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diff --git a/43362-0.txt b/43362-0.txt index 68c7f4a..a43275d 100644 --- a/43362-0.txt +++ b/43362-0.txt @@ -1,35 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riddle of the Storm, by Roy J. Snell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Riddle of the Storm - A Mystery Story for Boys - -Author: Roy J. Snell - -Release Date: July 30, 2013 [EBook #43362] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDDLE OF THE STORM *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43362 *** _A Mystery Story for Boys_ @@ -6232,360 +6201,4 @@ our next book: _The Galloping Ghost_. 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Snell</title> @@ -147,44 +147,7 @@ p.t15,div.t15,.t15 { margin-left:19em;text-indent:-3em; margin-top:0; margin-b </style> </head> <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riddle of the Storm, by Roy J. Snell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Riddle of the Storm - A Mystery Story for Boys - -Author: Roy J. Snell - -Release Date: July 30, 2013 [EBook #43362] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDDLE OF THE STORM *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43362 ***</div> <div id="cover" class="img"> <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Riddle of the Storm" width="500" height="735" /> @@ -7042,380 +7005,6 @@ book: <i>The Galloping Ghost</i>.</p> <ul><li>Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.</li> <li>Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.</li></ul> - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Riddle of the Storm, by Roy J. Snell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDDLE OF THE STORM *** - -***** This file should be named 43362-h.htm or 43362-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/3/6/43362/ - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Riddle of the Storm - A Mystery Story for Boys - -Author: Roy J. Snell - -Release Date: July 30, 2013 [EBook #43362] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDDLE OF THE STORM *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - _A Mystery Story for Boys_ - - - - - Riddle of the Storm - - - _By_ - ROY J. SNELL - - - The Reilly & Lee Co. - Chicago - - - COPYRIGHT 1932 - BY - THE REILLY & LEE CO. - PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I The Gray Streak 11 - II In Swift Pursuit 36 - III Trailing the Gray Streak 55 - IV Pitchblende 65 - V Racing the Storm 77 - VI A Shot in the Night 87 - VII The Winged Messenger 96 - VIII White Foxes 105 - IX Eagle Eyes 118 - X The Voice of the Wilderness 124 - XI The Clue 131 - XII The Voice Speaks 137 - XIII Curlie Sleeps on the River 144 - XIV Drew Lane on the Wing 151 - XV Over the Rapids 168 - XVI Pawns 184 - XVII "Here's Hoping" 191 - XVIII Fluttering from the Clouds 197 - XIX A Three Days' Quest 203 - XX The Hunchback Bowman 208 - XXI Bowled Over Like a Tenpin 216 - XXII Great Good Fortune 229 - XXIII Whither Away? 237 - XXIV A Face at the Window 245 - XXV A Pocketful of Gold 258 - XXVI Walls of Light 269 - XXVII The Black Cube 281 - XXVIII Joy Cometh 296 - - - - - RIDDLE OF THE STORM - - - - - CHAPTER I - THE GRAY STREAK - - -Curlie Carson's eyes widened first with surprise, then with downright -terror. His ears were filled with the thunder of a powerful motor. Yes, -he heard that. But what did he see? That was more important. A powerfully -built monoplane with wide-spreading wings was speedily approaching. Even -through the swirl of snow all about him he could see that the plane was -painted a solid gray. - -"The 'Gray Streak'!" he murmured. - -Could it be? What tales he had heard of this mysterious plane! During his -three weeks of service on the _Mackenzie River Air Route_ in northern -Canada, extravagant tales had reached his ears. "This gray plane bears no -identification mark, no name, no letters, no numbers. It swoops down upon -some lone cabin, robs the owner of food and blankets, and is away. It is -a phantom ship, a Flying Dutchman of the air. No pilot at the stick!" -What had he not heard? - -But now--now it was directly over him. Cold terror gripped his heart. A -part, at least, of the reports was confirmed; the plane carried no -insignia. No name, no letter, no number gave it identification. And these -were required by law. - -"The 'Gray Streak'," he murmured again. - -His fear increased. The plane was flying low along the river. He was -standing close to his own plane, the one entrusted to his care by the -_Midwest Airways_. It was a superb creation, and almost new. Suppose this -stranger, the man of mystery, outlaw perhaps, should drop to the smooth -surface of the river's ice and compel him to exchange planes! - -"Suppose only that he should descend to rob me of my cargo!" His heart -raced. It was a valuable cargo and had come a long