn +leaves appeared a few rough sketches and many penciled words. + +"Yo' read it, kid. I ain't no hand to read much," said Waseche, handing +the book to Connie, and his eyes glowed with admiration as the boy read +glibly from the tattered pages. + +"Tu'n to the last page an' wo'k back," suggested Waseche. + +"January tenth--" began Connie. "Why, that was nearly a year ago! He +couldn't have been dead a year!" His eyes rested on the white face of +Carlson. + +"A yeah, or a hund'ed yeahs--it's all the same. He's froze solid as +stone, an' he'll stay like that till the end of time," replied the man, +gravely. + +"It says," continued the boy, "'Growing weaker. For two days no fire. +Too weak. Pain gone, but cannot breathe. To-day'--That's all, it ends +there." + +"Noomony," laconically remarked Waseche. The preceding pages were +devoted almost entirely to a record of the progress of the disease. The +first notation was January third. Under the date of January fifth he +wrote: + +"I am afraid my time has come. If so, tell Pete Mateese the claims are +staked on Ignatook--mine and his. See map in lining of _parka_. Maybe +Pete is dead. He has been gone a year. He tried to go out by the +Tatonduk. I can't find him. I can't find the divide. The Lillimuit has +got me! They said it would--but the gold! It is here--gold, gold, +gold--yellow gold--and it is all mine--mine and Pete Mateese's. But the +steam! The stillness! The white, frozen forest--and the creeks that +don't freeze! After Pete left _things_ came in the night. It is +cold--yet my brain is on fire! I can't sleep!" + +This proved to be the longest entry; the man seemed to grow rapidly +weaker. When the boy finished Waseche Bill shuddered. + +"The Lillimuit got him," he said slowly. "He went _marihuana_." On the +next page, under the date of January sixth, the boy read: + +"Made a _cache_ here in timber. Growing weaker. Tomorrow I will turn +back. Mapped the back trail. _2 caches_--then the claims on Ignatook, +the creek of the stinking steam. I will go out by the Kandik. I mapped +that trail. It is shorter, but I must find Pete Mateese. I must tell +him--the claims." + +"Who is Pete Mateese? And where is Ignatook?" inquired the boy. + +"Sea'ch me!" exclaimed Waseche. "I ain't neveh hea'd tell of eitheh one, +an' I be'n in Alaska goin' on fo'teen yeah." + +[Illustration: "We'ah lost, kid. It's a cinch we cain't find the +divide."] + +For an hour they studied Carlson's map, which they found as he had +directed, concealed in the lining of his _parka_. Finally Waseche Bill +looked up: + +"We'ah lost, kid. It's a cinch we cain't find the divide if Carlson +couldn't--he know'd the country. The thing fo' us to do is to follow +Carlson's map to his camp, an' then on out by the Kandik. Neah's I c'n +make out, it means about three or fo' hund'ed miles of trail--but we got +to tackle it. Tomorrow we'll rest an' hunt up the _cache_--Carlson's +past needin' it now. We sho' got hea'h jest in time!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +ON THE DEAD MAN'S LONELY TRAIL + + +Connie Morgan pushed aside the flap of his sleeping bag and blinked +sleepily into the blue-gray Arctic dawn. Far to the north-west, the thin +rays of the belated winter sun pinked the edges of the ice god's +chiselled peaks where the great white range guarded grimly the secrets +of the man-feared Lillimuit. + +The boy closed his eyes and pressed his face close against the warm +fleece. Was it all a dream, he wondered vaguely--the crashing wall of +the canyon--the trail of the white death--the blazing aurora--the search +for the Tatonduk pass--the buried _igloo_, and the man who died? Were +these things real? Or, was he still following the trail of Waseche Bill, +with the unknown Lillimuit before him, and the men of Eagle behind? + +Again his eyes opened and he chuckled aloud as he thought of the man +called Joe, and Fiddle Face, and big Jim Sontag, and the others in the +hotel at Eagle. It was not a dream. There, by the fire, was Waseche, the +coffeepot was boiling with a low bubbly sound, and beyond was the +round-topped _igloo_, its white side scarred by the sled-blocked +entrance to the tunnel. + +"What's so funny?" grinned Waseche as, frying pan in hand, he turned at +the sound of the boy's laughter. "This heah mess we ah into ain't no +joke, fah's I c'n see. Whateveh yo' laughin' at, anyhow?" + +The boy wriggled from his sleeping bag and joined the man by the +fireside, where the preparation of breakfast was well under way. + +"Oh, nothing--I was just wondering what they thought, next morning--the +men back in Eagle, who wouldn't let me come to you." + +"Me'be it w'd be'n betteh if yo' hadn't of," answered the man, with a +glance toward the towering snow peaks. + +"Well, it _wouldn't_!" flashed the boy; "and, you bet, it would take +more than just saying so to hold me back! You know you're glad I +came--Anyway, I _did_ come, and I'd rather be _lost_ here, with you, +than own the best claim on Ten Bow, and go it alone. You and I are going +to beat the Lillimuit, pardner, and even Carlson couldn't do that!" + +"No, he couldn't," agreed the man, eyeing the boy proudly. "An' theh's +plenty othehs, too, that's tried it. Some come back--but, mostly, they +didn't. Carlson, in theh--he was a _man_--he died huntin' up his +pahdneh. I wondeh how much of a strike they made oveh on this heah +Ignatook?" + +"It must be something _big_. The notebook said there was lots and lots +of gold----" + +"Yeh--an' it said they was creeks that don't freeze--an' frozen +fohests--an' things that come in the night--an' steam. Yo' see, kid, +Carlson was too long alone. It's boun' to get a man--the big, white +country is--if he stays too long from his kind. It gets 'em with its +flashin', hissin' lights, an' the roah of shiftin' ice--but, most of +all, with its silence--the dead, awful stillness of the land of frozen +things. It gets 'em in heah"--he pointed significantly to his forehead. +"Somethin' goes wrong, sometimes all of a sudden--sometimes +gradual--but, it's all the same--they might betteh died. + +"But, come on, let's eat, an' then hunt up Carlson's _cache_. I sho' +hope he was all theah when he made that map, 'cause, if he wasn't, yo' +an' me is in fo' a hahd winteh. Rampsin' th'ough the Lillimuit followin' +a crazy man's map ain't no Sunday school picnic--not what yo' c'n +notice--an' when we-all come to the end of the trail, we'll know we be'n +somewheahs." + +The _cache_ was easily located near the centre of the thicket. It was a +rude crotch and pole affair, elevated beyond reach of prowling animals. +A couple of blows from Waseche's axe brought the structure crashing into +the snow, and they proceeded to cut the lashings of the caribou skins +that served as tarpaulins. + +"Theah's meat a plenty wheah he come from. Look at them quahte's of +caribou, an' the hides." + +"He didn't need to go to so much trouble with his _cache_. There is +nothing here to bother it." + +"How about the foxes--an' wolves, too? Wheah theah's caribou theah's +wolves. An' how about his dawgs?" + +"That's so!" exclaimed Connie. "I wonder what became of the dogs? And +where is his sled?" + +"Sled's undeh the snow, somewheahs--dawgs, too, me'be--'less they pulled +out. It's owin' to what kind they was. _Malamutes_ would of tu'ned wolf, +an' when they found they couldn't bust the _cache_, they'd of hit out +fo' the caribou heahd. Hudson Bays an' Mackenzie Riveh dawgs w'd done +sim'lah, only they'd stahved to death tryin' it. An' mongrels, they'd of +jest humped up an' died wheah they happen' to be standin'." + +In addition to several saddles of caribou venison, the _cache_ contained +coffee, flour, salt, a small bottle of saccharin, and three bags of fish +for the dogs. Bound securely to the coffee bag was a rough map of the +trail to the preceding _cache_, which Carlson had numbered 2, and they +lost no time in comparing it with the notebook which Connie produced +from his pocket. + +"He wasn't plumb loco, anyhow," remarked Waseche, with a deep breath of +relief. "His maps checks up all right, an' a crazy man couldn't make two +maps hit out the same to save him, I don't reckon. Anyhow, I'm glad we +found this otheh one. Neah's I c'n make out, it's three days to the next +_cache_, an' me'be the'll be anotheh map to check up with." + +The remainder of the forenoon was spent in packing the supplies to the +camp, and at noon the two made a prodigious dinner of fresh caribou +venison, thawed out and broiled over the smokeless larch coals. + +"The dawgs is ga'nted up some consid'ble, s'pose we jest feed twict +today. They be'n on half ration since we-all left the canyon. 'Tain't +good policy to feed _malamutes_ twict, an' if we don't hit it out right +to the next _cache_, we'll wisht we hadn't, but, somehow, findin' that +last map kind of clinched it with me. Whad'yo say, pahdneh?" + +Connie glanced at the brutes lying about in the snow apparently +uninterested in the saddles of venison and bags of fish piled near the +camp fire. Only Mutt, the huge mongrel "wheel dog" of Connie's own team, +whimpered and sniffed at the newly found food, for Mutt lacked the +stoicism of the native dogs of the North, who knew that feed time was +hours away. The boy regarded them with judicious eye and pondered his +partner's proposition gravely. + +"Well, we might try it, just this once. They _do_ look a little gaunt +and ribby," and the boy smiled broadly as he broke out a bag of fish; +for the same thought had been in his own mind for an hour and he had +been just on the point of broaching it to Waseche, at the risk of being +thought a chicken-hearted _chechako_. + +Connie returned to the fire as the dogs gnawed and snarled at their +unexpected meal. There was plenty of coffee, now, and while the boy +tossed the grounds onto the snow and refilled the pot, Waseche Bill +whittled a pipe of tobacco, and stretched lazily upon his robe in the +warmth of the crackling flames. + +"We-all must bury him decent," he began, with a nod toward the _igloo_, +as they sipped at the black coffee. "An' we must remembeh that name, +Pete Mateese, the man he was huntin' fo'. If he's alive, he'd like to +know. He was his pa'dneh, I reckon. Seems like, from what the book says, +he neveh know'd about the strike." The man's eyes roved for a moment +over the distant peaks, and he continued: "It's too bad we cain't dig no +reg'lar grave fo' him, but it would take a good week to thaw out the +ground, an' them fish ain't goin' to hold out only to the next _cache_. +But I know anotheh way that's good, heah. The rock wall yondeh shades +the _igloo_ so it won't neveh melt; leastwise, it ain't apt to. Las' +summeh's sun neveh fazed it 'cept to sog it down all the mo' solid. +We'll give him a coffin of ice, an' his _igloo_ fo' a tomb of snow. I'd +a heap sooneh have it that-a-way than like them ol' king of Egyp's, +that's buried in the stone pyramids out on the aidge of the desert, +somewheahs. I seen one, onct, in the dime museum in Chicago. Ferry +O'Tolliveh, his name was, I recollect, an' the man that run the place +give a consid'able lecture about him. Seems like he was embalmed, they +call it, which means he was spiced an' all wrapped up in, I think he +said it was a mile an' three-quahtehs of bandages, anyhow, they was a +raft of 'em, 'cause I counted mo'n a hund'ed layehs of cloth wheah +they'd cut th'ough to get to his face. Which it must of be'n a heap of +wo'k without they put him in a lathe; anyways, theah he was, afteh bein' +dead mo'n two thousan' yeahs! + +"The man said how the embalmin' of them ol' Egyp' undehtakehs is a lost +aht, an' I reckon, afteh takin' a look at Mr. Ferry O'Tolliveh, fo'ks is +glad it is. He looked like the bottom row of a kit of herring. The man +said his mummy was theah, too, but I didn't stop fo' to look at her--I +seen all I wanted of the O'Tollivehs from lookin' at Ferry, but him +bein' the only king I eveh seen, I'm glad I done it, even if he hadn't +kep' well. + +"Now, with Carlson, heah, it will be diffe'nt. He'll be jest the same +two thousan' yeahs from now as he is today, an' was the day he died. Ice +is ice, an' if it don't melt it'll stay ice till the crack of doom." + +The two set about the work with a will. The provisions were carried +outside, the dead man's effects ranged about the base of the circular +wall, and his robes spread in the centre of the igloo upon the +hard-packed floor of snow. The body was wrapped in its blankets and laid +upon the robes, and Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill gazed for the last +time upon the face of Carlson, the intrepid man of the North who, like +hundreds of others, lured by the call of gold, braved the unknown +terrors of the silent land to pass for ever from the haunts of man. +There was that in the strong, clean-cut features of the bearded face to +make them pause. Here was a _man_! A man who, in the very strength and +force of him, pushed beyond the barriers, defied the frozen desert, and +from her ice-locked bosom tore the secret of the great white wilderness; +and then, in the bigness of his heart, turned his back upon the goal of +his heart's desire and faced death calmly in vain search for his absent +partner. + +[Illustration: "The boy's lips moved in prayer, the only one he had ever +learned."] + +Instinctively, the small boy removed his cap and dropped to his knees +beside the dead man, and opposite him, awkwardly, reverently, with bared +head, knelt Waseche Bill. The boy's lips moved and in the cold, dead +gloom of the snow _igloo_, his voice rang high and thin in the words of +the only prayer he had ever learned: + + "Now I lay me down to sleep, + I pray the Lord my soul to keep. + If I should die before I wake, + I pray the Lord my soul to take. + + "Amen." + +"Amen," repeated Waseche Bill huskily, and together they left the +_igloo_. + +Blocks were cut from the surface of the hard crusted snow and packed +closely about the body. Snow was melted at the fire and the blocks +soaked with water, which froze almost instantly, cementing the whole +into a solid mass of opaque ice. In the same manner, the _igloo_ was +sealed, and the body of Carlson was protected both from the fangs of +prowling beasts and the ravages of time. From the trunk of a young +spruce, Waseche Bill fashioned a rude cross, into which Connie burned +deep the name: + + SVEN CARLSON + DIED JAN. 10-19--. + +The cross was planted firmly and, having completed the task to their +satisfaction, the two ate supper in silence and sought their sleeping +bags. + +Dogs were harnessed next morning by the little light of the stars, and +long before the first faint streak of the late winter dawn greyed the +north-east, the outfit swung onto the trail--the year-old trail of +Carlson, the man who found gold. + +Before passing from sight around a point of the spruce thicket, they +halted the sleds for a last look at the solitary _igloo_. There, in the +shifting glow of the paling aurora, the little cross stood out sharp and +black against its unending background of dead white snow, and below it +showed the rounded outline of the low mound that was the fitting +sepulchre of this man of the North. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +IN THE HEART OF THE SILENT LAND + + +Waseche Bill and his little partner followed blindly the directions upon +Carlson's map, which led them across snow as trackless and unscarred as +the day it fell. + +"Fr. C 3 N 3d. to FLAT MT. C 2 on rock-ledge at flagpole," read the +directions on the map found in the _cache_, which was the exact reverse +of the directions in the notebook which read: "Fr. FLAT MT. C 2. S 3d. +to C 3. in spruce grove at _igloo_." The man had carefully mapped his +trail as he proceeded, and then reversed the notes for the benefit of +any chance backtrailer. + +So far, the trail of Carlson was but a projection of their own trail in +search of the Tatonduk divide, and for two days they mushed steadily +northward, skirting the great range that lay to the westward. To the +north-east and east, as far as the eye could reach, stretched vast level +snow barrens, and to the southward rolled the low-lying foothills toward +the glacier-studded range which was still visible, its jagged peaks +flashing blue-white in the distance. Hour after hour they threaded in +and out among the foothills, avoiding the deeper ravines, and with tail +rope and gee pole working the outfit across coulees. + +Toward evening of the third day, both Connie and Waseche scanned the +range eagerly for a glimpse of the flat mountain, but the early winter +darkness settled about them without the sight of a mountain that could, +by any stretch of imagination, be called "flat." + +"Prob'ly we-all ah mushin' sloweh than what he done," ventured Waseche, +as he peered into the gloom from the top of a rounded hill. "I hate to +camp, an' I hate to mush on an' pass the landmahk in the dahk. It's mo' +or less guesswo'k, followin' a cold trail. Landmahks change some, an' +even if they don't, the time of yeah makes a diffe'nce, an' then, +things looks diffe'nt to one man from what they look to anotheh. +Likewise, things looks diffe'nt nights, than daytimes. Of co'se, a flat +mountain couldn't hahdly look like nothin' else but a flat mountain +nohow, but yo' cain't tell----" + +"I'm sure we haven't passed it," interrupted the boy. + +"No, we ain't _passed_ it. What's pestehin' me is, did Carlson know +whetheh he mushed three days or ten? An' whetheh he c'd tell a flat +mountain from a peaked one? I've saw fog hang so that eveh' mountain yo' +seen looked flat--cut right squah acrost in the middle." + +"Let's mush on for a couple of hours. There is light enough to see the +mountains, and we might as well be lost one place as another." The man +grinned at the philosophical suggestion. + +"All right, kid. Keep yo' eyes peeled, an' when yo' get enough jest yelp +an' we 'll camp." + +Hour after hour they pushed northward among the little hills. The sled +runners slipped smoothly over the hard, dry snow, and overhead a +million stars glittered in cold brilliance against the blue-black pall +of the night sky. And in all the vast solitude of the great white world +the only living things were the fur-clad man and boy and the +shaggy-coated dogs that drew the sleds steadily northward. Gradually it +grew lighter and the stars paled before the increasing glow of the +aurora. Broad banners flashed and waned in the heavens, and thin +streamers of changing lights writhed and twisted sinuously, illuminating +the drear landscape with a dull, uncanny light in which objects appeared +strangely distorted and unreal. + +Was it possible that other eyes had looked upon these cold, dead +mountains? That other feet had trodden the snows of this forsaken +world-waste? It seemed to the tired boy that they had passed the +uttermost reach of men, and gazed for the first time upon a new and +lifeless land. + +They eased out of a ravine on a long slant, and at the top Connie halted +McDougall's _malamutes_ and waited for Waseche Bill, whose sled had +nosed deep into the soft snow of a huge drift. The man wrenched it free +and urged on his dogs, which humped to the pull and clawed their way to +the top, sending little showers of flinty snow rustling into the ravine. +As the boy started the big ten-team, the light grew suddenly brighter. +The whole North seemed bathed in a weird, greenish glow. Directly before +him a broad banner flashed and blazed, and in the bright flare of light, +upon the very edge of the vast frozen plain, loomed a great white +mountain whose top seemed sheared by a single stroke of a giant sword! +The boy's heart leaped with joy. + +"The flat mountain! It's here! It's here!" he cried, and up over the rim +of the ravine rushed Waseche Bill, and in silence they gazed upon the +welcome sight until the light disappeared in a final blaze of glory--and +it was night. + +_Cache_ number two was easily located upon a shelf of rock before which +a wind-whipped piece of cloth fluttered dejectedly at the top of a +sapling firmly embedded in the snow. In spite of the increased +confidence in Carlson's map, it was not without some trepidation that +the partners set out the following day upon the second lap of the dead +man's lonely trail. + +"Fr. FLAT MT. C 2. DUE E 4d C 1 STONE CAIRN RT. BANK FORK OF RIV. FOL. +RIV. N-E." were the directions upon the trail map pinned with a sliver +to a caribou haunch. It had been well enough to skirt the great mountain +range beyond which, to the westward, lay Alaska. It was quite another +thing, however, to turn their backs upon this range and strike due east +across the vast snow-covered plain which stretched, far as the eye could +reach, as level as the surface of a frozen sea. For four days they must +mush eastward across this white expanse, without so much as a hill or a +thicket to guide--must hold, by compass alone, a course so true that it +would bring them, at the end of four days, to a certain solitary rock +cairn at the fork of an unnamed river. Even the hardened old _tillicum_, +Waseche Bill, hesitated as the dogs stood harnessed, awaiting the word +of command, and glanced questioningly into the upturned face of the +small boy: + +"It's a long shot, son, what do yo' say?" His answer was the thin whine +of the boy's long-lashed dog whip that ended in a vicious crack at the +ears of McDougall's leaders: + +"Mush-u, mush-u, hi!" and the boy whirled the long ten-team away from +the mountains, straight into the heart of the Lillimuit. + +The crust of the snow that lay deep over the frozen muskeg and tundra +was ideal for sled-travel and, of course, rendered unnecessary the use +of snowshoes. All day long the steel-blue, cold fog hung in the north, +obliterating the line of the flat horizon. The bitter wind that whipped +and tore out of the Arctic died down at nightfall and, for the first +time in their lives, the two felt the awful depression of the real +Arctic silence. Mountain men, these, used to the mighty uproar of +frost-tortured nature. The silence they knew was punctuated by the long +crash of snow cornices as they tore loose from mountain crags and +plunged into deep valleys to the roar of a riven forest; by the sudden +boom of exploding trees; and the wild bellowing of lake ice, split from +shore to wooded shore in the mighty grip of the frost king. + +But here, on the frozen muskeg, was no sound--only the dead, unearthly +silence that pressed upon them like an all-pervading _thing_. Closer and +closer it pressed, until their lungs breathed, not air--but +_silence_--the dreaded, surcharged silence of the void--the uncanny +silence that has caused strong men to leap, screaming and shrieking, +upon it and, bare-handed, seek to wring its awful secrets from its +heart--and then to fall back upon the snow and maunder and laugh at the +blood stains where the claw-like nails have bitten deep into their +palms--but they feel no pain and gloat foolishly--for to their poor, +tortured brains this blood is the heart's blood of the Silence of the +North. + +On the fourth day the ground rose slightly from the low level of the +muskeg. All day they traversed long, low hills--which were not hills at +all, but the roll of the barren ground, and in the evening came upon the +bank of the river, but whether above or below the fork they could not +tell. + +"We'll follow it down--nawthwahd--fo' that's what the map says, an' if +we do miss the _cache_, we'll strike the Ignatook camp in two mo' days. +We got grub enough if a stawm don't hit us. I sho' am glad we-all didn't +get catched out yondeh." The man's eyes swept the wide expanse of +barrens that lay between them and the distant peaks. "It's a good +hund'ed an' fifty mile acrost them flats--we sho' was lucky!" + +The ice-locked river upon which they found themselves was a stream of +considerable size which flowed north, with a decided trend to the +eastward. The muskeg and tundra had given place to the rocky formation +of the barren lands which cropped out upon the banks of the river in +rock reefs and ledges. Scrub trees and bushes in sickly patches fringed +the banks, their leafless branches rattling in the wind. + +An hour's travel on the snow-covered ice of the river brought them to a +sharp bend where a river flowed in from the eastward, and there, almost +at the confluence of the two streams, stood the solitary rock cairn, a +monument some seven feet in height and five feet in diameter at its +base. + +"He didn't _cache_ no great sight of meat heah," observed Waseche as, +one by one, they removed the stones of the cairn. "We got a plenty, but +I counted on this fo' the dawgs." Even as he spoke, they came upon a +flat stone midway of the pile, which required their combined strength to +displace. With a harsh, grating sound it slid sidewise into the snow, +disclosing a considerable cavity, in the centre of which lay, not the +expected _cache_ of caribou meat, but a human skull, whose fleshless +jaws grinned into their startled faces in sardonic mockery. Beside the +skull lay a leaf torn from Carlson's notebook, and in Carlson's +handwriting the words: + + FOL. RIV. 2d N to CREEK OF STEAM. FOL. UP CREEK 2m. CAMP W BANK IN + OLD MINE TUNNEL. DISCOVERY 100ft. E. TUNNEL MOUTH. 1 ABOVE + CLAIM--STAKED FOR PETE MATEESE. LOOK OUT FOR WHITE INJUNS. + +"Ol' mine tunnel! White Injuns!" exclaimed Waseche. "I tell yo' what, +son: so fah, Carlson's maps has hit out, but when he begins writin' +about white Injuns an' ol' mine tunnels, an' _cachin'_ skull bones, +'stead of meat! It's jest as I tol' yo'! We-all got to keep on now, but +I sho' wisht we'd neveh found Carlson an' his crazy maps." + +"Whose skull do you suppose it is? And why did he _cache_ it, I wonder?" +asked Connie, as he handled gingerly the gruesome object. + +"Seahch me!" said the man, glancing at the weather blackened skull. +"Come on, le's mush." + +As they advanced the surface of the surrounding land became more broken +and the river descended rapidly in a series of falls, enclosed by the +freezing spray, in huge irregular masses of green-hued ice, which +impeded their progress and taxed to the utmost the skill of the drivers +and the tricks of the trail-wise dogs in preventing the sleds from being +dashed to pieces upon the slope of the ice domes, from whose hollow +interiors came the muffled roar of the plunging falls. + +The dogs were again on half ration, and even this was a serious drain +upon the supply of meat. The walls of the river became higher until, on +the second day, they were threading a veritable canyon. At noon the +light dimmed suddenly, and the two gazed in surprise at the sun which +glowed with a sickly, vapoury glare, while all about them the air was +filled with tiny glittering frost flakes, which lay thick and fluffy +under their feet and collected in diamond flashing clusters on the rocks +and bushes of the canyon walls. + +"It's snowing!" cried Connie, excitedly. "Snowing at forty below!" + +"'Tain't snow, son. It's frozen fog, an' I cain't sense it. I c'n see +how it might thick up an' snow, even at forty below, but fog! Doggone +it! It takes wahm weatheh to _make_ fog--_an' it ain't wahm!_" + +Toggling the lead dogs, they selected a spot where the wall of the +canyon was riven by the deep gash of a small feeder and climbed +laboriously to the top for a better view of the puzzling phenomenon. + +Scarcely a quarter of a mile ahead a great bank of fog ascended, rolling +and twisting toward the heavens. Slowly it rose from out of the snow, +spreading into the motionless air like a giant mushroom of glittering +diamond points which danced merrily earthward, converting the whole +landscape into a mystic tinsel world. Far to the westward the bank +extended, winding and twisting like some great living monster. + +"It's the creek of the steam!" cried Waseche Bill. "It's theah wheah +Carlson's camp is." But, so entranced was the boy with the weird beauty +of the scene, that he scarcely heard. He pointed excitedly toward a low +hill whose sides were wooded with the scrub timber of the country, where +each stunted tree, each limb and spiney leaf curved gracefully under its +weight of flashing rime. Towers, battlements, and spires glinted in the +brilliant splendour, for, out of the direct line of the fog bank that +hung above the course of the narrow creek, the sun shone as clear and +bright as the low-hung winter sun of the sub-Arctic ever does shine, and +its slanting rays flashed sharply from a billion tiny facets. + +"It's the frozen forest that he wrote about!" exclaimed the delighted +boy. "It's the most beautiful thing in the world! Now, aren't you glad +you came?" But Waseche Bill shook his head dubiously, and began the +descent to the canyon. + +"Why! Where are the dogs!" cried the boy, who was first upon the surface +of the river. Waseche hurried to his side; sure enough, neither dogs nor +sleds were in sight and the man leaped forward to examine the thick +carpet of rime. + +[Illustration: "The two partners stared open-mouthed at the apparition. +_The face was white!_"] + +"It's Injuns!" he announced. "Nine or ten of 'em, an' they headed +nawth!" And, even as he spoke, a grotesquely feathered, beaver-topped +head appeared above a frost-coated rock, almost at his elbow, and the +two partners stared open-mouthed at the apparition. _The face was +white!_ + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +O'BRIEN + + +Surprise held Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill spellbound as they stood +ankle-deep in the glittering frost spicules that carpeted the surface of +the ice-locked river, and gazed speechless into the face that stared at +them over the top of the rime-crusted rock. + +The spell broke. From behind other rocks appeared other faces surmounted +by odd beaver-skin caps, edged with the feathers of the blue, and snow +goose, and of the great white Arctic owl. The partners glanced from one +to the other of these strange, silent faces that regarded them through +wide-set, in-slanting eyes. The faces were white--or rather, through the +winter's accumulation of grease and blubber soot, they showed a light +brownish yellow that, in comparison with the faces of other Indians, +would easily pass for white. And they were so nearly alike that a +stranger would have been at his wits' end to have distinguished one from +another--all except the first one, the man whose face appeared so +suddenly almost at Waseche Bill's side. He was taller than the others, +his nose longer and thinner, and his whole lower face was concealed +behind a luxurious growth of flaming red whiskers, while through the +soot and grease his skin showed ruddy, rather than yellow, and his +small, deep-set eyes were of a peculiar greenish hue. + +"Japs an' Irish!" exclaimed Waseche Bill. "Carlson was right--even to +his frozen fohest an' white Injuns!" + +He addressed the company with a comprehensive wave of his arm: + +"Good evenin', gents. How they comin'?" + +His words were greeted with stony-faced stares as meaningless and void +of expression as the stare of a frozen fish. Waseche tried again: + +"It's a right smaht spell o' weatheh we're havin', ain't it? An' how's +all the folks? Don't all talk to onct, now, till I get through welcomin' +yo' into me an' the kid's midst--oah else tellin' yo' how glad we-all ah +to find ouhselves amongst yo'--owin' to who's givin' the pahty." He +glanced from face to face, but, as before, all were stolid as graven +images. Suddenly he turned upon the bewhiskered one of the green eyes: + +"Hey, yo' red chinchilly! Cain't yo' talk none? An' cain't yo' yelleh +perils, heah, ondehstand no language? I cain't talk no laundry, myself, +but besides American, I'm some fluent in Chinook, Metlakat', Tlinkit, +an' Athapascan. As fo' yo', yo' look to me like the Tipperary section of +a Patrick's Day parade! Come on, now--loosen up! If yo' an' Injun, so'm +I--only I've done moulted my feathehs, an' washed my face since the +Fo'th of July!" + +Directly addressed, the man stepped from behind his rock, and the lid of +the left green eye dropped in a decided wink. The others immediately +followed, crowding close about the newcomers. Squat, full-bodied men, +they were, fur-clad from top to toe, and all armed with short, +copper-tipped harpoons which they leaned upon as they stared. Waseche +grinned into their wide, flat faces, as he of the red whiskers elbowed +to the fore and spoke in a singsong voice with a decided Hibernian +accent: + +"Which me name's O'Brien," he began, "an' ut's both sorry an' glad Oi am +to see ye. But, phwere's th' shtampede?" He glanced anxiously up the +river. + +"What stampede?" asked Waseche, in surprise. + +"Phy, th' shtampede! Th' shtampede to th' Ignatook, th' creek +yondher--th' creek that biles." + +"Sea'ch me! Me an' the kid's all theah is--an' yo' wouldn't hahdly call +us a stampede." + +"But, Car-rlson! An' th' breed, Pete Mateese! Didn't they nayther wan +git t'rough? Ilse, how'd ye come to be follyin' th' back thrail?" The +man's anxiety increased, and he waited impatiently for an answer. + +"No. Carlson didn't get through. We come onto his last camp about ten +days back. He died huntin' the Tatonduk divide. But, how come yo'-all to +be heah? Who's yo' friends? An' wheah's ouh outfit?" + +"Hivin hilp th' bunch av us!" wailed the Irishman. "No shtampede, afther +all--an' we'll all be dead befoor we live to git out av this!" The man +gazed far out into the gathering gloom, wringing his hands and muttering +to himself. Suddenly his eyes lighted, and he questioned the two +eagerly: + +"D'yez know about Flor-ridy?" he asked, "phwere they say a man kin be +war-rum? An' how man-ny quar-rts av nuggits w'd ut take f'r th' +car-r-fare, an' to buy, me'be ut's a bit av a tobaccy shtor-re on th' +sunny soide av th' shtrate, wid a bit av a gar-rdin behint, an' a pig in +his pin in th' yar-rud? + +"An', shpykin' av tobaccy, hav' yez a bit to shpare? Ut's niver a shmoke +Oi've had in goin' on six year--an' kin ye lind me th' loan av a +match?" + +Waseche tossed the man his tobacco and eyed him sharply as he lighted +the short, black cutty pipe that he produced from a pocket of his thick +caribou-hide shirt. + +"They've took th' outfit to th' village," O'Brien said. "But, about +Flor-ridy, now----" + +"We'll talk that oveh lateh. Let's be mushin', I don't want them sleds +too fah in th' lead." + +"Sur-re, they'll not be far-r. 'Tis ondly ar-round th' bind av th' +r-river." He spoke a few harsh, guttural syllables to one of the +fur-clad men, who wore across his shoulders the skin of a beautiful +black fox. + +"'Tis a foine language, ain't ut? An' to think Oi've hur-rd no other f'r +six years past!" + +"What do yo' call it?" asked Waseche, as they followed in the wake of +the natives, who had started northward at the Irishman's words. + +"Call ut! How sh'uld Oi know? Oi c'd be ar-rested in an-ny town in +Oirland f'r phwat Oi've called ut! But, Oi've got used to ut, now--same +as th' raw fish, an' blubber. How man-ny cans av nuggits did ye say? +Wan quar-rt tomatty cans, wid a rid label, haypin' full--an' is ut +raylly hot in Flor-ridy, or ondly middlin' war-rum, loike Kildare in th' +summer?" + +"Florida's hot," ventured Connie. "I learned about it in school. And +there's oranges, and alligators that eat you when you go in swimming." + +"Shwimmin'! Sur-re, Oi ain't bin shwimmin' in, Oi don't know phwin. Phy, +Oi ain't seen me _hide_ in six years!" + +They proceeded a short distance, with O'Brien muttering and chuckling in +the rear, and upon rounding a sharp bend, came in sight of the village, +a group of some fifteen or twenty snow _igloos_, situated upon a plateau +or terrace overlooking the river. In front of an _igloo_ somewhat larger +than the others, stood the dog-teams with their loaded sleds surrounded +by a crowd of figures that differed in no single particular from the +dozen or so who mushed along in advance. Old Boris, Mutt, and Slasher, +the three unharnessed dogs that had accompanied Connie and Waseche to +the top of the high plateau from which they had obtained the view of the +creek of the steam and the white forest, now trotted close to the heels +of the boy. + +"I don't quite like the looks of things, kid," whispered Waseche, as +they approached the trail that slanted upward to the village. "O'Brien's +touched a little in his uppeh stohy, but he may be smaht enough in some +things. He ain't wild-eyed, an' me'be he'll be all right now. I reckon +he's jest be'n thinkin' of them wahm countries till he's a bit off. We +got to keep ouh eyes peeled an' get out of this heah fix the best way we +can. Me'be the Irishman'll help, an' me'be he'll hindeh. These heah +Jap-faced Injuns don't appeah to be much hostyle, an' we betteh lay low +an' get the hang of things fo' a couple of days befo' we go makin' any +break." + +"We'll take _him_ with us," said Connie. "Just think of a white man +living up here for six years!" + +"We sho' will!" agreed Waseche. "I hope them heathens ain't cleaned out +Carlson's camp. Raw fish an' blubber don't sound good to me--theah's +some things a man don't _want_ to get use' to. Heah we ah; we got to +hold ouh nehve, an' keep ouh eyes open." + +"How man-ny cans av nuggits did ye say?" interrupted O'Brien, as he +overtook them at the rise of the trail. "They're heavy." + +"Why, they're all men!" exclaimed Connie, as they reached the spot where +the entire village stood grouped about the sleds. + +"Indade, an' they ain't!" refuted O'Brien. "They's fifty-seven av um all +towld, incloodin' mesilf, an' th' half av us is wimmin--ondly ye can't +tell th' difference nayther in looks nor-r dhress. An' a homlier-r, +mor-re ill-favour-red crew niver wuz let be born, bein', near-r as Oi +kin figger, half Injun, half Eskimo, an' half Chinee--an' they'll ate +an-nything they kin chaw!" + +At the approach of the white men, the Indians drew back, forming a wide +circle about the dog-teams. Into this circle stepped a very old man, who +leaned heavily upon the shaft of his harpoon and blinked his watery, +red-rimmed eyes. From the corners of his mouth long tufts of white hair +grew downward until they extended below the angle of his jaw. These +tufts, stiff with grease, gleamed whitely like the ivory tusks of a +walrus. With a palsied arm he motioned to O'Brien, who stepped before +him and spoke rapidly for several moments in the guttural jargon he had +used on the river. The old man answered and, as he talked, his tongue +clicked oddly against his teeth, which were worn to the level of his +gums. + +"What ails grandpa?" asked Waseche, when the old man had finished. "Was +he sayin' somethin,' oah jest exehcisin' his mouth?" + +"Sur-re, that's Metlutak, the owld chayfe; he's give over his job mostly +to Annunduk, yondher, wid th' black fox shawl, but on mathers av +impoortance th' owld wan has his say." + +"I didn't get the drift of his ahgument--I neveh leahnt no blue jay." + +"He says," began O'Brien, with a broad grin, "he says ye're welcome into +the thribe. He'll set th' young min buildin' an _igloo_, an' he's glad +ye've got so man-ny dogs f'r 'tis two moons befoor th' caribou move, an' +th' fresh mayte will tasht good afther a winther av fish an' blubber." + +[Illustration: "With a palsied arm he motioned to O'Brien, who stepped +before him."] + +"Meat!" exclaimed Connie, with flashing eyes. "Does he think he's going +to eat those dogs?" + +"Ye don't see no dogs in th' village, do yez? An' nayther they ain't bin +excipt th' six they shtole off Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese--an' they was +into th' bilin' pot befoor they quit kickin'." + +"Well, you can tell him he don't get any of these dogs to eat! And if +any one lays a hand on a dog, I'll--I'll knock his block off!" + +"Now, hold on, son," cautioned Waseche Bill, with his hand upon the +boy's shoulder. "We got to kind of take it easy. This heah ain't no time +fo' an uprisin' of the whites--the odds ain't right." He turned to the +Irishman: + +"O'Brien, yo' want to get out of this heah country, don't yo'?" + +"Sur-re, an' Oi do!" eagerly exclaimed the man. "But, ut's six years +Oi've throied ut, an' nar-ry a wanst hav' Oi done ut. Av ye kin make ut, +Oi'm wid yez--but, av we don't save th' dogs, we'll niver do ut. They're +good thrailers, th' punkin faced ejits, an' they've br-rung me back +twinty-wan toimes, be th' clock. Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese had dogs, +an' they got away." + +"We-all can make it! Don't yo' worry none. I be'n in tight fixes befo'. +Jest yo' listen to me, an' stall the ol' boy off fo' a day oah two. +That'll give us a chanst to make medicine." O'Brien turned to the old +walrus-faced shaman and there followed a half-hour of lively +conversation, at the end of which the man reported to Waseche: + +"They're gr-reat hands f'r to hav' dances, ut's par-rt av their haythen +religion--that is, they call um dances, an' ut shtar-rts in that +way--but ut woinds up loike a Donnybrook fair. 'Tis gr-rand fun--wid +har-rpoon shafts cr-rackin' down on heads loike quarther-staves; f'r +barrin' pick handles, wan av thim har-rpoons is th' besht club, nixt to +a black thor-rn shelala, f'r a foight amongst frinds, an-ny day in th' +wake. + +"Oi towld um th' dogs wuz skin-poor fr-rom th' long thrail, an' not fit +f'r to ate, but a couple av days wid plinty av fish in their bellies, +would fat um up loike a young seal. + +"'We'll have a big _potlatch_,' says he. 'We've more fish thin we nayde. +Feed up th' dogs,' says he, 'an' in two shlapes, we'll hav' th' biggest +_potlatch_ in th' histhry av th' thribe. We'll dance all night, f'r Oi'm +gittin' owld,' says he, 'an' ut may be me lasht.' Oi hope so, thinks Oi, +but Oi don't say so. An-nyhow, we kin resht airy f'r a couple av days +an' th' dogs'll be safe an' well fed. 'Twud be all a man's loife wuz +wor-rth to har-rm wan till th' owld man gives th' wor-rd. Ye said ut wuz +raylly hot in Flor-ridy, b'y? Hot enough, d'ye think, that a felly c'd +set ar-round in his shir'rt shlaves, an' shmoke a bit av an avenin'?" + +O'Brien offered to share his _igloo_ with Connie and Waseche Bill, but +they declined with thanks after one look into the smoky interior that +fairly reeked with the stench of rancid blubber and raw skin bedding. + +Hardly had the dogs been unharnessed before four Indians appeared with +huge armfuls of frozen fish, and while the gaunt _malamutes_ gnawed +ravenously at the food, the whole village looked on, men and women +licking their chops in anticipation of the coming _potlatch_, pointing +out the choicest of the dogs, and gesticulating and jabbering over the +division of the spoils. + +The light shelter tent, robes, and sleeping bags were removed from the +sleds, and O'Brien offered to help. + +"Set ut up clost ag'in' th' _igloo_," he said, "an' Oi'll tunnel a hole +t'rough th' soide, an' tonight we kin lay an' plot loike Fenians, an' +th' ar-risthocracy here'll think we're sound ashlape dhreamin' av +_malamute_ mulligan, an' dog's liver fried in ile." + +The tent was quickly set up and Connie was about to loosen the lashings +of the grub pack. + +"How much grub hav' ye got?" asked the Irishman. + +"We got a right smaht of grub, except fo' th' dawgs," answered Waseche. + +"Don't uncover ut, thin," warned O'Brien. "Jist tilt yer tarp a bit an' +pull out enough f'r th' suppher. They won't bother-r th' outfit +none--th' owld man towld um to lave hands off an' they'd divide the +whole shebang afther th' dance." + +"Yo' don't say," drawled Waseche. "Grandpa's a generous heahted ol' +pahty, ain't he! D'yo' reckon we-all w'd be in on th' divvy, oah do we +jest furnish the outfit?" + +O'Brien grinned: + +"Ye'd fare same as th' rist," he said. "Sharre an' shar-re aloike is th' +rule here. Sur-re, they're socialists--ondly they don't know ut." + +"Yo' say they won't let yo' get away from heah? What do they want of +yo'--an' what do they want of us? Afteh they've et the dawgs an' divided +the outfit, looks like they'd be glad to get rid of us." + +O'Brien filled his pipe and noisily blew great clouds of smoke into the +air: + +"'Tis a thing Oi've niver found out. Six years Oi've bin hilt +pr-risoner. They've thrayted me same as theirsilves. Oi do no mor-re +wor-rk thin an-ny man av thim, an' av they're glutted wid grub so'm Oi, +an' av they're hungr-ry, Oi'm hungr-ry, too. Near-r as Oi kin make out +Oi'm jist a kapesake--loike ye're grandfayther's swor-rd, or a canary." + +"How did Carlson an' Pete Mateese get away?" + +"Sur-re, they niver wuz caught! They got to the Ignatook; that's phwat +these haythen call th' creek av th' bilin' wather--an' they fear-r ut. +Niver a man av thim will go into ut's valley. They say ut's +divil-ha'nted. Th' wather's black an' bilin'--an' ut stinks. Ut's pizen, +too; av ye dhrink ut ye'll die. They's a pile av bones, an' man-ny a +skull ar-round th' owld copper mine. 