way by air. - -While these terrifying possibilities were passing through his mind, the -plane moved steadily onward. He was able to study every detail: her -skids, her wings, her cabin, her motor. - -The drumming of her motor did not diminish. - -"They are passing!" he whispered. "Thank God, they are going on. I--" - -His words were checked at sight of some white object that, whirling with -the wind, seemed at first a very large snowflake. - -"But no. It--it's--" - -He was about to dive forward in pursuit of it when an inner impulse born -of caution caused him to halt. - -Dividing his attention between the vanishing plane and the fluttering -object, he stood for a space of seconds motionless. Then, as the snow-fog -closed in upon the plane, he dashed forward to retrieve a small square of -cloth. - -"A handkerchief!" He was frankly disappointed. - -"But--a woman's handkerchief." His interest quickened. One did not -associate a woman with this mystery plane. - -"Perhaps, after all, it's a boy's," he told himself. "But a boy? One--" - -His eyes had caught a mark in the corner. There were words written there, -very small words. - -Hurrying to his airplane, he climbed into the cabin; then, switching on a -powerful electric torch, he studied the words. - -"I am a captive," he read. - -And beneath this was a name: "D'Arcy Arden." - -"D'Arcy," he murmured. "What a strange name! Would it be a boy or a -girl?" - -For a long time he sat staring at that square of white, trying at the -same time to patch together the rumors that had come to him regarding -this mystery ship of the air. - -"No use," he told himself. "Can't make head nor tail of it." - -The truth was that until that hour no aviator of this northern country -had laid eyes on this gray phantom. They had one and all agreed that it -did not exist, that it was the creation of an over-wrought imagination; -that some mineral-hunting plane on a special mission had passed over here -and there and had created the illusion. - -"But now," he assured himself, "I have seen it. I will vouch for it. And -here," he held the square of white up to the light, "here is the proof! - -"But why is that plane here? Where is it going? Why is that person a -captive? What type of outlaw rides in that cockpit? All that is the -riddle of this storm, a riddle I am bound to aid in solving. But now--" - -His ears caught the beat of snow on the cabin window. "Now there is -nothing left but to eat, sleep a bit, and wait out the storm. - -"Get a bite to eat," he told himself. "Something hot. Fellow has to keep -himself fit on a job like this, when you--" - -He did not finish. A sudden thought breaking in upon him had startled -him. He had believed himself safe from the peril that had threatened. But -was he? What if the plane turned about and came back? - -He opened the cabin door. The throb of a motor smote his ear, and once -more sent tremors of fear coursing up his spine. - -Once more consternation seized him. What was to be done? He couldn't lose -his plane. He must not! - -"Only three weeks," he said aloud, "and then!" - -It had been a glorious three weeks. Rising off the field at Edmonton. -Greeting the dawn. Skimming through the clouds. Sailing over a great -white world, ever new. This was his task as a northern pilot. - -"So safe, too," he had said more than once. "The river's ice, a perfect -landing field, always beneath you." - -No, he could not lose his plane. Reaching up to a niche at the top of the -low cabin, he took down a powerful yew bow and a handful of arrows. The -arrows were of ash, light and strong. They were perfectly feathered. -Their points were of razor-edged steel. "Might help in an emergency," he -told himself. "And this D'Arcy person might be able to do a little if I -could free him. Even if it were a woman, she might help; you never can -tell." - -The pulsating beat of motors grew louder. - -"If I lose my plane it means we lose the mail contract. I won't!" He set -his lips tight. "I must not!" - -Gripping his bow, he stepped out of the cabin. - -The next moment his face broadened in a grin. - -"Fooled myself!" he exclaimed. - -The plane that loomed out from the snow-fog for a space of seconds, only -to lose itself again, was not gray. It was blue, with streaks of white. -It bore on its wings the letters E F--R A C. - -"Speed Samson," he murmured. "He's going through. He trusts his motors." - -A frown overspread his usually cheerful face. The frown had a meaning. He -admired Speed. Speed was a wonderful pilot with thousands of hours of -flying to his credit. Yet Speed had, only three days before, disappointed -him. Perhaps disappointed is not the word. However that may be, this is -what had happened. Curlie had said, - -"You have to learn to trust God in a very real way when you fly in the -North, don't you?" He had not meant to preach; but