'Twuz wan av thim Oi shlipped into +th' rock cairn, back yondher, hopin' to warn th' fur-rst av th' +shtampede to wait f'r th' rist, phwin th' Injuns robbed th' _cache_. + +"Av we kin git to th' Ignatook wid th' dogs, we're safe. Oi've hid there +a dozen toimes, but Oi niver c'd make th' outside f'r lack av dogs. +They's sixteen hunder' pounds av caribou mate in th' tunnel, an' sixty +percers av fish. + +"They've an eye on us, an' Oi'm fear-red they'll misthrust we're +plottin'. Wait till tonight, an' Oi'll go now an' make up a fairy +shtor-ry that'll satisfy th' owld chayfe about our long palaver-r." + +O'Brien started toward the old shaman, but turned and retraced his +steps: + +"How man-ny quar-rts av nuggits did ye say?" he asked, as a far-away +look crept into his eyes. Waseche Bill answered softly: + +"I don't rightly know what nuggets is fetchin' a quaht. But, offhand, +I'd say a quaht oah two w'd be a plenty to take yo' clean around the +wohld." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE ESCAPE FROM THE WHITE INDIANS + + +The man, O'Brien, despite the fact that he spent half his time mooning +and muttering to himself about quarts of gold and the delights of a +torrid clime, proved himself no mean strategist, and his intimate +knowledge of the lay of the land and the habits and language of the +natives, was invaluable in formulating the plan of escape. + +Far into the night the three lay, Connie and Waseche Bill in their +sleeping bags under the little shelter tent pitched close against the +rounded side of the _igloo_, and O'Brien lying inside the _igloo_ upon +his vile-smelling bed of skins with his face to the hole he had bored +low in the snow wall. + +Their only hope in getting out of the Lillimuit lay in saving the dogs, +and it was decided that this could be accomplished only by a quick dash +for the Ignatook, which joined the larger river a quarter of a mile to +the northward. + +On the sleds remained about five hundred pounds of caribou venison, +besides a small quantity of tea, coffee, bacon, and flour. + +"Ut's loike this," concluded O'Brien, when the situation had been +carefully reviewed from every slant and angle, "Oi'll go to owld +Metlutak, tomorry, an' Oi'll say: 'Chayfe,' Oi'll say, 'thim dogs is a +plinty soight ribbier thin phwat Oi thought they wuz. We can't git no +fat onto um insoide av a wake or tin days but we kin hav' th' _potlatch_ +jist th' same--ondly we'll hav' _two potlatchs_ instead av th' wan. They +is foive hunder' pounds av caribou mate on th' sleds an' we'll hav' th' +caribou _potlatch_ fur-rust, an' th' dog _potlatch_ lather, phwin +they've bin give a chanst to lay on some fat.' + +"Th' owld b'y won't loike th' caribou so much as th' dog but Oi'll pint +out to um that av we use th' caribou fur-rust th' dogs can't shlip along +in th' noight an' ate it up on us, whoilst av we kill th' dogs an' lave +th' caribou, ye can't tell phwat w'd happin." + +"But the dogs couldn't eat the meat if they were dead!" objected Connie. + +"Whisht lad! Th' chayfe don't know no 'rithmetic. Two _potlatches_ is +bether thin wan, an' beyant that he ain't goin' to study. + +"We'll wor-rk ut loike this: they's about tin pound av mate apiece--no +gr-reat glut--but enough to kape um busy afther th' dance. Th' dance'll +begin phwin th' sun jist edges yondher peaks, an' wanst they git het to +the wor-rk, 'twill kape up till mid-noight. We'll dhrag th' mate over, +an' Bill, here, he'll shtand ridy wid his axe to cut ut in chunks, an' +Oi'll toss ut to wan an' another so they'll all git a piece. They'll +ghrab ut an' dhrive their har-rpoons into ut so they kin howld ut over +th' foir-re an' thaw ut out. They'll ate ut raw off th' ind av th' +har-rpoons--'tis a gr-rand soight! + +"Now, her-re's phwere th' b'y comes in: as soon as Bill shtar-rts +choppin' mate, ye must shlip over here an' har-rness th' dogs f'r all +ye're worth. Ye must finish befoor th' mate's all doled out. Hav' th' +loight grub an' th' robes an' shlapin' bags on th' sleds, but lave th' +tint shtand. Lave th' roifles in th' pack; they've niver kilt me, an' Oi +won't see har-rm come to thim--but av Oi c'd git a good cr-rack at wan +or two wid me fisht, 'tw'd aise th' mimry av thim, twinty-wan toimes +they've dhrug me back over th' tundra. + +"Wanst their har-rpoons gits dhrove into th' fr-rozen mate, they'll +niver git um out till they're thawed out. They'll be too heavy to run +wid, an' be th' toime they kin fr-ree thim, we'll be safe on th' +Ignatook, phwere they wudn't come afther us av they doied fur-rst. + +"We kin take our own toime gittin' to th' outsoide. They's plinty av +grub in th' tunnel--an' plinty av gold, too--all put away in tomatty +cans; an' they're heavy--foorty pound apiece they weigh, av they weigh +an ounce--an' that's wan rayson they've tur-med me back thim twinty-wan +toimes. + +"How far-r did ye say ut wuz to Flor-ridy, afther ye cr-ross th' +muskeg?" + +"I reckon it's quite a spell, O'Brien," answered Waseche. "But yo' c'n +bet yo' last blue one, me an' th' kid'll see yo' git theah--an' don't +yo' fo'get it!" + +Darkness--not the black darkness of the States, but the long twilight of +the early Arctic night--descended upon the Lillimuit. Upon the narrow +plateau overlooking the unnamed river, squat fur-clad figures emerged +from the tunnel-like entrances of the _igloos_ and, harpoon in hand, +moved slowly through the gloom toward a circular level of hard-packed +snow immediately in front of the house of the chief, where other figures +were busily heaping brushwood and frozen pieces of drift upon a fire +that smoked and smouldered in the centre of the area. + +At the edge of the circle, Waseche Bill, Connie Morgan, and O'Brien sat +upon the haunches of venison and watched the strange men and women take +their places about the fire where they ranged themselves in two circles, +one within the other, and waited in stolid silence for the appearance +of the two chiefs. + +Presently they approached, carrying queer shaped drums which consisted +of a narrow frame or hoop of split willow about two feet in diameter. +Upon these frames were stretched the thin, tough membranes that form the +abdominal lining of the seal. A handle of carved walrus ivory was +affixed to the hoop with lashings of sealskin. The chiefs carried no +harpoons, and as each took his place, the old chief in the inner circle, +and the young chief in the outer, they raised their drums and struck +sharply upon the edges of the rims with their short ivory drumsticks. +The sound produced was a resonant, rather musical note, and at the +signal the circles moved, the inner from right to left, the outer from +left to right. Slowly, at first, they moved to the measured beat of the +drums. The scene was weird and impressive, with the strange, silent +people circling in the firelight whose red flare now and then illumined +their flat grease-glistening faces. The drums beat faster and between +the beats could be heard the husk of the _mukluks_ as they scraped upon +the hard surface of the snow. + +Gloom deepened into darkness and still they danced. Suddenly out of the +north flashed a broad band of light--mystic illusive light writhing and +twisting--now bright--now dim. Rose flashed into amethyst and vivid +scarlet into purple and pale yellow colouring the whole white world with +its reflected light. + +Instantly the scene changed. Faster and faster beat the drums; faster +and faster circled the dancers, and suddenly from every throat burst the +strange words of a weird, unearthly chant: + + "Kioya ke, Kioya ke, + A, yaña, yaña, ya, + Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi! + + Tudlimana, tudlimana, + A, yaña, yaña, ya, + Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi! + + Kalutaña, Kalutaña, + A, yaña, yaña, ya, + Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi!" + +Eerie and impressive the sight, and eerie the rise and fall of the chant +with which the children of the frozen wastes greet the Aurora--the +flashing, hissing warning of the great Tuaña, the bad man, who lies dead +at the end of the earth. + +The words ceased, the drums struck into a measured, monotonous, pom, +pom, pom, and the dancers continued to circle about the fire. A man +separated himself from the others and, stepping into the fire-lit +circle, began to chant of his deeds of valour in the hunt, of his +endurance on the trail, and his fortitude in accident and famine. As he +chanted he danced, swaying and contorting his body, and then, either his +tale was told, or he became weary and dropped back into the circle and +gave place to another. Hour after hour the white men watched the strange +incantations, moving about at intervals to keep warm. The endurance of +the natives was a source of wonder to Connie and Waseche Bill. They had +been continuously at it for nine hours, and it was midnight when +O'Brien reached swiftly over and touched Connie upon the shoulder. + +"Look aloive, now, b'y! The owld chayfe is th-radin' his dhrum f'r a +har-rpoon, an 'tis th' sign f'r th' _potlatch_!" + +Sure enough! With amazing suddenness the circles broke up and the +dancers made a concerted rush for the caribou meat. Connie slipped +unnoticed into the shadows and ran for the sleds, while Waseche Bill +swung his ax and O'Brien distributed the chunks to the crowding Indians. + +As soon as one received his portion he placed it upon the snow and drove +his harpoon in past the barbs to prevent its being jerked off in the +wild scramble for a place at the fire. As O'Brien had said, the orgy +that started as a religious ceremony was winding up like a Donnybrook +fair, for the natives fought and pummelled each other with spear and +fist in their efforts to thaw out their meat. + +At the end of half an hour all were served and not a shred remained that +was not firmly transfixed upon the point of a harpoon. Most of the +Indians still fought by the fire, but some of the more fortunate had +retreated to a distance and were gnawing and tearing at the raw chunks, +using the harpoons in the manner of a huge fork. + +"Now's our chanst!" whispered O'Brien; and with an eye upon those who +were eating, they dodged swiftly behind the chief's _igloo_. + +When Connie reached the shelter tent he fell immediately to work +harnessing the dogs which he roused from their snug beds in a huge +snowdrift. At first his fingers trembled with excitement so that he +fumbled clumsily at the straps, but he soon regained his nerve and, one +after another, the _malamutes_ were fastened into their proper places. +He slipped the collar on to McDougall's gaunt leader and waited, tense +with anxiety, listening and peering into the darkness for sound or sight +of his two companions. + +After what seemed hours of suspense, he saw them approaching at a run, +and sprang to his place, his fingers gripping tightly the handle of his +dog whip. + +At the same instant, the boy became aware that the scene at the fireside +had changed. In the uncertain light of the flaring flames he had been +able to make out an indistinct blur of fighting figures accompanied by a +jumble of growls and short, animal-like yelps, as the natives pushed and +pummelled each other for a place by the coveted fire. As the figures of +Waseche and O'Brien drew closer, the yelps and growls gave place to loud +cries, the fighting ceased, and in the dim light Connie made out other +running figures, and still others standing upon their chunks of meat and +wrenching frantically to free their harpoons. + +The next instant Waseche Bill leaped to his dogs and O'Brien threw +himself upon Connie's waiting sled. + +"Let 'em go, kid!" cried Waseche, and the sharp crack of the dog whips +rang on the air to the cries of: "Mush! Hi! Hi! Mush-u! Mush-u!" + +Both teams shot away toward the inclined trail of the river. Neck and +neck, they ran over the crusted snow, while the three free dogs romped +and raced beside them. + +While most of the Indians followed directly in the wake of the +retreating men, a few of the wiser ones cut straight for the head of the +trail down which the outfit must pass. Waseche's eight _malamutes_, +travelling lighter than Connie's big ten-team, forged to the front and +gained the incline at the same moment that three Indians led by +Annunduk, the young chief, leaped out upon the trail. The natives, tired +by their long exertions at the dance, had thrown away their weighted +harpoons and, except for a short club that Annunduk had snatched from a +_cache_ frame as he ran, were unarmed. + +Waseche dodged a blow from the club and an Indian who tried to throw +himself upon the flying sled was hurled from the trail and rolled end +over end down the steep hundred-foot slope to the river. + +A quarter of a minute later McDougall's big _malamutes_ swung into the +trail and would have dashed past the spot before the Indians could have +collected their senses, had not O'Brien, with Irish impetuosity, leaned +far over the side and aimed a mighty blow of his fist at the head of +Annunduk. The blow swung wide and O'Brien, losing his balance, pitched +headlong into the snow almost at the Indian's feet. + +Connie, whose attention was upon the rushing dogs, felt the sled leap +forward as the man's weight was removed, and without an instant's +hesitation halted the dogs in their tracks and, clutching his dog whip, +ran to the assistance of O'Brien, who was clawing and rolling about in +the snow in a vain effort to regain his feet. + +There was not a second to lose. By the light of the stars the boy saw +Annunduk leap forward with club upraised, while the remaining Indian was +making ready to spring upon the defenceless man from behind. Connie +redoubled his efforts and, just as the chief raised his club for a long +shoulder swing at O'Brien's head, the boy's fifteen-foot gut lash sang +through the thin air. There was a report like a pistol-shot and, with a +loud yell of pain, Annunduk dropped his club and clutched frantically at +his face. + +[Illustration: "The boy's fifteen-foot lash sang through the thin air."] + +Meanwhile the other Indian had almost reached the Irishman who had +scrambled to his hands and knees. Connie leaped backward to get the +range of his long whiplash, but before the boy could draw back his arm, +the air roared with a long, throaty growl and Slasher, the savage +wolf-dog, with back-curled lips and flashing fangs, leaped past and +launched himself full at the throat of the Indian. With awful impact, +the great tawny brute landed squarely upon the man's chest, carrying +him backward into the snow. The next instant the air was filled with +frightened shrieks and ferocious, full-mouthed snarls as the wolf-dog +tore and wrenched at the heavy skin shirt, while the terrified Indian +protected his face with his arms. + +The whole incident occupied scarcely a minute, and Connie half-dragged +the dazed O'Brien to his feet and hurried him to the sled. With a loud +whistle to Slasher, the boy cracked his whip above the ears of the +leader and, just as the head of the trail became black with pursuing +Indians, the _malamutes_ shot away, with Slasher running beside them, +growling fiercely and shaking a great patch of quill-embroidered shirt +front which waved from his tight-clamped jaws. + +Down on the river, Waseche Bill was in the act of swinging his dogs for +a dash over the back trail when the long ten-team rushed out onto the +rime-carpeted ice. All danger from pursuit was past, and they jogged the +teams slowly northward, while all about them fell the frost spicules in +a feathery shimmer of tinsel. Ten minutes later O'Brien pointed out the +trail which passed between two enormous rocks and entered the valley of +the Ignatook, the creek of the stinking steam, into which the Indians +dared not venture. And it was with a grateful sense of security and +relief that they headed the dogs for the spot where they were to camp, +in the old tunnel of the lost mine of the Ignatook--at the end of the +dead man's lonely trail. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +O'BRIEN'S CANS OF GOLD + + +When Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill awoke, the morning after their +midnight escape from the village of the strange Indians, they found +O'Brien busily engaged in the preparation of breakfast. + +The tunnel of the ancient mine, that had been the abode of Carlson and +Pete Mateese, was merely a rude entry which followed the slant of an +outcropping mass of native copper. The entry was approximately five feet +high and six feet wide, and led obliquely into the face of a rock-cliff +for a distance of a hundred feet where it widened into a chamber, or +room, perhaps twenty feet in diameter and seven or eight feet in height. +Three walls of the room were formed by the copper ore which showed +plainly the marks of the primitive tools of the forgotten miners. The +fourth wall was of solid rock--the wall of the fissure that contained +the vein of ore. At the angle formed by the roof and the rock wall, a +wide crack, or cleavage cleft, slanted sharply upward and outward to a +point on the face of the rock-cliff high above the mouth of the tunnel, +and thus formed a natural chimney for the rude fireplace that had been +built directly beneath it. + +The odour of boiling coffee was in the air and by the fireplace squatted +O'Brien, prodding tentatively at the caribou steaks that sizzled noisily +in the long-handled frying pan. Upon a flat stone that had evidently +served for a table, an ancient lamp which consisted of a rudely hammered +copper pan containing blubber grease and a bit of moss wicking, flared +its smoky illumination. + +"Good marnin' to yez," greeted the Irishman, as the two partners slipped +from their sleeping bags and drew up close to the fire. "Sure, +bhreakfasht'll be riddy in wan minit--an' a good job ut is, to be +settin' wanst mor-re amongst Christians, an' aytin' whoite man's grub, +inshtead av suckin' a shtrip av blubber, along av th' flat-faced Injuns, +yondher." + +Connie laughed: + +"Yes, but you nearly spilled the beans when you tumbled off the sled." + +"Ahroo! Dar-rlint! Ut's a gr-rand lad ye ar-re! Ye shud av seen um!" he +cried, turning to Waseche Bill. "Oi wanted to git jist th' wan swoipe +f'r um to remimber me by, but Oi mished um fair an' square, an' over Oi +wint loike a frog off a log in a bog. An' jist phwin Annunduk wuz about +to presint his soide av th' case wid a bit av a club th' heft av a pick +handle, crack! goes th' b'y's whiplash fair in th' face av um, an' phwin +th' other goes to jump on me back, Whirra! They's a roar loike th' Zoo +tur-rned loose f'r recess, an' th' wolf-dog's a-top av um, fang an' +claw! Ye shud av seen ut! 