Speed had said rather -shortly: - -"I trust my motors!" - -"He trusts his motors," the boy repeated. "'Trust God and keep your -powder dry.' Some one has said that. Up here you have to trust God and -keep your motors right. But I for one am not going to trust to my motors -alone. God made the iron and steel, the copper and all that goes into my -machine. He made the gas and oil, too. And He made my brain, and I'll use -it to the best of my ability. This is not safe flying weather. And orders -are, 'Always play safe.'" - -Having thought this through, he returned to his cabin. - -"Danger is all over," he told himself. "But this D'Arcy person? How I'd -like to help! Wonder if I will in the end?" - -"Hot chocolate," he murmured to himself. "A cold chicken sandwich and a -big pot of beans, warmed over the alcohol stove. Boy! A fellow sure does -get an appetite up here!" - -An hour later, wrapped in his eight foot square eiderdown robe, he lay on -the floor of the narrow cabin prepared for sleep. - -Sleep did not come at once. There were many troubles of the day that must -first be put to rest. He thought of his motor, going over it piece by -piece. In this land of the North much depends upon the pilot's care of -his motor. Curlie was not neglectful. Even in his hours of repose his -thoughts were upon his task. - -That his was a position of grave responsibility he knew right well. Until -his coming into this land he had thought of aviation as a pleasant -luxury, mostly to be indulged in by the rich and the near-rich; a -necessity in war, a luxury in time of peace. But in this far-flung land -of snow the airplane has come to be a thing of great service. Journeys -that required three months of hard mushing after dog teams; of sleeping -in rough, uninhabited cabins at night; of facing cold, hunger and -darkness, are now accomplished with great comfort in three days. In this -land the airplane has made a village a thousand miles from Edmonton one -of that city's suburbs. Curlie had not been slow to sense all this. - -"And there's gold," he told himself. "'Gold hunters of the air.' That's -what Johnny Thompson called them. I wonder how it's done." - -Yes, Curlie had seen Johnny Thompson. You remember Johnny. He had been -Curlie's pal in more than one strange land and with him had participated -in many a mysterious and thrilling adventure. - -He had not come upon Johnny this time by accident. Neither was Curlie's -presence in northern Canada an accident. He was here because he had a -friend, and that friend was Johnny Thompson. - -Curlie, like many another young fellow, had bumped squarely into the -regretted "depression" that, sweeping like a tidal wave over the land, -had left many a man high and dry, with no home and no place to eat. -Having been in the air mail service in America, he was dropped when -demand slackened and fewer men were needed. Men who had more flying hours -to their credit had been retained. - -In time of depression one must often rely upon his friends. Little groups -of true friends, drawn closer together by the winds of adversity, stand -back to back, fighting the battle together. - -So it happened that Johnny, finding himself in the North and learning of -a temporary vacancy, spoke a good word for his friend Curlie Carson. - -"And now," thought Curlie, "here I am. And here I stay until my last -dollar is spent. A land where airplanes are a real necessity, that's the -land for me! - -"'Gold hunters of the air,'" he repeated once more. "Wonder how they do -it? Perhaps I'll learn that business. Sounds thrilling. And gold! Man! It -might make a fellow rich! - -"But I wonder--" - -He had asked Johnny how it was done, this gold hunting in the air. Johnny -had said, - -"How much time you got to spare?" - -"Two minutes. Must get back to my motor," Curlie had replied. - -"Not enough by two hours," had been Johnny's laughing rejoinder. "Drop in -and stay all night on your next trip and I'll tell you all about it. - -"And by the way!" he had exclaimed. "Be sure not to pass us up on that -next trip. May have something mighty important to send down by you. New -stuff; that is, new to us. Worth about a million dollars an ounce. How -does that strike you between the ears?" - -"Million an ounce," Curlie murmured sleepily. "Million dollars an ounce! -Wonder what that could be?" - - * * * * * * * * - -Curiously enough, at the very hour in which Curlie had decided to sleep -out a storm, Johnny Thompson, many miles away in a place where the storm -had not yet struck, was telling some one else, an old-time friend of -Curlie's as well as his, some things about gold hunting in the air. He -was talking in no uncertain terms, and the facts he revealed were as much -a surprise to the listener as they might have been to Curlie. - -He had left his camp early that morning, had Johnny. It was