'Twuz a gr-rand soight!" + +Waseche smiled proudly as he listened to the Irishman's account of the +accident on the trail. + +"Yo' say, they won't follow us in heah?" he asked. + +"Niver a wan av thim. They think this valley is th' counthry av th' evil +spirits. We're safe now--an' hooray, f'r Flor-ridy, an' th' land av +sunshine!" + +"We-all ain't out of the woods yet. I'm sho' glad to be shet of them +Injuns, though. How many times did yo' say they'd brung yo' back?" + +"Twinty-wan toimes. But, Oi hadn't no dogs--an' thim two tomatty cans is +heavy!" + +"Where are the cans?" asked Connie, who had only half believed the +Irishman's tale of gold. + +"Set by now an' ate, an' Oi'll show ye thim--the two av moine, an' th' +twilve av Car-rlson's an' Pete Mateese's." + +The meal over, O'Brien loosened a cleverly concealed wedge that held in +place a stone which served as a door to a small compartment, about +eighteen inches square and three feet deep, that had been chiselled into +the copper on a level with the floor. + +"'Tis th' safe," he grinned. "Foire proof, an' bhurglar proof, too, av +ye don't know th' combynation, fer wid th' little wedge in place, th' +more ye pryze on th' rock th' toighter ut shticks." + +Pushing the stone aside, the man reached into the interior and, one at a +time, removed fourteen tin cans, which he carefully deposited upon the +floor. Over the top of each, serving as a cover, and concealing the +contents from view, was bound a piece of caribou skin, smoke-dried, with +the hair on. + +Connie reached for a can, but to his surprise it remained motionless as +if nailed to the floor. It seemed incredible to the boy that such great +weight could be encompassed within so small a space, and it was only at +the expense of considerable effort that he succeeded in raising it to +his lap. Cutting the thongs, he removed the cover and there, showing +yellow and dull in the guttering flare of the blubber lamp, was gold! +O'Brien spread an empty pack-sack and the boy poured the contents of the +can upon it, and with his fingers levelled the golden pyramid. Before +him lay nuggets, flat, dark flakes of "float," and bright yellow grains +of "dust"--hand-shovelled, and hand-sluiced from the hot, wet sands of +the Ignatook. Waseche Bill stared speechless at the row of skin-covered +cans, at the pile of yellow metal, and back to the row of cans. For +years this man had toiled and mucked among the placers of the gold +fields, had sunk deep shafts, and shallow; had tunnelled, and drifted, +and sloshed about in ice-cold muddy creek beds, but in all the years of +toil and hardship and peril, he had never gazed upon a sight like this. +Even Ten Bow, with its rich drift sands, was a barren desert in +comparison with this El Dorado of the frozen waste. + +"Nine thousan' dollahs a can--mebbe ten," he estimated, in an awed +voice. "No wondeh Carlson came back!" He turned to O'Brien: + +"How deep was his shafts?" + +"Shafts!" exclaimed the Irishman, "sure, they ain't no shafts! Ye dam +off a puddle av wather phwer uts shallow an' throw in a chunk av oice +to cool ut, an' thin ye wade in an' shovel ut into ye're sluices." + +"An' wateh the yeah around!" cried Waseche. + +"Aye, an' no dumps to wor-rk out in th' shpring--ye clane up as ye go. +Wan shovel is good f'r a can, or a can an' a half a month." + +The idea of a man measuring his dust by the forty-pound can, instead of +by the ounce, was new, and Waseche Bill laughed--a short, nervous laugh +of excitement. + +"Come on! Shove them cans back in the hole an' le's go stake ouh claims. +Yo' done stoke yo'n, ain't yo', O'Brien?" + +"Oi've shtaked nawthin'! Oi jist scooped ut out here an' there, phwere +their claims wasn't. Oi want none av this counthry! Oi've had enough av +ut as ut is! Oi won't shtay wan minit longer thin Oi've got to--not av +Oi c'n shovel out pure gold be th' scoopful! Oi want to be war-rm wanst +more, an' live loike a civiloized Christian shud live, wid a pig an' a +cow, an' a bit av a gar-rden. + +"Ye'll not be thinkin' av shtayin' here?" he asked anxiously. + +"No, O'Brien," answered Waseche, "not _this_ trip. But we ah goin' to +stake ouh claims an' then, lateh, why me an' th' kid heah--we ah comin' +back!" + +"Come back av ye want to," said O'Brien with a shrug. "But luk out ye +don't come back wanst too often. Phwere's Car-rlson, an' Pete Mateese? +Thim's min that come back! An' wait till ye see th' skulls an' the bones +along th' gravel at th' edge av th' wather--thim wuz min, too, +wanst--they come back. An' luk at _me_! Four av us come in be way av +Peel River--an' three av us is dead--an' many's th' toime Oi've wisht Oi +wuz wan av thim." O'Brien replaced the stone, and the three turned their +attention to their surroundings. One side of the room was piled to the +ceiling with the caribou venison and fish of which O'Brien had spoken. +They also found a sled and a complete set of harness for a six-dog +team--Carlson's six dogs that had found their way into the boiling pots +of the White Indians. Scattered about the stone floor lay numerous +curiously shaped stone and copper implements, evidently the mining tools +of a primitive race of people, and among these Connie also found ancient +weapons of ivory and bone. + +Slowly they made their way toward the entrance, pausing now and then to +examine the rough walls of the tunnel which had been laboriously driven +through the mass of copper ore. + +"Wonder who worked this mine?" speculated Connie. "Just think of men +working for years and years, I s'pose, to dig out _copper_--with all +that gold lying free in the gravel." + +"Yeh, son, seems queeah to us. But when yo' come to think of it, +coppeh's wo'th a heap mo'n gold, when it comes down to usin' it fo' +hammehs, an' ha'poons, an' dishes. Gold ain't no real good, nohow--'cept +fo' what it'll buy. An' if they ain't no place to spend it, a man mout a +heap sight betteh dig out coppeh." + +The sun was shining brightly on the snow when the three finally stood +at the tunnel-mouth and gazed out into the valley of the Ignatook. A +light wind carried the steam and frozen fog particles toward the +opposite bank, whose high cliffs appeared from time to time as islands +in a billowy white sea. Almost at their feet the waters of the creek +wound between banks of glittering snow crystals, and above them the +great bank of frozen mist eddied and rolled. The stakes Carlson had +driven to mark his claim, and that of Pete Mateese, were plainly +visible, and upon the black gravel at the water's edge were strewn the +weather-darkened bones of many men. + +"The copper miners!" cried Connie, pointing toward the grewsome +collection. Waseche nodded. + +"I reckon so," he answered. "I wondeh what ailed 'em." + +"Aye, what!" echoed O'Brien. "What but th' Ignatook--that's shpelt death +to iverywan that's come into uts valley. Th' whole Lillimuit's a land av +dead min. Av ut ain't th' wan thing, uts another. Phwere's Car-rlson, +an' Pete Mateese? Av ye don't dhrink th' pizen wather, ye'll freeze, er +shtar-rve, er ye'll go loike Craik an' Greenhow, that come in with +me--an' that's th' wor-rst av all. Craik, glum an' sombre, follyin' day +an' noight th' thrail av a monster white moose, that no wan ilse c'd +iver see, an' that always led into th' Narth. An' Greenhow, yellin' an' +laughin' loike foorty fiends, rushin' shtraight into th' mid-noight +aurora--an 'nayther come back! + +"Ye'd besht moind phwat Oi'm tellin' yez," he croaked, as he sat upon +the bank and watched Waseche and Connie stake adjoining claims. + +"Ut's th' same in th' ind," he continued, letting his glance rove over +the tragic relics of a bygone race. "Some comes f'r copper, an' some f'r +gold--an' phwere's th' good av ut? Th' metal is left--but th' bones av +th' diggers mark th' thrail f'r th' nixt that comes! An' none goes +back!" + +"We're going back!" said Connie. "You don't know, maybe Pete Mateese got +through." + +"Mebbe he did--but ut's mebbier he didn't," despaired the man. + +"Now, look a heah, O'Brien," cut in Waseche, "yo' be'n up heah so long +yo' plumb doleful an' sad-minded. We-all ah goin' to get out of heah, +like the kid done told yo'. Come on along now an' stake out yo' claim +'long side of ou'n. I've mined, it's goin' on fo'teen yeah, now--an' I +neveh seen no pay streak like this heah--not even Nome, with her third +beach line; the Klondike, with its shallow gravel; oah Ten Bow, with its +deep yellah sand. It's no wondeh yo' expected a stampede." + +But the Irishman was obdurate and, despite all persuasion, flatly +refused to stake a claim. + +"Come on, then," said Waseche. "We-all got to locate that map of +Carlson's. He said how he mapped the trail to the Kandik." + +"Sure, an' he did!" exclaimed O'Brien. "Oi found th' map six months +agone. But ivery toime Oi'd thry to folly ut, thim danged haythins ud +dhrag me back." + +"Where is the map? Le's see it," said Waseche. O'Brien stared from one +to the other of his companions, with a foolish, round-eyed stare. +Suddenly he leaped to his feet and without a word dashed down the creek +in the direction of the river, leaving Waseche and Connie to gaze after +him in astonishment. + +"Where's he going?" asked the boy. + +"Sea'ch me!" exclaimed Waseche; "come on--we got to catch him. Me'be +he's took a spell. Po' fellow, I'd hate fo' anything to happen to him +now." + +O'Brien had obtained a very considerable lead when the others started +and, giving no heed to their cries to halt, he lumbered heavily onward. +Connie and Waseche ceased to call and, saving their breath, dashed after +him as fast as their legs could carry them. The Irishman was in good +muscle and wind, thanks to his life in the open, but in neither speed +nor endurance was he a match for his pursuers, who were iron-hard from +the long snow trail. When O'Brien neared the pass that gave out onto the +river, the two partners redoubled their efforts and, although they +gained perceptibly, O'Brien was still ten yards in advance when he +plunged between the two upstanding rocks that Connie had named the +"gate-posts of the Ignatook." + +[Illustration: "As they passed between the pillared rocks the Indians +broke cover, hurling their copper-tipped harpoons as they ran."] + +Without a moment's hesitation, the boy, who had outdistanced Waseche, +dashed after him and with a "flying tackle" tripped the fleeing man, so +that both rolled over and over upon the rime-covered ice of the river. +And Waseche Bill, bursting upon the scene, saw, approaching silently and +swiftly among the rocks and scrub of the river's edge, shadowy, +fur-clad forms. The White Indians were guarding well the egress from the +creek of the frozen steam. + +Hastening to the two struggling figures, Waseche jerked them to their +feet, and before the surprised O'Brien knew what was happening, he was +being unceremoniously hustled into the narrow valley from which he had +just emerged--and none too soon, for as they passed between the pillared +rocks, the Indians broke cover and rushed boldly upon them, hurling +their copper-tipped harpoons as they ran. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +FIGHTING THE NORTH + + +"Wheheveh was yo' aimin' fo' to go to?" interrogated Waseche, when they +were once more safely seated about the fireplace in the room at the end +of the old mine tunnel. + +"Sure, ut's th' map!" answered O'Brien, in a tone of the deepest +dejection. + +"The map! What about it?" + +"Ut's in me other pants!" wailed the Irishman. "Back in th' _igloo_!" + +"The _igloo_! The _igloo_--back there?" + +"That same," nodded O'Brien, shamefacedly dropping his glance before the +wrathful glare of Waseche's eyes. "Ye see, ut's loike this: two years +ago, Oi bruk away fr' th' haythins an' made th' Ignatook. Car-rlson an' +Pete Mateese wuz here thin, an' Oi shtayed wid um f'r a month, until +wan day Oi wuz fishin' in th' river, an' they shwooped down an' caught +me befoor Oi c'd git back into th' valley. Afther that they watched me +clost, an' befoor Oi c'd git away ag'in Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese wuz +gone. 'Twuz thin Oi found his map, pegged to a caribou haunch on top av +th' pile yondher, an' Oi shtayed here an' wor-rked till Oi'd all th' +gold Oi c'd pack, an' thin Oi shtar-rted f'r th' Kandik. They caught me, +av coorse, bekaze th' heft av thim cans, along wid phwat grub Oi wuz +dhraggin' on th' sled, wuz more thin a wan man load. They're +sooperstitious about th' creek, an' th' gold, too, an' they slung th' +cans back into th' valley. + +"That's two toimes Oi got away, an' since that they ain't watched me so +clost, f'r they've lur-rned that widout dogs, Oi can't make ut to th' +outside--an' Be Jabbers! nointeen toimes since, Oi've been dhrug back, +but Oi always kep' th' map f'r fear that sometoime Oi'd git to use +ut--an' now, phwin we've got th' chanst, Oi've gone an' murdhered us all +be layvin' ut behint--an' all on account av th' dance an' th' +_potlatch_, be rayson av which Oi wint an' changed me britches!" + +The man's grief was so genuine, and his dejection so deep that the +wrathful gleam faded from Waseche Bill's eyes, and Connie moved nearer +and placed his hand upon the Irishman's shoulder. + +"Never mind, O'Brien. You didn't mean to leave the map--we know +that--don't we, Waseche?" + +"Sho', he didn't," answered the man, gloomily. "But that don't help the +_case_ any. How we-all ah goin' to get out of heah, now, is mo'n I +know----" + +"Me nayther," assented O'Brien. "Av Oi'd shtayed in Kildare, Oi w'dn't +be here now. We bether go back an' settle down wid th' Injuns--av we c'n +make friends wid um ag'in, befoor they har-rpoon us--f'r Oi'll niver see +Flor-ridy, now!" + +Connie leaped to his feet and stood before the two men, who looked into +the narrowing grey eyes that flashed in the flickering flare of the +blubber lamp. + +[Illustration: "You make me tired!" cried Connie. "Anybody'd think you +needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around."] + +"You make me _tired_!" cried the boy, "both of you--with your talk of +not getting out of the Lillimuit; and of going back to the Indians! Why, +they'd eat up our dogs, and then we _couldn't_ get out! What's got into +you, Waseche? Buck up! Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the +streets all numbered, to find your way around! + +"Carlson came in by the Tatonduk--and he went out by the Kandik--his +first trip, when he showed the nuggets he brought back. Who made +Carlson's map? He was a sourdough--but he has nothing on _us_! He found +his own way out--and so will we! If we miss the Kandik, we'll find a +pass of our own--or a river--or a creek! We're not afraid of the +Lillimuit. It hasn't got us yet! And it isn't going to! We've got the +dogs, and we've got the grub--and we've got the nerve to back them. +We'll hike to the outside on our own trail--and we'll turn around and +come back after the gold! + +"But, if we don't make it--and have to die out there in the White +Country--when they find us, they'll know _men_ died! We'll be, anyway, +_one_ day's mushing ahead of our last camp fire!" + +Waseche leaped to the boy's side and grasped the small, doubled fist. + +"They sho' _will_, kid!" he cried. "They sho' _will_! But they ain't a +goin' to find us bushed! I wisht yo' daddy c'd of heahd yo' then--He +was _some_ man, Sam Mo'gan was, an' he'd sho' be proudful of his boy! + +"I'm plumb 'shamed, pahdneh, fo' to gloomed up on yo' that-a-way--ain't +we, O'Brien?" + +"We ar-re, that!" shouted the Irishman, with a new light in his eyes. +"Ye're a gr-rand lad, wid a hear-rt, in ye're ribs, that's th' heart av +a foightin' man. F'r all ye're small soize, ye're th' gamest wan av th' +three av us. An' uts Pathrick O'Brien'll folly ye to th' top av' th' +narth pole, av ye say th' wor-rd." + +A week was spent in exploring the valley of the Ignatook and in prospect +panning at different points along the mysterious boiling creek whose +hot, black gravel showed an unbelievably rich pay streak. + +O'Brien improved rapidly from day to day. The despairing, furtive look +faded from his eyes, which glowed with a new hope and a new-born +determination to do a man's part in the accomplishment of a purpose. His +wild dash for the river showed the utter futility of attempting to +recover Carlson's map, for the loss of which he blamed himself bitterly. +Nevertheless, the words of the boy put new heart into the lonely man, +who ceased mumbling and muttering of Florida, and threw himself with a +will into the work in hand. + +The high rock-cliffs that flanked the valley of the Ignatook curved +toward the west in two solid walls, unbroken except at a point two miles +above the old mine, where a narrow ravine led in a long, winding slope +to the level of the surrounding plateau. + +It was by way of this ravine, O'Brien assured them, Carlson had taken +his departure; and that this fact was known to the White Indians was +clearly demonstrated when, each day they saw silent fur-clad figures +silhouetted against the clearcut skyline. There was something ominous +and forbidding in the attitude of the silent sentinels of the frozen +wastes who thus guarded the exits from the valley of the +creek-of-the-steam. Time and again Connie glanced from the immutable +watchers to the blackened bones upon the gravel at his feet. These were +men, once; had they really drunk the poison water? Or, had they been +held prisoners until they starved, by the human vultures that gloated in +their lonely perches high among the rim-rocks? + +"If you couldn't outguess 'em, why didn't you rush 'em?" he asked one +day, addressing a sightless, grinning skull. And behind him, O'Brien +laughed. + +"They won't foind our-rn here, will they, b'y?" + +"You bet they won't!" exclaimed Connie, and shook a small fist at a +solitary, motionless figure on the brink of the high rock wall. + +To the westward of the mouth of the ravine the walls drew close +together, so that the hot black waters of the creek completely filled +the narrow gorge and effectively blocked any further ascent of the +valley. + +"I don't like to huht no one, needless," said Waseche Bill, as they sat +about the fireplace one evening discussing plans for escape; "but we-all +got to get out of heah--an' we ah _goin'_ to get out too--an' if it +comes right down to a matteh of _them_, oah _us_, why it's theah own +fault if they get huht." + +"Yis," agreed O'Brien, "Oi shpose ye're roight. But, somehow--ye +see--they divoided grub wid me phwin they wuz hungr-ry." + +"I know, O'Brien, but that don't give 'em no right to hold us heah, an' +to stahve us an' steal ouh dawgs, neitheh. We need them dawgs to get +back with--an' we ah goin' to keep 'em. We-all cain't stay heah no +longeh--much. 'Cause, outside of the meat an' fish, we ah runnin' +pow'ful shoht of grub. An', besides, the days is gettin' longeh mighty +fast, an' the trail ahead of us is a long trail--even if we have good +luck, an' if the snow softs up on us we cain't haul no load, an' when it +melts we cain't cross no rivehs, an' if we get to the mountains yondeh, +we won't have no ice-trail to get out on. No, seh! We got to get out of +heah--an' we got to go _now_--an' if anyone tries fo' to stop us, why +somethin's goin' to happen--that's all." + +"They's wan way--an' ondly wan, that we c'n me'be give um th' shlip," +said O'Brien. "'Tain't no use thryin' ut in th' dar-rk, f'r th' rayvine +is narrow an' they've a foire at th' head uv ut. We'll be travellin +'heavy, an' we can't git t'rough um wid a whoop an' hurrah, loike we +done in th' village--but we moight shlip by in th' shnow." + +"In the snow?" asked Connie. "What do you mean?" + +"Sur-re, they's a star-rm brewin'--th' soigns is roight, an' th' fale av +ut's in th' air. Wan day, or two, an' she'll br-reak, beloike, on th' +tur-rn av th' moon. Phwin she thickens up, th' Injuns'll hit f'r th' +_igloos_ as fasht as their legs'll carry thim, an' not a nose'll they +shtick outsoide till ut quits shnowin'. F'r they've a fear in their +hear-rts f'r th' star-rm, an' they've no shtummick f'r to be ketched out +in ut----" + +"Them, an' me--both!" interrupted Waseche Bill. + +"Ahroo! Now, come on! Ut's f'r their own good we're doin' ut. Oi know +th' fur-rst fifteen er me'be ut's twinty moiles av th' thrail to th' +Kandik. We'll wor-rk ut loike this: They know they's a star-rm +comin'--Oi seen a little knot av um on th' edge av th' clift a jabberin' +an' p'intin' into th' Narth. We'll let um see us fetchin' wood into th' +moine, loike we wuz gittin' ridy to hole up f'r th' star-rm. Th' sleds +we'll load jist insoide th' mouth av th' tunnel, an' phwin they hit f'r +th' village we'll har-rness th' dogs an' shlip up th' rayvine, an' out +achrost th' bench. They's a bit av a mountain out yondher, me'be ut's +tin moiles, an' on th' soide av ut we c'n camp snug in th' scr-rub, till +th' shnow quits. Our tr-racks'll be burried, an' ut'll be a couple av +days befoor they foind out we're gone, an' be th' toime they've picked +up our thrail, we'll be out av their raych--f'r they'll venture not +far-r to th' west, havin' fear-r av phwat lies beyant." + +O'Brien finished, and Waseche turned to Connie: + +"What do yo' say, son?" he asked. "Shall we try it? It ain't a goin' to +be no snap, out theah on the white bench with the snow an' th' roahin' +wind. It's a funny thing--this heah takin' a long chanst jes' to keep a +gang of Injuns from hahmin' us so we won't hahm them." + +"They divoided their grub," repeated O'Brien, with an appealing glance +at the boy. + +"And, for _that_, we'll take a chance!" answered Connie. "We're game." + +Breakfast over, the following morning, the three busied themselves in +cutting firewood and carrying it into the tunnel. Indians appeared here +and there among the rim-rocks and, after watching for a time, departed +in the direction of the village. By noon, the weather had thickened +perceptibly. A thin grey haze filled the atmosphere through which the +weak rays of the Arctic sun filtered feebly. There was no wind, and the +air lost its invigorating crispness and clung heavily about them like a +wet garment. No more Indians appeared upon the edges of the cliffs and +Waseche Bill ventured upon a scouting expedition up the narrow ravine, +while Connie and O'Brien remained behind to pack the sleds and carry an +occasional armful of firewood for the benefit of any lingering observer. + +The boy insisted upon loading Carlson's sled, carefully fitting the +collars to the necks of his own three dogs, which had been hardly a +half-dozen times in the harness since their memorable dash through the +hills when Connie beat out the Ten Bow stampede. + +Waseche returned reporting a clear trail, and all fell to harnessing the +dogs. + +"Whateveh yo' doin' with _that_ sled?" asked Waseche, in surprise. + +"I'm going to take it along," answered Connie. "You can't ever tell what +will happen, and old Boris and Mutt and Slasher may as well be working +as running loose." + +Waseche grinned: + +"Go ahead if yo' want to. Them ol' dawgs mout get somewhehs with it, +an' if they don't, yo' c'n cut yo' trace-lines an' tu'n 'em loose." + +"_Is that so!_" flared the boy. "If there's any cutting loose to be +done, you can do it yourself! _This_ sled goes to Ten Bow! And, what's +more, there isn't a lead dog in the world that can touch old Boris--and +you know it! And if big Mutt couldn't out-pull any two of your dogs, +he'd be ashamed to waggle his tail! And Slasher could lick your whole +team--and Mac's, too! And I wouldn't trade a flea off any one of my dogs +for your whole string of mangy _malamutes_--_so there!