well into the -afternoon when, as a sudden smile spread over his close-knit, -winter-hardened face, he sighted the person he had hoped to meet. - -A slim girl in her teens, this girl handled her dogs extremely well for a -novice who had been in the North only three short weeks. - -"Bravo!" Johnny fairly shouted, as she rushed ahead to seize her leader -and throw him back on his haunches. "She picks things up quickly. Many a -girl would have allowed her team to come straight on to mine. Then our -teams would have mixed, her team against mine, like two football teams on -a gridiron. Best team wins. What a rumpus that would have been! Bad -business. Dogs all crippled up, like as not." - -Swinging his own dogs off the trail, he issued a sharp command which they -instantly obeyed by throwing themselves upon the hard-packed snow in a -position of repose. Dog teams in the North were not new to Johnny, though -this was his first trip into the far northwest of Canada. - -The girl, who stood silent and expectant beside her team, was Joyce -Mills. Johnny had learned of her presence in the North quite by accident. -For months he had not heard from her nor from her father, Newton Mills, -the retired city detective. You will remember Joyce and her father well -enough if you have read _The Arrow of Fire_ and _The Gray Shadow_. A -brave, resourceful, independent girl, this Joyce Mills. And her father, -before a nervous breakdown, had been one of the most feared detectives on -the New York force. Now, here they were in the North. Strange, do you -say? In this day nothing is strange. "Foot loose and fancy free," that's -the phrase. We go where we will, we Americans. - -Joyce had not known Johnny was in the North. And now here they stood face -to face. - -"Jo--Johnny Thompson!" she breathed, her eyes widening as he approached. - -"Johnny!" she cried aloud. "When did you get here?" - -Johnny grinned broadly. "Three weeks ago to-day, same as you." - -"Three--three weeks. And you knew I was here!" Her eyes reproved him. - -"Not until yesterday," he explained. "Of course I knew there was a lady -in your outfit. Yesterday an Indian told me who you were." - -"An Indian. I haven't talked to one. How did he know my name?" - -"He didn't. He knew you. That was still better. There may be two Joyce -Mills in the world. There is only one you." - -"Knew me!" A puzzled look overspread the girl's face. "I don't -understand." - -"You wouldn't unless you knew Indians. In their own way they are clever -beyond belief; some of them at least. They see everything, can imitate -every action, your smile, your gestures, your walk, everything. They can -describe the fillings in your teeth, the shape of your fingers and every -bit of toggery you wear. This man had not been speaking three minutes -before I knew it must be you." - -"Indians," she murmured as Johnny came closer to her sled. "Are they as -clever as that?" - -"They sure are!" - -"But, Johnny!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here? And how does it -happen that we arrived on the same day?" - -"I am doing," said Johnny slowly, "just what your outfit is doing, -searching for mineral, gold, silver, platinum, radium. - -"As for that other question--" His words came with great hesitation. -"That--that's a deep secret. I wonder if you know the answer yourself. -No. I am sure you don't, nor your father either. You are square shooters, -you are. Your father is the straightest detective that ever guarded the -streets of New York. He wouldn't be in on a thing like that, not if he -knew it." - -"Johnny!" the girl cried out in alarm. "What are you saying? Are you -telling me that in our camp some one is unfair, dishonest? How could they -be? We are searching for mineral in a wild, open country that belongs to -no one save the Provincial Government. How could we be dishonest?" - -"And yet," Johnny said as he sat down upon the sled, "a very mean trick, -yes, a dishonest, dishonorable one has been played by--. Not by your -father," he hastened to explain, "but by at least one of the young men -with whom he is associated. - -"Sit down and I will tell you." - -The girl sank to a place beside him. - -"Listen." His tone grew impressive. "You have seen those enlarged -photographs?" - -"You mean the ones taken from the air, showing the surface of rocks, the -sides of ledges, the ones our men work by? The ones they study and find -signs that save them months of travel?" - -"Yes." - -"I have seen them many times." - -"Then you know," the boy went on, "that they are invaluable as an aid in -the search for mineral, that an expert mineralogist like your father can -sit down before those photographs and can, after studying them carefully, -tell where mineral is likely to be found. - -"Of course," his voice dropped a little, "of course, a skilled observer -may fly over the territory and tell something of the rock formation from -mere eye observations. But photographs are much better. - -"Did it ever occur to you," he demanded suddenly, "to ask yourself the -question: 'Where did those photographs come from? Who took them?'" - -Joyce started. "N--no, it didn't." - -"I'll tell you. But first let me assure you that the taking of such -pictures is difficult, tiresome and often dangerous work. It requires a -great deal of time. Those prints are only a hundred or so selected from -more than a thousand. To take those pictures required many days of -soaring in a powerful airplane, close to the surface of the earth. For -such work an airplane is expensive. Those pictures cost a pretty large -sum of money. They were the property of two men, an aged prospector and a -young man. They invested their joint fortunes in the undertaking, hoping -for large returns. They had made one enlargement from each film when all -the films were stolen." - -"Stolen!" - -"Stolen." - -"By whom?" - -"I leave you to guess." - -The expressions that flitted across the girl's face, as clouds pass over -a landscape, were strange to see. Despair, distrust, sorrow, hope, then -despair again--all these. - -"My father," she murmured at last, "my poor father." - -"He knows nothing of it. That goes without saying," Johnny hastened to -assure her. - -"But--but it's not that." She seemed undecided. There was a strange -hoarseness in her voice as she turned her face to his. - -"Johnny, you know my father." - -"Yes," he replied simply, "I know." - -He spoke the truth, as you will know if you have read that other book, -_The Arrow of Fire_. Johnny did know Newton Mills. He knew that he had -been one of the finest detectives the city of New York had ever known. He -knew, too, that after many years of service he had fallen as a last -sacrifice to the battle against crime. Johnny had done much to reclaim -him. - -"You know," Joyce went on, "that he can never again fill a post on a city -detective force. His nerves are too far gone for that. We are poor. The -depression reached us. We were in despair. Then this opportunity came. He -may never have told you, but he was in the Yukon gold rush. He found no -gold, but instead, a lifetime hobby--the study of minerals. These studies -have fitted him for the work he is now doing. This opening came. He took -it. I came to be with him." - -She said "with him" softly, did this slim, dark-haired girl. She loved -her father. - -"And now," her tone changed, "now it's all over." There was no bitterness -in her voice, only weariness, the long, long weariness of one who has -battled long for a great and noble cause, only to feel that defeat lies -directly ahead. - -"I can't see it that way." Johnny spoke calmly. "The work can go on. If -something really comes of it, your father will receive his full share." - -"But who would want a share of anything obtained by dishonest means?" The -girl's cheek flushed. - -"Well," Johnny replied quietly, "in the first place, I doubt if all three -of the young men working with your father know of the theft." - -"I am sure they don't!" the girl exclaimed, ready to weep. "It doesn't -seem possible that one of them could do such a thing. They seem so -honorable. They have been so very kind to me." - -"And yet, here are the facts staring us in the face," Johnny continued. -"If you had our set of pictures to compare with those your people are -using, you would find them identical. And they were taken by Scott Ramsey -who is one of the partners in our camp, a real gold hunter of the air." - -"And one of our men is a thief!" the girl spoke slowly. "Who would -believe that?" - -"Your task," Johnny added gently, "is to find the thief. You are the -daughter of a detective. Often you have helped your father in his work. -This should be easy." - -"I will." The girl stood up. "I will find him. And when I have, what -shall I do?" - -"Nothing." - -"Nothing?" She stared unbelievingly. - -"Exactly that. Can't you see?" He, too, sprang to his feet. "As long as -we know what they are doing, they are in a way working for us. If they -make a strike, find gold or other rich mineral deposits, we will share -with them." - -"You would take--" - -"No. We couldn't take the claims they file on; at least we would not. -They should have their share. I am sure the men of our camp will deal -fairly, even generously with them. - -"But this is the way it works." He was explaining quietly now. "If they -make a strike, find gold or radium, they will rush outside in an airplane -and bring in friends to file on the land. There will be room for many, -many claims. When they have a broad stretch of ore-bearing territory -staked, they will sell out to some rich company. - -"But you see," he added, "if they make a strike we will know it at once. -Nothing prevents us from moving