_" + +Waseche chuckled with delight as he winked at O'Brien: + +"If yo' eveh want to staht somethin' right quick," he laughed, "jest yo' +go ahead an' belittle th' kid's dawgs." And then he dodged swiftly as +one of the boy's heavy mittens sailed past his head and slapped smartly +against the wall. + +O'Brien's two cans of gold were removed from the "safe" and placed, +together with the sleeping-bags, robes and blankets, upon Connie's +sled. The stone was adroitly wedged into place and arranged so naturally +that no marauding visitor could possibly have guessed that the +innocent-appearing rock concealed a treasure of upwards of one hundred +thousand dollars' worth of pure gold. The caribou venison and fish, +together with what remained of the outfit, had already been securely +lashed to the larger sleds and, with a last look of farewell, the little +cavalcade moved from the tunnel-mouth and headed for the ravine. + +All trace of the sun was obliterated, and for the first time since the +big blizzard, the Arctic sky was overcast with clouds. + +Waseche Bill took the lead with McDougall's big ten-team, Connie +followed with his own three dogs, while O'Brien, with Waseche's team, +brought up the rear. The sleds slipped smoothly over the dry frost +spicules, and the eyes of the three adventurers eagerly sought the edges +of the high cliffs for signs of the White Indians. But no living, +moving thing was visible, and, save for the occasional creak of runners, +the white, frozen world was a world of silence. + +A half-hour later the _malamutes_ headed up the ravine and humped to the +pull of the long ascent. Rapidly, the weather thickened, and when, at +last, they gained the bench, it was to gaze out upon an eerie, flat, +white world of fore-shortened horizon. The sleds were halted while the +three took their bearings. O'Brien pointed unhesitatingly toward the +opaque west, and Waseche swung McDougall's leaders. + +"Mush yo'! Mush yo'!" he yelled. "Hooray fo' Alaska!" + +"An' Flor-ridy, too!" yelled O'Brien, and then a puff of wind--chill +wind, that felt strangely clammy and damp in the intense cold, came out +of the North. The long, serpentine bank of frozen fog that marked the +course of the Ignatook, shuddered and writhed and eddied, while ragged +patches of frozen rack detached themselves and flew swiftly southward. +The air was filled with a dull roar, and a scattering of steel-like +pellets hissed earthward. A loud cry pierced the roar of the approaching +storm, and before them stood a solitary White Indian, immovable as a +statue, with one arm pointing into the North. For a long moment he stood +and then, in a whirl of flying spume, disappeared in the direction of +the village. + +"Come on, boys!" cried Connie, and his voice sounded far and thin. "Dig +in! 'Cause we're right now _fighting the North_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE SNOW TRAIL + + +The situation faced by Connie Morgan, Waseche Bill, and O'Brien when +they headed westward across the snow-ridden bench of the Lillimuit, was +anything but encouraging. Before them, they knew, lay Alaska. But how +many unmapped miles, and what barriers of frozen desert and +insurmountable mountains interposed, they did not know; nor did they +know the location of the Kandik, the river by which Carlson had returned +to the land of men. For Carlson's trail map lay hidden in the pocket of +O'Brien's discarded trousers in an _igloo_ in the village of the White +Indians, and upon their own worth must the three win--or die. + +There was no turning back now. No returning to the Ignatook to face +starvation and the melting of the snow, for the solitary Indian who +witnessed their departure had dashed to the village, bearing the +information to his tribe. + +If O'Brien were right in his conjecture that the Indians would not +venture into the open in a storm, there would, in all probability, be +several days in which to escape, for Arctic storms are rarely of short +duration. This seeming advantage, however, was offset by the fact that, +at best, the storm would seriously impede their own progress, and at +worst--well, if the worst happened, it would make no smallest particle +of difference whether the White Indians picked up their trail soon, or +late. + +After the first fierce rush had passed, the storm lulled and settled +into a steady drive of wind-hurled pellets that cut the thick air in +long, stinging slants. The dry, shot-like particles burned and bit at +the faces of the three, and danced and whirled merrily across the hard +surface of the snow to drift deep against obstructions. The dogs were in +fine condition, well fed, and thoroughly rested during the days of +inactivity, and they strung out to the pull with a will. The trail was +fast. The hard crust of the old snow gave excellent footing and the +three heavily loaded sleds slipped smoothly and steadily in the wake of +Waseche Bill, who piloted the expedition at a long, swinging trot, with +Connie and O'Brien running beside their respective sleds. + +It was well past noon when the start was made, and the thick gloom of a +starless night settled upon the storm-swept bench as the little +cavalcade reached O'Brien's "bit av a mountain," and swung into the +shelter of the thicket upon its lee side. The dogs were unharnessed and +fed, a fire lighted, and a snug camp sprang into existence under the +deft movements of the experienced _tillicums_. + +"'Tis a foine shtar-rt we've made," said O'Brien, as he poured melted +suet over the caribou steak upon his tin plate, "but they'll be lookin' +f'r us here, f'r they've dhrug me out av th' scrub on this hill a full +dozen av toimes." + +"We'll hit the trail at daylight," answered Waseche Bill. + +"Ut slues to th' Narth a bit from here. Oi've thr-ravelled th' nixt tin +moile or so, but beyant that Oi've niver be'n able to git." + +All night the hard, dry snow fell, and all night the wind swept out of +the North with a low, monotonous roar. By the light of the flaring fire +they breakfasted, and at the first hint of dawn again took the trail. A +dreary scene confronted the little party that pulled heavily out of the +sheltered thicket. All about them was the whirling, driving whiteness, +and beneath their feet the loose, dry snow shifted and they sank ankle +deep into the yielding mass. The sleds pulled hard, so that the dogs +clawed for footing, and the snowshoes were placed conveniently upon the +top of the packs, for soon the rackets would be necessary in the fast +deepening snow. + +O'Brien insisted that the trail "slued to the Narth a bit," and as there +was nothing for it but to follow the Irishman's vague direction, +Waseche changed the course, a proceeding that added materially to the +discomfort of the journey, as it forced them to travel more nearly into +the teeth of the wind. At noon a halt was made for luncheon and a brief +rest in the shelter of the close-drawn sleds. During the last hour the +character of the storm had changed and the wind whipped upon them in +veering gusts that struck furiously from every point of the compass at +once. The snow, too, changed, and the hard, dry pellets gave place to a +fine, powdery snow-dust that filled the eyes and nostrils and worked +uncomfortably beneath the clothing. Snow-shoes were fastened on, and +with lowered heads and muffled faces the three headed again into the +unknown. + +With the coming of darkness, they camped at the fork of a frozen river +where a sparse growth of stunted willow gave promise of firewood and +scant shelter. They were in a new world, now--a world, trackless and +unknown, for during the afternoon they had passed beyond O'Brien's +farthest venture and the Irishman was as ignorant of what lay before +them as were Connie and Waseche Bill, who knew only that they were in +the midst of a trackless void of seething snow, with the White Indians +behind them and Alaska before--and all about them, death, grim and +silent, and gaunt--death that stalked close, ready on the instant to +take its toll, as it had taken its toll from other men who had braved +the Lillimuit and never again returned. + +"She's a _reg'lah_ blizzahd, now," remarked Waseche, as he lighted his +pipe with a brand from the camp-fire. "Any otheh time, we'd lay by an' +wait fo' it to weah down--but, we dastn't stop." + +"The Indians will never pick up our trail when this storm quits," +ventured Connie. + +"No--'ceptin' they're wise that we-all tuck out this-away, havin' +followed O'Brien almost this fah befo'." + +"Aye--her-re, or her-re abouts," assented the Irishman, "we nade +an-nyways wan mor-re day av thrailin' before we hole up, an' me'be be +that toime th' star-rm will be wor-re out." + +On the morning of the third day they again started in the dull grey of +the dawn. Waseche, with lowered head, bored through the white smother +that surrounded them like a wall of frozen fog. The dogs, still in good +heart, humped bravely to the pull, and Connie and O'Brien, with hands +clutching the tail-ropes of the sleds, followed blindly. On and on they +plodded, halting at intervals only long enough to consult the compass, +for with nothing to sight by, they held their course by the aid of the +needle alone. + +Suddenly Connie's sled stopped so abruptly that the boy tripped and +sprawled at full length beside its canvas-covered pack, while behind +him, Waseche's leaders, in charge of O'Brien, swerved sharply to avoid +the savage fangs of Slasher--for the wolf-dog knew his kind--he knew +that, once down, a man is _meat_, and the moment the boy fell helpless +into the snow, the great, gaunt brute surged back in the traces, jerking +old Boris and Mutt with him, and stood guard over the prostrate form of +his master, where he growled defiance into the faces of the dogs of the +following team. Scrambling hastily to his feet, Connie was joined by +O'Brien and together they stumbled forward where McDougall's big +ten-team had piled up in a growling, snapping tangle upon the very brink +of a perpendicular precipice. For the leaders had leaped back from the +edge so suddenly that they fouled the swing dogs which, with tooth and +nail, and throaty growl, were protesting against the indignity. + +"Where's Waseche!" The voice of the boy cut high and thin above the roar +of the storm-choked wind, and O'Brien ceased abruptly his endeavour to +straighten out the fighting _malamutes_. He stumbled hastily to the +boy's side, but Waseche was no place to be seen, and upon the verge of +the chasm, the overhanging snow-rim was gouged deep and fresh with a +man-made scar. + +The dogs were forgotten, and for a long moment the two stood peering +over the edge, striving to penetrate the writhing whirl of snow-powder +that filled the yawning abyss--but the opaque mass gave no hint of the +depth or extent of the chasm. Again and again they shouted, but their +voices were drowned in the bellow of the wind, and to their ears was +borne no faintest answering call. + +To Connie Morgan it seemed, at last, he had come to the end of the +trail. A strange numbness overcame him that dulled his senses and +paralyzed his brain. His mind groped uncertainly.... Waseche was gone! +He had fallen over the edge of the cliff and was lying at the +bottom--and they would find him there--the men who were to come--and +himself and O'Brien they would find at the top--and the dogs were all +tangled--and it would be better, now, to sleep. No--they must push +on--they were on the trail.... Where were they going? Oh, yes, to +Alaska--back to Ten Bow, and the cabin, and the claim! But they couldn't +go on.... This was the _end_.... They had come to the place where the +world breaks off--and Waseche had fallen over the edge. + +The boy gazed stupidly into the milky, eddying chaos. It looked soft, +down there--like feathers, or the meringue on pie. It is a good place to +fall, he thought, this place where the world stops--you could fall, and +fall, and fall, and you wouldn't have to light--and it would be fun. The +Lillimuit was a funny place, anyway--"the country where men don't come +back from," Joe had said, that night--back there in the hotel at Eagle. +Carlson didn't come back---- + +"Why, Carlson's dead!" he cried so sharply that, at his side, O'Brien +started. + +"Sur-re, b'y, he's dead--but--" The man's voice aroused him as from a +dream. His brain cleared, and suddenly he realized that Waseche Bill was +lost--was even then lying wounded--probably dead, at the bottom of the +cliff. With a low, choking sob, the boy whirled on O'Brien, who jumped +at the sharp word of command: + +"Get the ropes! Quick! While I unharness the dogs!" The Irishman sprang +to the rear sled where two forty-foot coils of _babiche_ line lay ready +for just such an emergency, while Connie sprang among McDougall's +tangled _malamutes_, slashing right and left with his coiled whiplash. +At the sudden attack the dogs ceased fighting and cowered whimpering +while the boy slipped their collars, and by the time O'Brien returned +with the lines, Connie was ready for the next move. + +"Work the sled closer--crossways! _Crossways_--so she'll hold!" he +cried, as he knotted the lines securely together and made an end fast +about his body. + +"Brace against the sled, now, and lower away!" + +"Phwat ye goin' to do?" asked the man, eyeing the line. + +"_Do!_ I'm going after Waseche, of course----" + +"But, ye don't know how daype ut is--an' th' rope moight bre'k!" + +"What difference does _that_ make?" cried the boy. "If the rope won't +reach--we'll make it reach! We'll splice on the harness, and the +blankets, and the tarps, and the robes, and whatever else we can lay +our hands on--and if it don't reach then, we'll kill the dogs! I'll get +my pardner out of there if I have to kill every dog in the outfit and +use their hides. And if the rope breaks--I'll be where Waseche is, +anyway!" + +[Illustration: "Without waiting for a reply, Connie slipped softly over +the edge."] + +Without waiting for a reply, the boy seated himself in the snow and +slipped softly over the edge. Slowly he descended into the riot of +whirling snow, while above him, O'Brien, with heels braced against the +runners of the heavy sled, carefully paid out the line. Down, down, he +went, scraping and bumping against the wall. It seemed to the impatient +boy as though each moment he must reach the end of his rope--surely, he +had descended eighty feet! But on he went, down, down, down--and then, +when the suspense was becoming almost unbearable, his feet touched +bottom, and he stood upright upon the snow. And, above, O'Brien felt the +line go slack, and heaved a great sigh of relief as he glanced at the +scant six feet of rope that remained. + +Jagged rock-slivers protruded from the snow, here and there, at the base +of the cliff, and Connie shuddered as he gazed about him. Suddenly he +cried out, and plunged to the end of his line, for there, close beside a +huge block of stone, he made out a dark blur on the white surface of the +snow--it was the back of a fur _parka_! + +The next instant, the boy was kneeling beside the inert form of Waseche +Bill. Frantically he pulled and hauled at the man until at length he +succeeded in turning him upon his back, and then it was he noticed the +leg doubled curiously beneath him. Very gently Connie laid hold of the +foot and drew it into position beside the other, and as the leg +straightened out he could feel the grating rasp of bone on bone--the +leg was broken! + +His first thought was to arouse the unconscious man, but instead he +began swiftly to remove the rope from about his own body and fasten it +firmly under Waseche's armpits. + +"If I wake him up now, it will hurt like thunder when O'Brien hauls him +up," he muttered, as he gave the three quick jerks to the line that had +been the agreed signal to "haul away." The next moment the rope went +taut, and slowly, very slowly, the inanimate form lifted and swung clear +of the snow. + +O'Brien was a big man--and a strong one. But for the next few minutes he +had his work cut out. + +"He's found um!" he panted, as he paused to rest, with the rope wrapped +tightly about his arm. "Sur-re, th' b'y's niver as heavy as that--an', +be jabbers! Oi belayve th' two av thim's cumin' up to wanst." + +At length Waseche's body wedged against the edge of the cliff and +O'Brien, making the line fast to the heavy sled, dragged the +unconscious form clear, and weighting the line with an ice ax, lowered +it into the chasm. Five minutes later the boy scrambled over the rim, +and dropped to his knees beside the inert form in the snow. + +"Get up the shelter tarp--quick!" he ordered, as he scraped the loose +snow from a wide space near the sled and, rummaging in his pack, +produced a quantity of grease-soaked moss and a bundle of dry firewood. + +"His leg's broken, and we've got to set it," he explained, as a tiny +flame flared in the shelter of the wide tarpaulin, and he proceeded to +remove the man's _mukluk_ and heavy socks. + +"Ye'll fr-reeze his leg!" exclaimed O'Brien, in alarm. + +"Can't help it--we've got to take a chance. He'll die, or be crippled +for life if we don't set it--so here goes!" + +The foot was badly swollen, and midway between the ankle and the knee +was a great bluish-green bruise where the leg had struck the rock at +the foot of the cliff. The blow had broken both bones, and the +overlapping ends made an unsightly bunch upon the side of the leg. +Deftly and skilfully the boy's fingers explored the hurt. + +"We've got to pull 'em by and snap 'em into place," he explained. "I +know how--we set Newt Boyer's legs, in Ten Bow, when a log rolled on +him." + +Again they made the line fast beneath the man's shoulders, and bound him +firmly to the loaded sled. O'Brien seized hold of the foot and, bracing +himself in the snow, pulled for all he was worth, while Connie pressed +against the bone ends with his palms. + +"Pull! _Pull_--can't you!" urged the boy. "Only a quarter of an inch +more and they'll click--and the job will be done!" But O'Brien was +pulling, and although he strained and tugged to the very limit of his +strength, the ends still overlapped. Suddenly the boy leaped to his +feet. + +"Swing those dogs in here!" he cried, pointing to Waseche's team that +remained still harnessed. "A little farther! Woah! That'll do--now, +wait!" Swiftly he stooped, and with a few quick turns, bound the injured +foot tightly to the back of the sled. + +"Now, pull up--easy, at first--don't jerk! That's right!" he cried, as +the leg stretched taut, "now, make 'em _pull_!" + +Again the boy dropped to his knees and worked rapidly with his fingers, +while under O'Brien's urging Waseche's _malamutes_ humped and clawed as +they pulled. There was a slight click, as the bone-ends snapped into +place, and the Irishman heard the delighted voice of the boy: + +"Woah! She's set! She's set! Ease off, now, and hand me the splints!" + +The splints, rudely split from pieces of firewood, were applied and held +in place by strips torn from the tarp, a blanket was wrapped about the +injured member, and the patient made as comfortable as possible beside +the fire in the lee of the shelter tarp. But it was an hour later +before Waseche Bill opened his eyes and gazed inquiringly about him. + +"What happened?" he asked, as a sharp pain caused him to stare in +surprise toward his blanket-swathed leg. + +"Sur-re, ye walked over th' edge av a clift, an' lit on th' rocks, a +mather av siventy feet below--an' th' b'y, here, wuz over an' afther yez +befoor ye lit. Yer leg's bruk squar-re in two, but th' lad set ut loike +an-ny docther c'd done--an' bether thin most." + +"O'Brien helped!" interrupted Connie. + +"Aye, a bit. An' so did the dogs. But, th' b'y--he wuz th' captain. Ye +sh'd o' seed um shlip over th' edge on th' ind av his thread av a loine, +into th' whirlin' scather av shnow, when ye c'd see nayther bottom nor +soides. 'Oi'm a-goin afther Waseche!' he says--An' he done so." + +"O'Brien pulled you up," said the boy, as Waseche leaned over and +grasped the small hand in his own big one. He spoke no word, but in the +pressure of the mighty hand-grasp the boy read the man-sign of +_tillicums_. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +ALASKA! + + +They camped for the remainder of the day. + +"'Tain't no use grumblin' on ouh luck," remarked the philosophical +Waseche. "We got to camp right heah till the stawm weahs out. Chances +is, we'll have the Injuns onto us in a day oah so; but we cain't go +bluste'catin' no mo' wheah we cain't see. Anyhow, they ain't no use +borrowin' trouble--theh's a right smaht of it a-comin' to a man without +him huntin' none. So fah, we're all to the good. The big Nawth's +fightin' to hold her secrets, but she ain't handed us no knockout--yet." + +During the night the storm ceased, and with the first hint of dawn the +outfit was made ready for the trail. Robes were spread upon Connie's +light sled, and Waseche Bill placed in his sleeping bag and bound +securely upon the robes with many turns of _babiche_. The bundles of +firewood, and O'Brien's cans of gold were transferred to the other +sleds, and in the dull grey of the long morning twilight the outfit +pulled southward over the bench, paralleling the edge of the ravine into +which Waseche had fallen. Progress was slow. The fresh snow rolled up +and clogged the free running of the sleds, so that both Connie and +O'Brien mushed ahead of the dogs, breaking out the trail with their +rackets. Hour after hour they mushed, seeking to cross the great fissure +that gaped wide and deep between them and the distant mountains that +loomed white and grand against the western skyline--the mountains that +separated them from Alaska, and through whose fastnesses they must find +a trail. + +The belated sun peeped over the rim of the flat snow tundra behind them, +and all three turned to view the welcome sight. Suddenly, O'Brien, with +a sharp cry, pointed toward some tiny moving objects far to the +eastward: + +"The Injuns," he cried. "That haythen, Lemlak--th' wan that seen us +layve th' Ignatook--he's put um on our thr-rail--an' ut's back we go, av +they don't har-rpoon us--as sur-re's me name's Pathrick O'Brien!" + +"It's back we _don't_ go! And you can bet your bottom dollar on that!" +cried Connie, as he glanced with flashing eyes toward the two high-power +rifles lashed side by side against the rail of McDougall's sled. "Look! +There's the end of the ravine! We can head west now, and hit for the +mountains!" + +"Sur-re, they'll ketch up to us, befoor we git foive moile--we've got to +bre'k thr-rail, an' they'll folly along in ut." + +They were drawing nearer to the white expanse that Connie had pointed +out as the end of the ravine. + +"Ut ain't th' ind! Ut's a shnow bridge!" exclaimed O'Brien, and the +others saw, extending from side to side of the chasm, gleaming white in +the slanting rays of the sun, an enormous snow arch. + +[Illustration: "Recklessly O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span +of snow while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly."] + +Without waiting for a line, O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span, +while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly. The great mass of snow +that bridged the chasm looked as solid as the rock of Gibraltar, but the +partners heaved a sigh of relief as the man reached the opposite side in +safety and turned to retrace his steps. Connie's team, drawing the +injured man, crossed first and was quickly followed by the two more +heavily loaded sleds. + +"Now, let's hit for the mountains!" cried the boy, "we've got miles and +miles on them yet." + +"Hold on, son. We got lots of time, now. 