over and filing on the most promising -spots; in fact, it's the fair thing to do since they are working with our -pictures." - -"I see." The girl spoke slowly. A new light of hope shone in her eyes. - -"But, Johnny," she asked suddenly, "how will you know when they make a -strike, if they do? You wouldn't expect me to--" - -"No, we wouldn't expect you to let us know. But we have a way--the -Moccasin Telegraph." - -"Moccasin Telegraph? What's that?" - -"You will learn much about that before you are here long." His eyes were -smiling mysteriously. - -"And be assured of one thing," he added. "Whatever comes of it, your -father will have his fair share." - -"Sha--shall I tell him?" - -"I think not. His work calls for all his energy. It might disturb him. -This is your case. Work it out. Find the man." - -"I shall find him if--if there is such a one." - -"If? What do you mean? The evidence is conclusive." - -"I find it hard to believe." - -"It is true." His tone changed. "I must be going. It's a long way to our -camp." He put out a hand. She gripped it quite frankly. - -"What brought you this far?" she asked. - -"Thought I might see you. No ladies in our camp. Only a Chinaman for a -cook. Fellow gets lonesome." - -"Shall you come again?" - -"I think not. It's not safe. Feeling runs high in this land. Our crowds -might mix in the wrong way. That would be bad." - -"Well, so long, then." - -"So long!" - -A moment later Johnny and his team vanished behind the cliff, leaving a -very much puzzled girl alone with her thoughts. And they were long, long -thoughts, I assure you. - - - - - CHAPTER II - IN SWIFT PURSUIT - - -When he fell asleep in his airplane, Curlie Carson was many miles from -any human habitation, in the heart of a polar wilderness. In that -wilderness foxes barked and gaunt wolves howled. An Arctic gale sent snow -rattling against his window. And yet he slept like a child in a trundle -bed. A few hours of rest, and then he would, granted the storm had ended, -greet the dawn high in air. - -Mid-afternoon next day found him circling above the shore of Great Slave -Lake for a landing. - -"Gas cache here," he told himself. "Just gas up and be away to Fort -Resolution. Far as Speed got, I'm sure, with all his flying in the storm. -My record's as good as his. Contract's safe enough yet." - -Ah yes, the contract. How they all worked for that, the mail contract -from Edmonton to the Arctic! A three year contract, it was to be given to -the company that made the best flying record this season. At present -Curlie's own company, Midwestern Airways, was a few notches ahead. But -one bad break, and the Trans-Canadian, the rival company, would beat -them. Only three weeks remained. - -"It's a race, a race for a grand prize," he told himself. "And we must -win!" - -Up to this moment the boy had a right to be proud of his own record. The -youngest pilot on the route, only a substitute for a disabled pilot of -more mature years, he had exceeded them all in miles flown and service -rendered in this wild northland. For all this, his thoughts at this -moment were humble ones. Full well he knew the treachery of the skies. - -His skis bumped. They bumped again three, four times, and his plane went -gliding over the snow. With consummate skill he brought the great bird to -rest exactly opposite three steel drums resting on a high bank at the -lake's edge. - -Many gas caches such as this had been established during the season of -open water when river and lake steamers might operate. - -With a rubber hose for siphoning in his hand, the boy climbed the steep -bank. But what was this? In a sheltered spot he came upon a footprint in -the snow. Consternation seized him. Had some one been there before him? -This was his company's gasoline. None other had a right to it. - -"Some trapper passing this way," he reassured himself. - -His hopes were short-lived. One kick at each hollow-sounding drum and he -knew they had been robbed. - -Who was the guilty one? Speed? No, Speed was an honorable man! The Gray -Streak, phantom of the air? That was the answer. - -"This must be stopped!" he told himself stoutly. "Not enough gas to reach -the next port. And some unfortunate one may be waiting at this moment for -my plane to carry him to the hospital. They can't realize what it means." - -Down deep in his heart he was convinced that they, the pilots of the Gray -Streak, did know what it meant. They were outlaws, fugitives from -justice, and did not care. - -"When they are caught there will be a fight. Well, then, welcome the day! -The airways of the North must be kept open to those who have at heart the -highest good of all." - -Having made this declaration of war, that in time was to lead him over a -vast wilderness into many perils, he slid down the bank to climb into the -cockpit, prepared to make the most of his scant supply of gas. - -Three hours later, just as dusk was approaching, he was circling once -more. Less than a gallon of gas remained in his tank. Fort Resolution was -twenty miles away. Night was coming on. - -"That means a day lost, a bad record, a black mark, a long loss in the -contest!" he exclaimed almost savagely. "And all because some one cares -nothing for the welfare of others. Truly the running down of such men is -a task worthy of any man's steel." - -Scarcely had his plane come to rest than fresh perils threatened. There -came a strange sound from the bank of the lake. - -"What can it be?" His heart skipped a beat. Instinctively he put out a -hand for a stout yew bow and a quiver of arrows that always hung beside -his cabin door, for like his friend Johnny, Curlie, as you will recall, -was an expert bowman. - -In ever increasing volume there came to his ears the sound of cracking -and crashing. - -"Sounds like a forest fire," he told himself. "But there is no fire. Like -a thousand range cattle. But there are no cattle. What can it be?" - -Soon enough he was to know. From the brush that grew by the shore bounded -a brown mass with four short legs and a tossing head. - -"Buffaloes!" He was amazed. His amazement grew. Three, six, nine, twenty, -fifty, a hundred of these ponderous creatures landed upon the ice, then -came plunging toward him. In a space of seconds, hundreds more joined -them in wild stampede. - -"They are mad with fear!" He was all but in a panic himself. "What am I -to do? The plane will be wrecked. It will be laid up for weeks; the -contest lost, everything lost!" - -He broke off short. The thread of an old prairie-buffalo story had -entered his mind. - -"These are woods-buffaloes," he told himself. "But buffaloes must be the -same everywhere. I can but try." - -Gripping his bow, he stepped boldly out from his plane and walked like -some young David to meet the onrushing throng. He was a full thirty yards -from his plane, the foremost buffalo scarcely more than that from him, -when with heart pounding painfully against his ribs, but with fingers -that perfectly obeyed his will, he paused to set a steel pointed arrow -against his bowstring. Then he took one long breath before the test which -must mean victory or defeat. - -Somewhere in a book of frontier-day tales, he had read an account of the -remarkable manner in which the Red Man, when in danger of being trampled -to death by a thousand stampeding buffaloes, had saved his life. He was -now prepared to put this practice to the test. It seemed a desperate -measure--just how desperate he had not time to judge. - -Gripping his bow that was capable of burying an arrow in the heart of any -wild creature, he stood quite still until the foremost buffalo, a -powerful beast with gleaming horns, was within ten paces of him. Then, -quickly bending his bow, he let fly. - -No effect. The buffalo came straight on. The thundering herd was behind -him. Already the cloud of snow that rose before them was obscuring his -vision. Still there was time for retreat to the plane. Once in the cabin, -he would be safe from the murderous tramp of their axe-like hoofs. But -the plane! It would be wrecked. - -He did not retreat. Standing his ground, with incredible rapidity he -fired a second arrow and a third. - -The very breath of the foremost buffalo was upon his cheek when with a -clatter and a thud it fell at his feet. - -And now the real test of the Red Man's ancient plan of action was at -hand. No longer was there opportunity for retreat. The herd was upon him. -Through the cloud of snow he saw it but dimly. The sound of clashing -horns and cracking hoofs was deafening. Casting himself flat in the snow, -directly back of the fallen monarch of the forest, he awaited the -outcome. - -Without knowing why, he began to count. Perhaps he was counting his own -wild heartbeats. "One, two, three, four, five." Would it work? "Six, -seven, eight, nine, ten." Would he be trampled by those hoofs? "Eleven, -twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen." No time to think of that now. - -He felt rather than saw, so dense was the cloud of fine snow, that the -herd had divided, that the buffaloes were passing in two columns, one to -the right, the other to the left of their fallen leader. They were -following the manner of their kind as recorded in that story of other -days. - -"Thank--thank God!" he breathed. - -His plane now was, he hoped, quite safe. It was headed toward the herd. -Divided, they would pass to right and left of it. They would divide for a -fallen comrade. Would they have done the same for an airplane? Who could -tell? - -Lying there alone while the onrushing herd whirled by, Curlie realized as -never before what a joyous thing it was just to live, what a priceless -possession the great Father had bestowed upon him