'Spose yo' jes' bust open one +of them theah bundles of wood an' staht us a little camp-fiah." + +"A camp-fire!" exclaimed the boy, "why, it isn't time to camp! And, +besides----" + +"Neveh yo' mind about that. Jes' do as I said, an' then swing that theah +pack of mine around heah an' prop me up agin' it beside the fiah. Afteh +that, I want yo' an' O'Brien to take Mac's dawgs an' yo'n an' wo'k yo' +way to the top of yondeh hill an' see if yo' c'n find out how fah this +heah ravine runs--get busy, now." + +The boy obeyed without question and soon he and the Irishman were +headed for the hill a quarter of a mile up the ravine. + +"I wonder what he's up to?" speculated the boy, with puckered brow. "You +don't suppose it's his leg--fever, or something, that's made him kind +of--of queer?" + +"No, no, lad. Oi don't know phwat's on his moind--but min loike +him--they mostly knows phwat they're doin'--er they wouldn't be doin' +ut." + +From the top of the hill they saw that, as far as the eye could reach, +the ravine cut the tundra in an unbroken line. + +"They ain't no other cr-rossin'," said O'Brien, so they retraced their +steps to the bridge, where they could see Waseche bending close over the +tiny fire. + +"Why, he's frying some meat!" exclaimed Connie, "and we just had +breakfast!" They were close now, and Waseche removed a frying pan from +the flame and poked gingerly at its contents with a piece of brushwood. +Apparently satisfied, he placed it beside him upon the snow. Connie +glanced into the pan where, instead of a caribou steak, the boy saw +three yellow sticks of dynamite. + +"Why, you told me----!" + +"Yes, kid, I done tol' yo' long ago, neveh to thaw out no giant in a +pan--an' I meant it! Mos'ly, yo' c'n do it--if yo' careful--but, +sometimes she jes' nachelly lets go, without no provocation, an' +then--well, yo' rec'lect how we-all wiped po' Gus Meekin offen the +bushes an' rocks, a half a mile from wheah his fiah was." + +"But, you----" + +"Hold on, son. This heah was a pahtic'lah case. I figgehed it all +out--an' took a chanct. That's why I sent yo' an' O'Brien oveh onto the +hill, so's if she let go they'd still be some of us left. Soon as I seen +the bridge I rec'lected how I had a dozen sticks of giant in my outfit, +an' a box of caps, an' some fuse--wait, now, till I set the caps, an' +then yo' c'n touch off the shot. We'll use two sticks fust, an' save the +otheh to finish off with, if we need it." As he talked Waseche Bill +punched holes in the soft yellow cylinders and affixed the caps and fuse +for a ten-minute shot. Connie and O'Brien placed the injured man again +upon the sled and made ready for a quick getaway. + +"Lay 'em side by side right in the middle, an' coveh 'em with a couple +handfuls of snow," advised Waseche, "an' then we'll pull out on the flat +a space an' watch the fun. When them Injuns gets to the ravine it sho' +will botheh 'em to figgeh how we-all got acrost." + +A few minutes later they halted the outfit well out of harm's way and +watched breathlessly for the explosion. The mining of the bridge had +taken time and, in the distance, beyond the ravine, the White Indians +were rapidly gaining. A few of the stronger and more fleet were well +within rifle shot, when suddenly, with a dull roar and a blur of flying +snow, the giant let go. The eyes of the three were fixed upon the +bridge--or rather upon the place where the bridge had been--for all that +remained was a cloud of powdery snow dust and a thinning haze of light +grey smoke. The snow dust settled, the smoke drifted away and dissolved +into the cold, clear air, and between the watchers and the White Indians +the unbridged ravine yawned wide, and deep, and impassable. + +"Whoop-la!" yelled O'Brien, leaping into the air and cracking his heels +together. "Come on an' git us, ye phirates!" And as the savages gathered +upon the opposite side, the Irishman's laughter rang long and loud +across the frozen tundra. + +The third day after the blowing up of the bridge found the three +adventurers skirting the base of the great white range that towered in +an unbroken chain as far as the eye could reach to the northward and to +the southward. Vast, and grim, and impassable, the giant masses of rock +and ice loomed above them, their naked, blue-white peaks and pinnacles +gleaming clean-cut and cold against the cloudless turquoise of the sky. + +All day long the three dog teams mushed northward while Connie, and +Waseche Bill, and O'Brien anxiously scanned the great barrier for signs +of a river or creek that gave promise of leading to a divide. For, +though they passed the mouths of dozens of creeks and canyons, none were +sufficiently large to tempt exploration. + +Waseche Bill's injured leg was much swollen, for the trail was rough and +tortuous, and despite the utmost efforts of Connie and O'Brien, the +light sled bumped and slued against obstructions in a manner that caused +the man excruciating torture, although neither by sign nor sound, did he +betray the slightest pain. The Irishman and the boy took turns breaking +trail for McDougall's leaders, and working at the gee-pole to ease the +light sled over the rough places. Waseche's own dogs followed +McDougall's, thus giving a smoother trail to the sled bearing the +injured man. + +The afternoon was well spent when Connie, who was in the rear, noticed a +growing uneasiness among the dogs of Waseche's team. The big _malamutes_ +whined and whimpered with a peculiar suppressed eagerness as they eyed +the mountains and, pulling close, tried time and again to pass the lead +sled. + +"That's funny," thought the boy, as he watched the dogs closely, "I +never saw those dogs act like that before--seems like they wanted to +lead." Hour after hour the boy mushed at the tail rope, and always he +watched the strange behaviour of Waseche Bill's dogs. The sun sank +behind the mountains and, at last, O'Brien halted at the edge of a patch +of scraggy spruce. The dogs were unharnessed and fed, and after Waseche +was made comfortable at the fireside, Connie prepared supper. + +Suddenly, all three were startled by the long howl of a sled dog and, +turning quickly saw Waseche's huge leader standing with up-pointing +muzzle, upon a low hill, some fifty yards distant, and about him stood +the seven dogs of his team. Again he howled, and then, as though this +were the signal, the whole pack turned tail and dashed into the North. + +"Well, of all the doggone, ornery tricks I eveh heahed tell of--that +takes the cake!" cried Waseche. "Pulled out on us! Jes' plumb pulled +out! An' them's good dawgs, too!" + +"Where did you get that team?" asked Connie excitedly. + +"Picked 'em up off a man in Eagle," answered Waseche. "He aimed to go +outside, come spring. He got 'em off a breed, a yeah back." + +"Where do you s'pose they've gone?" asked the boy. + +"Sea'ch me! I cain't onde'stand it." + +"Ut's th' Lillimuit!" croaked O'Brien. "Ut wuz th' same wid Craik an' +Greenhow!" The man shuddered and drew closer to the fire. "They's things +here that ondly some c'n see! An' phwin they see um--always they head +into th' Narth!" + +"Sho'! Quit yo' calamatatin', O'Brien! Dawgs has pulled out on folks +befo'." + +"Thim wans ain't," returned the Irishman, and relapsed into gloomy +silence. + +With the first sign of dawn the outfit was again on the trail. The bulk +of the pack had been removed from Waseche's sled and added to the other +two, and the sled and harness _cached_ in the bush. For several miles +Connie, who was travelling in the lead, followed the trail of the +stampeded dog-pack, when suddenly he paused where a narrow creek canyon +clove the rock-wall of a mountain. The trail led into the gorge, which +appeared to be a mere crack in the mighty wall. + +"Follow 'em up, son!" called Waseche from his sled. "We need them +dawgs." + +So the boy swung McDougall's team into the canyon, and his own dogs +followed, with O'Brien fast to the tail rope. On and on led the narrow +trail--westward, and upward, winding and twisting between its rocky +walls--but always westward, and upward. The floor was surprisingly +smooth for so narrow a trail, and the outfit made good time, but all +three expected that each turn would be the last, and that they would +find the runaway dogs huddled against a dead end. Toward midday, the +canyon grew lighter, the walls seemed not so high, and the ascent grew +steeper. Suddenly, as they rounded a sharp turn, a brilliant patch of +sunlight burst upon them, and the next moment they found themselves upon +the summit of a long divide. + +Never in their lives had any of the three gazed upon so welcome a sight, +for there, to the westward, lay an unending chaos of high-flung peaks +and narrow valleys, and easily traceable--leading in a broad path of +white to the south-westward, was the smooth trail of a river! + +"The Kandik!" cried Connie, "and _Alaska_!" + +"H-o-o-r-a-y!" yelled O'Brien, dancing about in the snow, while the +tears streamed unheeded from his eyes. "Ut's good-bye Lillimuit, +foriver! Av ye wuz pure gold from th' middle av th' wor-rld to th' peak +av ye're hoighest hill, Oi w'dn't niver go no closter thin th' furthest +away Oi c'd git from ye! A-h-r-o-o! Wid ye're dead min--an' ye're +cowld!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +ON THE KANDIK + + +To the conqueror of far places comes disaster in many guises--to the +sailor who sails the uncharted seas, and to the adventurer who pushes +past the outposts into the unmapped land of the long snow trails. For +the lone, drear lands are lands of primal things--lands rugged and grim, +where life is the right of the strongest and only the fit survive. + +Men die when ships, in the grip of the fierce hurricane, are buried +beneath crashing waves or dashed against the rocks of a towering cliff; +and men die in blizzards and earthquakes and in the belching fire of +volcanoes and amid the roar and smoke of burning forests--but these men +_expect_ to die. They match their puny strength against the mighty fury +of the elements and meet death gladly--or win through to glory in the +adventure. Such battles with the giants of nature strike no horror to +the hearts of men--they are recounted with a laugh. Not so the death +that lurks where nature smiles. Calm waters beneath their sparkling +surface conceal sharp fangs of rock that rip the bottom from an +unsuspecting ship; a beautiful mirage paints upon the shimmering horizon +a picture of cool, green shade and crystal pools, and thirst-choked men +are lured farther into the springless desert; the smooth, velvety +surface of quicksand pits and "soap-holes" beguiles the unsuspecting +feet of the weary traveller; and the warm Chinook wind softens the deep +snow beneath a smiling winter sky. In all these things is death--a +sardonic, derisive death that lurks unseen and unsuspected for its prey. +But the claws of the tiger are none the less sharp because concealed +between soft pads. And the men who win through the unseen death never +recount their story with a laugh. These men are silent. Or, if they +speak at all, it is in low, tense tones, with clenched fists, and many +pauses between the words, and into their eyes creeps the look of +unveiled horror. + +Connie Morgan, Waseche Bill, and O'Brien laboriously worked the outfit +down the steep trail that led from the divide to the snow-buried surface +of the Kandik. The distance, in an air line, was possibly three +miles--by the steep and winding caribou trail it was ten. And each mile +was a mile of gruelling toil with axe and shovel and tail-rope and +brake-pole, for the snow lay deep upon the trail which twisted and +doubled interminably, narrowing in places to a mere shelf high upon the +side of a sheer rock wall. At such spots Connie and O'Brien took turns +with axe and shovel, heaving the snow into the canyon; for to venture +upon the drifts, high-piled upon the edge of the precipice, would have +been to invite instant disaster. + +Waseche Bill, despite the pain of his broken leg, insisted upon being +propped into position to brake his own sled. It was the heavier sled, +double-freighted by reason of the stampede of Waseche's dogs, that +caused Connie and O'Brien the hardest labour; for its loss meant death +by exposure and starvation. + +Night overtook them with scarce half the distance behind them, and they +camped on a small plateau overlooking a deep ravine. + +Morning found them again at their work in the face of a stiff gale from +the south-west. The sun rose and hung low in the cloudless sky above the +sea of gleaming white peaks. The mercury expanded in the tube of the +thermometer and the wind lost its chill. Connie and O'Brien removed +their heavy _parkas_, and Waseche Bill threw back his hood and frowned +uneasily: + +"Sho' wisht this heah Chinook w'd helt off about ten days mo'," he said. +"I ain't acquainted through heah, but I reckon nine oah ten days had ort +to put us into Eagle if the snow holds." + +"It's too early for the break-up!" exclaimed Connie. + +"Yeh, fo' the break-up, it is. But these heah Chinooks yo' cain't count +on. I've saw three foot of snow melt in a night an' a day--an' then tuhn +'round an' freeze up fo' two months straight. If this heah wind don't +shift oah die down again tomorrow mo'nin', we ah goin' to have to hole +up an' wait fo' a freeze." + +"The grub won't hold out long," ventured Connie, eyeing the sled. "But +there must be game on this side of the divide." + +"They betteh be! I sho' do hate it--bein' crippled up this-a-way an' +leavin' yo'-all to do the wo'k." + +"Niver yez moind about that!" exclaimed O'Brien. "Sur-re, we'd all be +wor-rkin' as har-rd as we could an-nyways, an' ut w'dn't make ut no +aisyer f'r us bekase ye was wor-rkin', too. Jist set ye by an' shmoke +yer poipe, an' me an' th' b'y'll have us on th' river be noon." + +By dint of hard labour and much snubbing and braking, O'Brien's +prediction was fulfilled and the midday meal was eaten upon the +snow-covered ice of the Kandik. + +"All aboard for Eagle!" cried Connie, as he cracked his long-lashed whip +and led out upon the broad river trail. And McDougall's big _malamutes_ +as though they understood the boy's words, humped to the pull and the +heavily loaded sled slipped smoothly over the surface of the softening +snow. Upon the trail from the divide, protected from wind and sun by +high walls, the snow had remained stiff and hard, but here on the river +the sled runners left deep ruts behind them, and not infrequently +slumped through, so that Connie and O'Brien were forced to stop and pry +them out, and also to knock the balls of packed snow from the webs of +their rackets. + +"Saints be praised, ut's a house!" called O'Brien, as toward evening he +halted at a sharp bend of the river and pointed toward a tiny cabin that +nestled in a grove of balsam at the edge of the high cut-bank. + +"Ut's th' fur-rst wan Oi've seed in six year--barrin' thim haythen +_igloos_ av' dhrift-wood an' shnow blocks! We'll shtay th' night wid +um, whoiver they ar-re--an' happy Oi'll be wid a Christian roof over me +head wanst more!" + +The outfit was headed for the cabin and a quarter of an hour later they +swung into the small clearing before the door. + +"Them dawgs has be'n heah," remarked Waseche Bill, as he eyed the +trodden snow. "Don't reckon nobody's to home." O'Brien pushed open the +door and entered, closely followed by Connie. + +Save for a rude bunk built against the wall, and a rusted sheet-iron +stove, the cabin was empty, and despite the peculiar musty smell of an +abandoned building, the travellers were glad to avail themselves of its +shelter. Waseche Bill was made comfortable with robes and blankets, and +while O'Brien unharnessed the dogs and rustled the firewood, Connie +unloaded the outfit and carried it inside. The sun had long set, but +with the withdrawal of its heat the snow had not stiffened and the wind +held warm. + +"Betteh let in the dawgs, tonight, son," advised Waseche, "I'm 'fraid +we ah in fo' a thaw. Still it mout tuhn cold in the night an' freeze 'em +into the snow." + +"How long will it last--the thaw?" asked the boy, as he eyed the supply +of provisions. + +"Yo' cain't tell. Two days--me'be three--sometimes a week--then, anyway, +one day mo', till she freezes solid." + +"O'Brien and I will have to hunt then--grub's getting low." + +"We'll see how it looks tomorrow. If it's like I think, yo' ain't +a-goin' to be able to get fah to do no huntin'. The snow'll be like +mush." + +As O'Brien tossed the last armful upon his pile of firewood, Connie +announced supper, and the three ate in silence--as hungry men eat. + +Worn out by the long, hard day on the trail, all slept soundly, and when +they awoke it was to find the depressions in the dirt floor filled with +water which entered through a crack beneath the door. + +"We-all ah sho' 'nough tied up, now," exclaimed Waseche, as he eyed the +tiny trickle. "How much grub we got?" Connie explored the pack. + +"Three or four days. We better cut the dogs to half-ration." + +"Them an' us, both," replied the man in the bunk, and groaned as a hot +pain shot through his injured leg. + +Breakfast over, Connie picked up his rifle, fastened on his snowshoes, +and stepped on the wind-softened snow. He had taken scarcely a +half-dozen steps when he was forced to halt--anchored fast in the soggy +snow. In vain he tried to raise first one foot and then the other--it +was no use. The snow clung to his rackets in huge balls and after +repeated efforts he loosened the thongs and stepped on the melting snow, +into which he promptly sank to his middle. He freed his rackets, tossed +them toward the cabin, and wallowed to the door. + +"Back a'ready?" grinned Waseche. "How's the huntin'?" Connie laughed. + +"You wait--I haven't started yet!" + +"Betteh keep inside, son. Yo' cain't do no good out theah. They cain't +no game move in a thaw like this." + +"Rabbits and ground squirrels and ptarmigan can," answered the boy. + +"Yeh--but yo' cain't!" + +"I'm not going far. I'm wet now, and I'm not going to give up without +trying." Three hours later he stumbled again through the door, bearing +proudly a bedraggled ptarmigan and a lean ground squirrel, each neatly +beheaded by a bullet from his high-power rifle. As he dried his clothing +beside the rusty stove, the boy dressed his game, carefully dividing the +offal between old Boris, Mutt, and Slasher, and the dogs greedily +devoured it to the last hair and feather. + +"Every little bit helps," he smiled. "But it sure is a little bit of +meat for such a lot of work. I bet I didn't get a quarter of a mile +away." + +For three days the wind held, the sun shone, and the snow melted. +Streams forced their way to the river and the surface of the Kandik +became a raging torrent--a river on top of a river! Each day Connie +hunted faithfully, sometimes in vain, but generally his efforts were +rewarded by a ptarmigan, or a brace of lank snowshoe rabbits or ground +squirrels, lured from their holes by the feel of the false spring. + +On the fourth night it turned cold, and in the morning the snow was +crusted over sufficiently to support a man's weight on the rackets. The +countless tiny rills that supplied the river were dried and the flood +subsided and narrowed to the middle of the stream, while upon the edges +the slush and anchor-ice froze rough and uneven. + +Waseche Bill's injured leg was much swollen and caused him great pain, +but he bore it unflinchingly and laughed and joked gaily. But Connie was +not deceived, for from the little fan of wrinkles at the corners of the +man's eyes, and the hard, drawn look about his mouth, the boy knew that +his big partner suffered intensely even while his lips smiled and his +words fell lightly in droll banter. + +Thanks to the untiring efforts of the boy, their supply of provisions +remained nearly intact, his rifle supplying the meat for their frugal +meals. For two days past, O'Brien had brooded in silence, sitting for +hours at a time with his back against the log wall and his gaze fixed, +now upon the wounded man, and again upon the boy, or the great shaggy +_malamutes_ that lay sprawled upon the floor. He did his full share of +the work: chopped the firewood, washed the dishes, and did whatever else +was necessary about the camp while Connie hunted. But when he had +finished he lapsed into a gloomy reverie, during which he would speak no +word. + +With the return of cold weather, the dogs had been expelled from the +cabin and had taken up their quarters close beside the wall at the back. + +"Me'be tomorrow we c'n hit the trail," said Waseche, as he noticed that +the sun of the fourth day failed to soften the stiffening crust. + +"We ought to make good time, now!" exclaimed the boy. But Waseche shook +his head. + +"No, son, we won't make no good time the way things is. The trail is +rough an' the sha'p ice'll cut the dawg's feet so they'll hate to pull. +Likewise, yo'n an' O'Brien's--them _mukluks_ won't last a day, an' the +sleds'll be hahd to manage, sluein' sideways an' runnin' onto the dawgs. +I've ice-trailed befo' now, an' it's wo'se even than soft snow. If yo' +c'n travel light so yo' c'n ride an' save yo' feet an' keep the dawgs +movin' fast, it ain't so bad--but mushin' slow, like we got to, an' +sho't of grub besides--" The man shook his head dubiously and relapsed +into silence, while, with his back against the wall, O'Brien listened +and hugged closer his cans of gold. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE DESERTER + + +Connie Morgan opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. Then, instantly he +became wide awake, with a strange, indescribable feeling that all was +not well. Waseche Bill stirred uneasily in his sleep and through the +cracks about the edges of the blanket-hung window and beneath the door a +dull grey light showed. The boy frowned as he tossed back his robes and +drew on his _mukluks_. This was the day they were to hit the trail and +O'Brien should have had the fire going and called him early. Suddenly +the boy paused and stared hard at the cold stove, and then at the floor +beside the stove--at the spot where O'Brien's blankets and robes should +have shown an untidy heap in the dull light of morning. Lightning-like, +his glance flew to the place at the base of the wall where the Irishman +kept his gold--but the blankets and robes were gone, and the gold was +gone, and O'Brien--? Swiftly the boy flew to the door--the big sled was +missing, the harness, and McDougall's dogs were gone, and O'Brien was +nowhere to be seen! + +For a long, long time the boy stood staring out over the dim trail of +the river and then with clenched fists he stepped again into the room. A +hurried inspection of the pack showed that the man had taken most of the +remaining fish and considerable of the food, also Waseche Bill's rifle +was missing from its place in the far corner. With tight-pressed lips, +Connie laid the fire in the little stove and watched dumbly as the tiny +yellow sparks shot upward past the holes in the rusty pipe. Vainly the +mind of the boy strove to grasp the situation, but his lips formed only +the words which he repeated over and over again, as if seeking their +import: + +"He's gone--he's gone--O'Brien's gone." He could not understand it. +Among the dwellers in the great white land the boy had known only men +whose creed was to stick together until the end. From the hour he first +set foot upon the dock at Anvik, to this very moment, with the single +exception of the little rat-faced man at Ten Bow, the boy had learned to +love the big men of the North--men whose vices were rugged +vices--flaunting and unashamed and brutish, perhaps--but men, any one of +whom would face privation, want, and toil--death itself--with a laugh in +his teeth for the privilege of helping a friend--and who would fight to +divide his last ounce of bacon with his enemy. For not by rule of +life--but life itself men live upon the edges of the world, where little +likes and hates are forgotten, and all stand shoulder to shoulder +against their common enemy--the North! These were the men the boy had +known. And now, for the first time, he was confronted by another kind of +man--a man so yellow that, rather than face the perils and hardships of +the trail, he had deserted those who had rescued him from a band of +savages--and not only deserted, but had taken with him the only means +by which the others could hope to reach civilization, and had left a +wounded man and a little boy to die in the wilderness--bushed! + +The dull soul-hurt of the boy flashed into swift anger and, flinging +open the door, he shook a small fist toward the south. + +[Illustration: "My dad followed British Kronk eight hundred miles +through the snow before he caught him--and then--you just wait."] + +"You cur!" he shouted. "You dirty cur! You _piker_! You think you've +fixed us--but you wait! They say my dad followed British Kronk eight +hundred miles through the snow before he caught him--and then--_you just +wait!_ You tried to starve Waseche!" + +"Heah! Heah! What's all this?" asked the man, who had raised himself to +his elbow upon the bunk. The boy faced him: + +"He's beat it!" he choked. "He swiped Mac's dogs and breezed!" for a +moment the man stared uncomprehendingly: + +"Yo' mean O'Brien--he's _gone_?" + +"Yes, he's gone! And so are the dogs, and the sled, and your rifle, and +his robes, and his gold!" + +"How about the grub?" asked Waseche. "Did he take that, too?" + +"Only about a third of it--he's travelling light." For a fleeting +instant the boy caught the gleam of Waseche's eyes, and then the gleam +was gone and the man's lips smiled. + +"Sho', now," he drawled. "Sho', now." The drawl was studied, and the +voice was low and very steady--too low and steady, thought the boy--and +shivered. + +"Neveh yo' mind, son. We-all ah all right. Jest yo' keep on a huntin' +an' a fetchin' in rabbits an' ptarmigan, an' such like, an' now the +snow's hahdened, me'be yo'll get a crack at a moose oah a caribou. The +heahd ort to pass somewhehs neah heah soon. We'll jest lay up heah an' +wait fo' the break-up, an' then we'll build us a raft an' go akitin' +down to the Yukon--an' then--" The voice suddenly hardened, and again +the gleam was in the grey eyes, but the man ceased speaking abruptly. + +"And then--what?" asked Connie, as he studied his partner's face. The +man laughed. + +"Why, then--then we-all c'n go back to Ten Bow--to _home_! But, come +now, le's eat breakfast. We-all got to go light on the grub. Come on out +of that, yo' li'l ol' _tillicum_, standin' theah in the do' shakin' yo' +fist! Puts me in mind of a show I seen onct down to Skagway, in the +opery house: Julia See's Ah, I rec'lect was the name of it, an' they was +a lot of fist shakin' an' fancy speeches by the men, which they was +Greasers oah Dagoes that woah sheets wropped around 'em, 'stead of pants +an' shirts. They was one fellow, See's Ah, his name was--it was him the +show was about. Neah as we-all c'd figgeh, he was a mighty good soht of +a pahty, a king oah pres'dent, oah somethin', an' he had a friend, name +of Brutish, that he'd done a heap fo', an' helped along, an' thought a +heap of; an' anotheh friend name of Mahk Antony. Well, seems like this +heah Brutish got soah at See's Ah, I didn't rightly get what fo'--but it +don't make no dif'ence--anyhow, he got a fellow name of Cashus, an' a +couple mo' scoundrels an' they snuck up on See's Ah when he worn't +lookin' an' stabbed him in the back. It sho' made us mad, an' we-all +yelled at See's Ah to look out, 'cause we seen 'em fingehin' theah +knives in undeh theah sheets--but he didn't get what we was drivin' at, +an' when he did look it was too late. We waited a spell while the show +went on, to see what Mahk Antony, See's Ah's otheh friend, w'd do to +Brutish an' his gang--but he jest hung around makin' fancy speeches an' +such-like until we-all got plumb disgusted." Waseche Bill paused until +Connie, who had been listening eagerly, grew impatient. + +"Well, what _did_ he do?" + +"Nawthin'," replied the man. "We done it fo' him. Cou'se, it was only a +show, an' they didn't really kill See's Ah, but we-all didn't like the +idee, an' so when we seen Mahk didn't aim to do nawthin' but orate, +we-all let a yell out of us an' run up the aisle an' clim' onto the +stage an' grabbed Brutish an' Cashus an' Mahk Antony, too, an' run 'em +down an' chucked 'em into the Lynn Canal. It was winteh, an' the wateh +was cold, an' we soused 'em good an' propeh, an' when they got out they +snuck onto theah boat an' we-all went back to the opery house an' got +See's Ah, an' tuck him oveh to the _ho_tel an' give him a rousin' big +suppeh an' told him how we was all fo' him an' he c'd count on a squeah +deal in Skagway every time. An' Grub Stake John Billin's give him a +six-shooteh an' showed him how he c'd hide it in undeh his sheet an' lay +fo' 'em next time they snuck up on him that-a-way. See's Ah thanked us +all an' we walked down to the boat with him in case Brutish an' his gang +aimed to waylay him. An' then he made us a fine speech an' went on up +the gangway laughin' an' chucklin' fit to kill at the way he'd suhprise +them theah assinatehs next time they ondehtook to stick him in the +back." Waseche Bill finished, and after a long pause Connie asked: + +"And O'Brien reminds you of Brutish?" + +"Yes, son. An' I was jest a wondehin' what the boys'll do to him down in +Eagle when they see Mac's dawgs, an' ask him how come he to have 'em, +an' wheah yo' an' me is at. Yo' see, son, Big Jim Sontag an' Joe an' +Fiddle Face, an' a lot mo' of the boys was down to Skagway that night." + +In the little cabin on the Kandik the days dragged slowly by. Waseche's +leg mended slowly, and despite the boy's most careful attention, +remained swollen and discoloured. Connie hunted during every minute of +daylight that could be spared from his camp duties, but game was scarce, +and although the boy tramped miles and miles each day, his bag was +pitifully small. A snowbird or a ptarmigan now and then fell to his +rifle and he found that it required the utmost care to keep from blowing +his game to atoms with the high-power rifle. How he longed for a shotgun +or a twenty-two calibre rifle as he dragged himself wearily over the +hard crust of the snow. The cold weather had driven the ground squirrels +into their holes and even the rabbits stuck close to cover. The boy set +snares made from an old piece of fishline, but the night-prowling +wolverines robbed them, as the line was too rotten for jerk snares. + +The partners were reduced to one meal a day, now, and that a very scanty +one. Day after day the boy circled into the woods, and day by day the +circle shortened. He was growing weak, and was forced often to rest, and +the buckle tongue of his belt rested in a knife slit far beyond the last +hole. + +Tears stood in Waseche Bill's eyes as each day he noted that the little +face was thinner and whiter than upon the preceding day, and that the +little shoulders drooped lower as the boy returned from his hunt and +sat wearily down upon the floor to pluck the feathers from a small +snowbird. + +On the morning of the tenth day, Connie bravely shouldered his rifle and +with a cheery "Good-bye, pardner" carefully closed the door behind him. +Old Boris, Mutt, and Slasher had managed to eke out a scant living by +running rabbits at night, but they were little more than skin and bones, +at best, and during the day lay huddled together in the sunshine near +the cabin. As the boy passed out into the cold, clear air he noticed +that the dogs were gone from their accustomed place. + +"That's funny," he thought. "I wonder if they pulled out, too?" And +then, as if ashamed of the thought, he jerked his shoulders erect. "Not +by a long shot! Those dogs will stick with us till the end! They are no +pikers! They're _tillicums_!" + +Suddenly, from far down the river, came a clear, bell-like howl, +followed by a chorus of frantic yelps and savage growls. + +"My dogs!" cried the boy and, gripping his rifle, made his way down the +steep bank and out upon the hard crust of the river. On and on he ran, +in the direction of the sounds that came from beyond a sharp, wooded +bend. The ice was slippery but uneven, and studded with sharp points of +frozen snow that cut cruelly into his feet through the holes of his worn +_mukluks_. In his weakened condition the effort was a serious drain upon +the boy's strength, but he kept on running, stumbling, slipping--and in +more places than one his footsteps were marked by dark patches of red. +Around the wooded bend he tore and there, upon the smooth ice of a +backwater pool, stood a huge bull moose, which, with lowered antlers and +bristling mane, fought off the savage attacks of the three dogs. Again +and again the dogs charged the great animal, whose hoofs slipped +clumsily upon the ice with each movement of the huge body. Round and +round they circled, seeking a chance to dash in past those broad +antlers, but with blazing eyes the moose faced them, turning swiftly +but awkwardly, as upon an uncentred pivot, while the breath whistled +through his distended nostrils and spread into frozen plumes. So intent +was the great beast upon the attack of the dogs that he gave no heed to +the small boy who gazed spellbound upon this battle of the wilds. For a +long time Connie stood, entirely forgetful of the rifle that remained +firmly clutched in his hands, and as he watched, a wave of admiration +and sympathy swept over him for this huge monarch of the barren lands +that, in his own fastnesses, stood at bay against the gleaming white +fangs of his tormentors. Then into his brain leaped another +thought--here was meat! Half a ton of good red meat that meant life to +his starving partner, to himself, and to his three beloved dogs. Slowly +and deliberately the boy dropped to his knee and raised his rifle. The +sights wavered to the trembling of his hands and, summoning all the +power that was in him, he concentrated upon the steadying of his aim. + +_Bang!_ The sound of the shot rang sharp and clear through the cold +air, and the moose, with a loud snort, reared upward, whirled, and fell +crashing upon his side, while his powerful legs, with their sharp hoofs, +thrashed and clawed at the ice. Instantly Slasher was at his throat, and +old Boris and Mutt rushed blindly in, snapping and biting at the great, +hairy body. Hastily jamming a fresh cartridge into his barrel, Connie +sprang forward, and with muzzle held close, placed a finishing shot low +down behind the point of the shoulder. But the strain upon his poorly +nourished body had been too great for the boy to stand. The long run +down the river and the excitement of the kill had taxed his endurance to +the limit. A strange weakness seemed dragging at his limbs, pulling him +down, down, down into some vast, intangible depth. Mechanically he drew +the knife from its sheath and dragged himself to the body of the moose, +and then, suddenly, the world went dark, and he seemed to be whirling, +easily and slowly, into a place of profound silence. And almost at the +same moment, around another bend of the river, from the direction of +the Yukon, dashed a long, tawny dog team, and another, and another, and +with a wild yell of joy, O'Brien, red whiskers ablaze in the sunlight, +leaped from the foremost sled and gathered the unconscious form of the +boy into his arms; while beside him, all talking at once and hampering +each other's movements in their frantic efforts to revive the boy, were +Fiddle Face, and Joe, and Big Jim Sontag, and others of the men of +Eagle. + +[Illustration: "Mechanically he drew the knife from its sheath and +dragged himself to the body of the moose."] + +Slowly Connie Morgan opened his eyes and gazed, puzzled, into the +bearded faces of the men of the North. His glance rested upon the face +of O'Brien peering anxiously into his own, and strayed to the dogs of +the leading team--McDougall's dogs--and to the sleds loaded with +provisions, and then, with the tears streaming from his eyes, the boy +struggled to his feet and a small hand shot out and grasped the rough, +hairy hand of O'Brien--_the deserter who came back!_ + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +MISTER SQUIGG + + +It was a jovial gathering that crowded the little cabin on the Kandik +where the men of the North feasted until far into the night, and told +tales, and listened to wondrous adventures in the gold country. But most +eagerly they listened to Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill, with their +marvellous tales of the Lillimuit--and Carlson's cans of gold. + +"We've a yarn worth the tellin' ourself!" exclaimed the man called +Joe--the man who tried to dissuade Waseche Bill and prevent Connie +Morgan from venturing into the unknown. "Ye sh'd o' seen 'em come! Flat +on his belly a-top the sled--an' the dogs runnin' low an' true! A bunch +of us was watchin' the trail f'r Black Jack Demaree an' the Ragged Falls +mail: 'Here he comes!' someone yells, an' way down the river we seen a +speck--a speck that grow'd until it was a dog team an' a man. +_Jeerushelam_, but he was a-comin'! 'Twornt no time till he was clost +enough to see 'twornt Black Jack. A cold day, it was--reg'lar bitin', +nippin' cold--with the wind, an' the sweep o' the river. An' here come +the team on the high lope, an' a-whippin' along behind 'em, the lightest +loaded outfit man ever seen hauled--jest a man, an' a blanket, an' two +tomater cans. Flat, he laid--low to the sweep o' the wind, one arm +around the cans, an' the other a-holdin' onto the sled f'r all he was +worth. The man was O'Brien, yonder; an' up the bank he shot, fair +burnin' the snow, whirled amongst us, an' piled the outfit up ag'in' Big +Jim's stockade. The nex' we know'd was a yell from Fiddle Face, here: + +"'It's McDougall's dogs!' An' before the Irishman c'd get onto his feet, +Fiddle Face was a-top him with a hand at his throat. 'Where's the kid?' +he howls in O'Brien's ear, 'Where's Sam Morgan's boy?' Fiddle Face's +voice ain't no gentle murmur--when he yells. But the rest of us didn't +hear it--us that was ontanglin' the dogs. F'r, in the mix-up, the cover +had come off one of them tomater cans, an' there on the snow was nuggets +o' _gold_--jest a-layin' there dull an' yaller, in a heap on the top o' +the snow." Joe paused, held a sputtering sulphur match to the bowl of +his pipe, and, after a few deep puffs, continued: "Ye know how the sight +o' raw gold, that-a-way, gets _to_ ye--when ye've put in the best an' +the hardest years o' yer life a-grubbin' an' a-gougin' f'r it? Ye know +the feelin' that comes all to onct about yer belt line, an' how yer head +feels sort o' light, an' yer face burns, an' ye want to holler, an' +laugh, an' cry all to onct? Well, that was us, a-standin' there by the +stockade--all but Fiddle Face. Him an' O'Brien was a-wallerin' +grip-locked in the snow, an' Fiddle Face was a-hollerin' over an' over +ag'in: 'Where's that kid? Where's that kid?' an' all the while a-chokin' +of O'Brien so's he couldn't answer. Presen'ly we noticed 'em an' drug +'em apart. An' right then every man jack o' us forgot the gold. F'r, on +a sudden, we remembered that little kid--the gameness of him--an' how +he'd give us the slip an' took off alone into a country we didn't none +o' us dast to go to--way long in the fore part o' the winter. We jerked +O'Brien to his feet an' hustled him into the _ho_tel, an' by that time +he'd got back his wind, an' he was a-tellin', an' a-beggin' us not to +lose no time, but to pack a outfit an' hit f'r a little cabin on the +Kandik. 'He's there!' he hollers. 'An' his pardner, too! They're +starvin'. I've got the gold to pay f'r the grub--take it! Take it all! +Only git back to 'em! I know'd we all couldn't make it, travellin' heavy +an' slow with the outfit an' a crippled man to boot.' + +"Big Jim Sontag goes out an' scoops up the gold where it laid +_forgot_--an' then he comes back into the room an' walks straight over +to where O'Brien was a-standin': 'We'll go!' says Jim, _'an' you'll go, +too_! An', if there's a cabin, like you say, an' they're there, why +_you_ can't spend no gold in Eagle!' Jim steps closter--so clost that +his nose stops within two inches of O'Brien's, an' his eyes a-borin' +clean through to the back of O'Brien's head: 'But if they _ain't_ +there,' he says, low an' quiet like, '_then you don't spend no gold in +Eagle, neither--see?_' An' then Jim turns to us: 'Who'll go 'long?' he +hollers. 'That there boy is Sam Morgan's boy--we all know'd Sam Morgan!' +We sure did--an' we like to tore Jim's roof off a-signifyin'. Then, we +slung our outfits together an' hit the trail. An' now, boys," Joe rose +to his feet and crossed to the bunk where the Irishman sat between +Connie and Waseche Bill, "it's up to us to signify onct more." And, for +the first time in his life, O'Brien, whose lot in the world had always +been an obscure and a lowly one, came to know something of what it meant +to have earned the regard of _men_! + +The journey down the Kandik was uneventful, and four days later the +reinforced outfit camped at the junction of the lesser river with the +mighty Yukon. Late that night the men of the North sat about the camp +fire and their talk was of rich strikes, and stampedes, and the unsung +deeds of men. + +Connie Morgan listened with bated breath to tales of his father. Waseche +Bill learned from the lips of the men of Eagle of the boy's escape from +the hotel, and of his dash for the Lillimuit that ended, so far as the +men who followed were concerned, at the foot of the snow-piled Tatonduk +divide. And the men of Eagle learned of the Lillimuit, and the white +Indians, and of the death of Carlson, and lastly, of the Ignatook, the +steaming creek with its floor of gold. + +"An' we-all ah goin' back theah, sometime," concluded Waseche. "Me an' +the kid, heah, an' O'Brien, if he'll go--" To their surprise, O'Brien +leaped to his feet: + +"Ye c'n count me in!" he cried. "Foive days agone no power on earth c'd +av dhrug me back into that land av th' cheerless cowld. But, now, 'tis +dif'runt, an' if th' sun shoines war-rum enough f'r th' loikes av +ye--an' th' b'y, here--phy, ut shoines war-rum enough f'r Pathrick +O'Brien--av ut river shoines at all." + +"That's what I call a man!" yelled Fiddle Face, and subsided instantly, +for Waseche Bill was speaking. + +"As I was goin' on to say: with us will be some of the boys from Ten +Bow--McDougall, an' Dutch Henery, an' Dick Colton, an' Scotty +McCollough, an' Black Jack Demaree from Ragged Falls, an'--well, how +about it, boys? The gold is theah, an' me an' the kid, we aim to let ouh +frien's in on this heah strike. We'll sho' be proud to have yo'-all jine +us." With a loud cheer, the men accepted Waseche's invitation--they had +seen O'Brien's gold. + +"Jes' keep it undeh yo' hats till the time comes," cautioned Waseche. +"We-all will slip yo'-all the wehd, an' we don't want no tinhawns, noah +_chechakos_, noah pikehs along, 'cause the Ignatook stampede is goin' to +be a stampede of _tillicums_!" + +In the morning the partners, accompanied by O'Brien, said good-bye to +the men of Eagle and headed down the great river for the mouth of the +Ten Bow. On the third day, only a short distance above the place where +the Ten Bow trail swerved from the Yukon between two high bluffs, they +came upon the camp of an Indian. The red man was travelling light. He +had just come out of the hills, and with him were Waseche Bill's +dogs--the _malamutes_ whose sudden stampede had led the lost wayfarers +through the narrow pass to the crest of the Kandik divide, and--Alaska! + +"Wheah'd yo' get them dawgs?" asked Waseche, pointing to the +_malamutes_. The Indian waved his arm in the direction of the hills, and +Waseche nodded: + +"Them's _my_ dawgs--_nika komooks_." + +The Indian scowled and shook his head. + +"Dem Pete Mateese dog," he grunted surlily. + +"Pete Mateese!" cried Connie. "Do you know Pete Mateese? Who is he? Where +is he? We want to find him." + +The Indian glowered sullenly. + +"W'at y'u wan' Pete Mateese?" he asked. + +"We want to find him. We've got good news for him. He's rich--plenty +gold." At the words the Indian laughed--not a mirthful laugh, but a +sneering, sardonic laugh of unbelief. + +"White man beeg liar--all. Pete Mateese, she Injun--breed. White man no +tell Injun 'bout gol'. Me'be so white man steal Injun gol'." + +With Irish impetuosity, O'Brien leaped forward. + +"Take thot back, ye rid shpalpeen!" he cried, shaking a huge fist under +the Indian's nose. "Av ye say wan more wor-rd ag'in' th' b'y, Oi'll +choke th' gizzard out av ye befoor ye say ut!" + +Waseche Bill held up a restraining hand. + +"Take it easy, O'Brien, don't le's nobody huht anybody. Le's get the +straight of this heah. Primary an' fo'most, we-all want to find out if +Pete Mateese _pulled out_ on Carlson, oah, did he aim to go back." At +the mention of Carlson's name the Indian turned quickly toward Waseche. + +"Y'u know Carlson?" he asked. Waseche Bill nodded. + +"Yeh, I did know him." + +"Wher' Carlson?" + +"Dead." As Waseche pronounced the word the Indian shook his head sadly. + +"Carlson good white man. All good white man dead. Sam Morgan, she dead, +too." + +"Sam Morgan!" exclaimed Connie. "What do you know of Sam Morgan?" + +"Sam Morgan good to Injun. Me--mos' die, once--fi', seex winter 'go, in +de beeg snow. Sam Morgan com' 'long. Hav' one small piece bacon--one +small lump suet--eighteen mile--Hesitation. Me--I got no grub. Fi', seex +day I ain' got no grub. Seek lak leetle baby. Sam Morgan, she mak' me +eat--sam' lak heem. Den she peek me oop an' car' me--all night--all day. +Nex' night, me'be so we no mak'. See de light in leetle cabin, an' den +we com' Hesitation. Bot' of us, we pret' near die. An' Sam Morgan, she +laugh." The old Indian paused and regarded the boy curiously: "Y'u know +Sam Morgan?" he asked. The boy's eyes were very bright, and he cleared +his throat huskily. + +"Sam Morgan was my father," he said, in a low, unsteady tone. The Indian +stalked to the boy and, pausing directly before him, lifted the small +chin and gazed long and searchingly into the upturned grey eyes. + +"Uh-huh," he grunted, "y'u Sam Morgan boy. Me hear 'bout y'u in Ten +Bow." + +"Where is Pete Mateese?" persisted Connie. The Indian no longer +hesitated. + +"Pete Mateese, she Ten Bow. Work hard for de money to buy grub an' tak' +back to Carlson--way back, pas' de divide, in de lan' of Niju Tah--de +lan' of de bad man, dead. But, she don' git no money. Meestaire Squeeg, +she cheat Pete Mateese." + +"Who is Misteh Squigg?" asked Waseche Bill. + +"Meestaire Squeeg she leetle man. Got de nose lak de fox, an' de bad eye +lak' de snake. All tam he mak' Pete Mateese work ver' mooch. Tell heem, +he mak' plent' money. But she no giv' heem no money--always Pete Mateese +got it comin'--she got to wait. Som' day Meestaire Squeeg she pull +out--den Pete Mateese got nut'in." + +"Yo' say he's a li'l slit-eyed runt--rat-faced--with a squeaky voice?" +Waseche mimicked Mr. Squigg's tone. The Indian nodded emphatically, and +for a long time Waseche was silent--thinking. + +"An' yo' say these heah is Pete Mateese's dawgs?" Again the Indian +nodded, and Waseche Bill's eyes narrowed: "An' yo' say they ah in Ten +Bow--Pete Mateese an' this heah Misteh Squigg?" + +"Ten Bow," repeated the Indian. "Meestaire Squeeg, she tak' de gol' an' +buy de claim." Waseche Bill turned to the others: + +"Come on, we'll hit the trail!" And then, to the Indian, "Yo' come, too, +an' fetch them dawgs." Connie noticed that his big partner's voice was +very low, and once, turning quickly, he surprised the cold, hard gleam +in the grey eyes. + +"He must be the same man that tried to make me give up my claim, the +time I beat out the Ten Bow stampede," confided the boy, as he mushed +beside Waseche's sled. + +"Oh, he did--did he?" asked the man, in the same low, hard tone. "We'll +jest count that in, too." + +"What do you mean? Do you know Mr. Squigg?" + +"No. But I _will_," drawled Waseche. "Yo' see, kid, he's the man I +bought them dawgs off of last fall in Eagle. Come along, now, le's mush. +I'm gettin' plumb anxious to meet up with this heah Misteh Squigg." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE MAN WHO DIDN'T FIT + + +The return of Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill to Ten Bow, and the events +that followed, are told to this day on the trails. + +McDougall paused for a chat with Dutch Henry beside the long black dump +of the German's claim. + +"It's most time for the break-up, Mac," said the owner of the dump. +"We'll sluice out big, this spring." + +"Yes, mon, we will," agreed McDougall, as his eyes roved to the small +snow-covered dump across the creek. "But, it's sore I've hated to see +yon claim idle the winter--an' the laddie gaen--an' Waseche Bill--heaven +knaws wheer. D'ye mind what the mon fr' Eagle told, how the lad c'd na +be stopped, but trailed on after Waseche--on to the Lillimuit? +They'll na com' back." Dutch Henry nodded. + +"Sure, Mac, but whad' ye 'spect from the breed of Sam Morgan? 'Member +how he beat us all to these here diggin's, with ondly them three old +dogs. I'd give my claim to have 'em safe back. An' I'm sorry you lost +your ten-team, too, Mac." + +"Losh! Mon! 'Tis na'thing at a'--the dogs! The laddie tuk 'em--an' +welcome. Ye sh'd o' seed the luk i' his e'e, the mornin' he com' bustin' +into my cabin wi' the news that Waseche was gaen! 'I'll fetch him back,' +he says, 'if I have to beat him up'--an' him na bigger'n a pint o' +cider. They've gaen to the Lillimuit, Dutch, an' 'taint in reason +they'll com' back. But, sometimes, when I think o' the luk i' the +laddie's e'e, d'ye knaw, it comes to me that, me'be--" The man's voice +trailed into silence as his gaze became fixed upon the moving black +specks that appeared far down the Yukon trail. Dutch Henry's gaze +followed the big Scotchman's. + +"Look, Mac! Look!" he cried excitedly. "Them dogs!" And, almost at the +same instant, with a roar like the bellow of a bull, McDougall sprang +down the trail between the straggling cabins of Ten Bow, with Dutch +Henry pounding along in his wake. Before the two had covered half the +length of the camp other men joined them, running and yelling--though +they knew not why they ran. Cabins and shafts were deserted and all Ten +Bow strung out on the trail to meet the rapidly approaching dog teams. +And when they did meet, a half-mile beyond the camp, Connie was rushed +from his feet by the wildly yelling crowd and carried triumphantly into +Ten Bow upon the broad shoulders of the big men of the North. For, as +McDougall had said, word had come down from Eagle, and now, not because +he was Sam Morgan's boy, but for his own grit and pluck and courage, +Connie Morgan had won his place among the sourdoughs of the silent land. + +"Know a man name of Misteh Squigg?" asked Waseche Bill of McDougall, as +half a dozen men sat late that night about the stove in the little +cabin that had lain deserted all through the winter. + +"Yes, I ken the mon--an' na gude o' him, neither, wi' his leetle shifty +e'en. I've mistrusted um fr' the time I furst seed um. D'ye ken, laddie, +t'was him tried to drive ye fr' yer claim wi' his lawyer's drivvle, +whilst Waseche was down to Hesitation?" Connie nodded, and McDougall +continued: "I sent him about his business i' jig time, an' na more was +he seed i' Ten Bow till a matter o' three or four months agane up he +pops wi' a half-breed that's workin' f'r um. He bought Dave Crampton's +claim an' has be'n workin' ut since. Why d'ye ask?" For answer Waseche +motioned to the Indian who sat upon his blanket spread upon the floor: + +"Kobuk, go fetch Pete Mateese. An' don't let Misteh Squigg know yo' +fetchin' him." The Indian arose and passed noiselessly out into the +night. A quarter of an hour later he returned, closely followed by a +huge half-breed with mild, ox-like eyes, who smiled broadly upon the +assembly. + +"Heem Pete Mateese," grunted the Indian, and sank again to his blanket. +Waseche Bill regarded the big, simple-minded half-breed intently, and +then flashed the question: + +"Wheah is Carlson?" Instantly the smile faded from the man's face and a +look of deep sorrow darkened his eyes. + +"Lillimuit," he answered, sadly. "On Ignatook he dig for de gol'." The +half-breed looked about him upon the faces of the men who wondered what +it was all about. + +"Go on," encouraged Waseche, "tell more." + +"De Ignatook, she don' freeze--she wa'm. De white Injun, she don' go +dare--she 'fraid. We go dare, me an' Carlson, she ma pardner, an' she +say de gol' ees here. Bimby, de grub git low an' Carlson sen' me for +more. Dat two winter ago. I tak' de gol' een one can an' I mak' eet +t'rough to Eagle by Tatonduk divide. Den I see Meestaire Squeeg. He say +he tak' de gol' an' buy de grub so I not git cheat. Den she los' de +gol'. She ver' sorry, an' she say y'u com' work for me, fi' dollaire a +day an' grub, an' pret' soon y'u mak' 'nough to go back to y'u pardner. +Meestaire Squeeg, she buy my dog--feefty dollaire apiece--four hunder' +dollaire--an' she say she keep de money so I no los'--I no git cheat. +An' she say de money she hav' eentrees', ten p'cent. So me, I go 'long +an' work for heem an' we clean oop good on Turtle Creek. Den we com' Ten +Bow an' Meestaire Squeeg, she buy de claim, an' I say I lak de money +now, I got 'nough. I tak' de grub to Carlson. But Meestaire Squeeg she +say, no, y'u ain't got no money--de eentrees' she eat dat money all oop. +She count oop fas', ten p'cent, she say. So I work som' more, but all de +tam de eentrees' she eat me oop. Eef eet ain't for de eentrees' I mak' +'nough to tak' de grub to Carlson." + +The big men and the one small boy in the little cabin listened intently +to the half-breed's simply told tale. When he finished Waseche Bill +cleared his throat and glanced from one to the other of the silent +listeners. + +[Illustration: "Between them walked a little, rat-faced man. The man was +Mr. Squigg."] + +"Boys," he said, "Carlson is dead. He died alone--way out yondeh in the +Lillimuit. He died huntin' fo' Pete Mateese, his pahdneh that didn't +come back. Befo' he died he found the gold he know'd was theah. We seen +the gold, an' it's _cached_ theah yet, jest wheah he done left it. +Carlson was a _man_. If Pete Mateese had went back, he'd of be'n livin' +now. An' Pete Mateese would of went back if he'd of be'n let alone." He +ceased speaking and, without a word, Big McDougall and Dick Colton rose +from their chairs and passed out into the night. The little clock ticked +monotonously while the others waited. Presently the two returned, and +between them walked a little, rat-faced man. The man was Mr. Squigg, and +as he entered, his slit-like eyes blinked rapidly in the lamp-light, and +shot nervous, venomous glances upon the faces of the occupants of the +cabin. At sight of Pete Mateese his face flushed, then paled, and his +thin lips curled backward from his teeth. + +"What you doin' here?" he rasped. + +"He was sent fo', Misteh Squigg, same as yo' was," drawled Waseche Bill. + +"This is an outrage!" squeaked the man. "Who are you? And what right +have you got to bring folks here against their will?" + +"Who, me? Oh, I'm Waseche Bill. I jest wanted fo' to meet up with +yo'--that's all. Yo' name fits yo' like a new glove, don't it, Misteh +Squigg? An', Misteh Squigg, this heah's my pahdneh, Connie Mo'gan. I +jest heahd how yo' tried fo' to beat him out of this heah claim, back +when he beat out the stampede." + +"He's a minor, an' he can't hold no claim," whimpered the man; "I'm a +lawyer, an' I know. But that was a long while ago. I'll let that pass." + +"Sho' now, Misteh Squigg," Waseche drawled, "it's good of yo' to let +that pass. We was feared yo' mout of laid it up against yo'self. But +theah's anotheh li'l matteh we-all would like to cleah up befo' the +evenin's oveh. Yo' rec'lect I'm the pahty that bought them dawgs off yo' +in Eagle--but we'll come to that lateh. This heah Pete Mateese, now, +the's sev'el li'l items we-all want the straight of. Fust off, wheah's +the can of gold Pete Mateese give yo' to buy grub with in Eagle?" + +"It's none of your business!" shrilled the man. "Besides, it's a lie! I +didn't see no gold. Let me out of here! You ain't got no right to hold +me." + +"Ain't we? Well, Misteh Squigg, yo' might's well know yo' ah undeh +arrest, an' we-all aim to give yo' a faih an' speedy trial." + +"You _can't_ arrest me!" squealed the man. + +"But, we _done_ it--didn't we? If yo' don't b'lieve it, jest yo' try to +walk out that do'." + +"You ain't got no authority! It ain't accordin' to law!" + +"This heah ain't exactly a co'te of law--it's a co'te of justice. They's +quite a con'sid'ble dif'ence--mostly," answered Waseche, and turning to +Connie, he said. + +"Jest get out yo' pen, kid, an' set down the figgehs so we c'n get +things faih an' squah. One can of gold, nine thousand dollahs. Now, them +dawgs--they was eight dawgs at fifty dollahs a head, that's fo' hund'ed +dollahs mo'." + +"I object!" piped Mr. Squigg, "I'm a lawyer, an' I know----" + +"Yo' mout be a lawyeh, Misteh Squigg, but yo' ain't in no shape to +'bject--not none serious. Now, them wages owin' to Pete Mateese, neah's +we c'n calc'late, it's fo'teen months at five dollahs a day. Figgeh it +up, kid, an' set it down." Connie busied himself over his paper. + +"That comes to twenty-one hundred dollars," he announced. + +"It ain't true! I didn't agree to pay him! You can't prove it! I deny +everything!" + +"Yo' ain't b'lieved," calmly drawled Waseche. "How much yo got down +altogetheh, son?" + +"Eleven thousand five hundred dollars." + +"Now, theah's this heah int'rest. Ten peh cent, wornt it, Misteh +Squigg?" But Mr. Squigg only growled. + +"Twelve thousand six hundred and fifty, all told," computed Connie. +Waseche turned to the infuriated Mr. Squigg. + +"That's what's owin' to Pete Mateese. C'n yo' pay it--_now_?" + +"No, I can't! An' I never will! Yo' can't enforce no such high-handed +proceedin's! It ain't accordin' to law!" + +"It's accordin' to Ten Bow, though," answered Waseche, shortly. "An' +seein' yo ain' got the cash oah the dust, we-all'll jest trouble yo' to +make oveh yo' claim to Pete Mateese. An' bein' yo' only give ten +thousan' fo' it, yo' c'n give yo' note fo' the balance. Give him the +pen, son." + +"I won't do it! This is an outrage!" whined the man. + +"Sho', now, Misteh Squigg, co'se yo'll do it." Waseche Bill turned to +the others. "We-all will give Misteh Squigg five minutes to think it +oveh. Then some of yo' boys jest amble out an' tell it around camp--the +story of Carlson, the man that died 'cause his pahdneh couldn't go back. +The boys'll be right int'rested, 'cause a lot of 'em know'd Carlson, an' +they liked him. Mos' likely they'll call a meetin' an'----" + +"Gi' me the pen! Gi' me the pen!" shrieked Mr. Squigg, whose face had +gone pasty white. And the men saw that the hand that held the pen +trembled violently. + +"Now, Misteh Squigg," announced Waseche, when the other had finished, +"_yo' git_! An' if yo' know what's good fo' yo', yo'll keep on +_gittin'_! Alaska don't need such men as yo'. _Yo' don't fit!_ This +heah's a _big_ country, Misteh Squigg. It's broad, an' long, an' clean. +An' the men that live in it ah rough men, but theah heahts is as big as +the country. An' they ah men that stand fo'-squah with each otheh, an' +with the wo'ld. In Alaska a man c'n count on faih play, an' it don't +make no dif'ence if his hide is white, oah red, oah yallah, oah black. +'Cause he ain't measu'ed acco'din' to colah noah heft, noah by the gold +in his poke, neitheh. It's what a man _does_ that counts. The li'l +eveh-day acts an' deeds that shows wheah his heaht is--an' what's in +him. An', now, Misteh Squigg, yondeh's the do'. An' beyond, the trail +stretches away--an' fah away. Eveh mile yo' put between yo'self an Ten +Bow is a friend of yo'n. Me'be somewheahs theah's a place li'l enough +fo' a man with a heaht as small, an' hahd, an' black as a double B shot. +If they is, an' yo' c'n find it, yo'll be _home_. But don't stop to hunt +fo' it in Alaska--it ain't heah." As Waseche Bill finished, the door +opened and, without a word, Mr. Squigg slunk into the star-lit +night--the softly radiant night that brushed caressingly the white snows +of Aurora Land. + +[Illustration: "Squigg slunk into the star-lit night."] + + * * * * * + +Late the men of Ten Bow talked about the little stove. At last, when +they arose to go, Big McDougall stepped close to Connie's side. + +"Laddie," he said, "wad ye do a favour f'r an auld mon--jest the ain +time?" + +"What!" exclaimed the boy, and his eyes shone, "do a favour for _you_! +For the man that lent me the best dog-team in all Alaska! Why, if it +hadn't been for your dogs, Mac, I could never have found Waseche. Just +name it, and you'll see!" + +"Weel spoken, lad! Spoken like a mon!" The Scot's eyes twinkled. "An' +I'll hold ye to yer word. The favour is this: that ye'll accept the +ten-team o' _malamutes_ that's carried ye so far acrost unmapped miles, +as a present fr' an auld mon whose heart thinks more o' ye than his +rough auld tongue c'n tell." The boy stared speechless at the big, +smiling man. And when, at length, he found his voice, the words choked +in his throat: + +"But--you said--it was a favour, Mac--I----" + +"Wheest, laddie, an' a favour it is. For McDougall's growin' auld f'r +the trails. Theer's gude years ahead o' yon dogs, but I've na mind to +gi' 'em the wark they need to keep 'em in fettle. An' dogs is oncommon +like men--'gin they loaf aboot the streets o' town a spell they get lazy +an' no 'count. But, wi' yersel' to put 'em ower the trail noo an' again, +they'll be a team o' pleasure an' profit to ye. F'r they're braw dogs +altogether an' t'would be shamefu' they should dwindle to the common +herd o' scavage dogs." + +And so, Connie, gracefully as he could in his confusion, granted +McDougall's favour. But in doing so the small boy could not foresee--nor +could any man in the cabin foresee--the chain of adventures into which +the possession of the ten-team would lead him. For, had he not owned the +ten-team, he would not have happened, just at the right moment, upon Big +Dan McKeever, sergeant of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, at a time +when the sergeant, with white, set face, battled against odds of a +thousand to one, while fifty men looked helplessly out across the +mile-wide field of heaving, crashing river ice when the spring break-up +hit the mighty Yukon. And, if Sergeant McKeever--but all that has no +part in this story. + +In the little cabin on Ten Bow the hour was late, and the bearded men +had arisen to go. As each passed through the door to seek his own cabin, +he gripped hard the hand of Pete Mateese, and O'Brien, and Waseche +Bill--and _both_ hands of Connie Morgan--the boy who was a _tillicum_. + +As they wended their way homeward in the midnight the little stars +winked and glittered radiantly upon these big men of the North. While +far away on the long bleak trail, the same little stars gleamed cold and +hard upon a swiftly moving black speck where, with white face and +terror-gripped heart, Mr. Squigg added friendly miles to the distance +that separated Ten Bow from _The Man Who Didn't Fit_. + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Maintained original spelling and punctuation of the dialect. + +Obvious printer errors have been corrected. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Connie Morgan in Alaska, by James B. Hendryx + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40337 *** |