when He breathed the -breath of life into his lungs. - -The sound of horns and hoofs was fading away. The last member of the herd -had passed, or he thought it had. - -Rising stiffly, he put out his hand for his bow. The snow was settling. -At his feet lay a dark mass, the dead buffalo. At his back loomed a gray -bulk, his plane, apparently unharmed. - -His thoughts regarding the buffalo were sober ones. These buffaloes, he -realized, now that there was time to think of it, were not in every sense -of the word wild buffaloes. They ranged a wide preserve. They were -watched over by buffalo rangers. They might not be killed except in a -grave emergency. One who did kill a woods-buffalo was liable to a term in -prison. - -"But this," he assured himself, "was a grave emergency." - -But what was this? Even as he stood there thinking there came the crack -of hoofs once more. A lone buffalo was passing. A youngster, half-grown -and almost spent, he limped painfully after his fast disappearing -companions. - -And after him came gray streaks in the failing light. Once more the boy's -bow sang. A gray form plunged to the snow and went rolling over and over. -A second followed the first. He, too, had felt the sting of the boy's -arrow. And now they were gone, all gone. The tumult died to a murmur, -then silently ceased to be. - -"Wolves," the boy grumbled, as he touched a gray form at his feet, "the -scourge of the North, killers of all that is good, beautiful and useful -among living things. I did what I could for that poor, limping young -buffalo. Here's hoping it was enough. If it was, it evens matters up." He -looked at the fallen buffalo. - -"Too bad," he murmured, "but there was no other way. That plane means -more, a hundred times, to human kind than does a buffalo. It has saved -human lives, by transporting them to hospitals. It will save others and, -please God, I shall have a part." - -Having in this manner adjusted his thoughts and feelings regarding his -immediate surroundings, he considered the future. - -Prospects were not bright. "No gas," he told himself. "It's a march down -the river in the dark for me. - -"Oh, well. Munch a chocolate bar and some crackers. Hate to leave the old -plane. Whew! How good the old feather robe would feel!" He stretched his -weary muscles. - -"Wolves down the river at night. But I'd fix 'em!" He patted his bow. - -A brief inspection of his plane told him that all was well. "A fortunate -escape. And now, eats." - -He took his time about his meal. The moon would be higher later in the -night. Plenty of time anyway. No one would start back with him to bring a -dog sled load of gasoline to his plane before dawn. - -He was just pushing away the warm robe he had drawn over his knees when a -curious sound reached his ears, a clank-clank like the moving of gears. - -"How strange!" he exclaimed. "Up here close to the Arctic Circle. What a -night! Will wonders never cease?" - -A low dark bulk came gliding over the ice. The clank-clank grew louder. - -"It's a tractor!" he told himself, only half believing. "But here! -Hundreds of miles beyond the end of steel! Who would believe it?" He was -forced to believe, for, before he could realize it, the thing was upon -him. - -Suddenly the clatter and clank ceased. "Hello there!" came in a cheery -voice. "What you camping here for? Resolution is just around the corner. - -"Oh, it's you, Curlie Carson?" - -The newcomer had dismounted and approached on foot. - -"And you, Doctor LeBeau!" came from the boy. "I'm surely glad to see you. - -"But that thing--" he pointed at the tractor. "What do you do with that?" - -"Many things, my boy. Very useful. Snake out logs. Launch boats. Plenty -of work. Just now I am coming from moving an Indian family to their new -home seven miles away. Cabin was twelve feet square. Just slid skids -under it, hitched on and moved 'em, house, furniture, bag, baggage and -babies. Not so bad!" He laughed a merry laugh. - -"But answer me. What you doing here?" - -"Out of gas." - -"Out of gas!" The doctor whistled. "Thought you were Old Man Preparedness -himself." - -"So did I. But when your gas cache has been robbed? What then?" - -"Robbed?" - -Curlie told him the story of the outlaw plane and the missing gas. - -"That's bad!" exclaimed the doctor. "Have to put a stop to that! -Dangerous people who would leave some poor aviator to starve hundred -miles from anywhere. Go after him!" - -"I will if there's a chance." - -"But now? Want a tow to town?" - -Curlie looked at the tiny tractor, the smallest made, then at his great -airplane. He laughed. "Seems a bit odd. Guess you could do it, though." - -"Sure could. Safest way, too. Could give you my gas. Not safe flying at -night, though. - -"Tell you what!" The doctor's tone was kindly. "You roll up in your -feather robe there in the cabin. I'll tow you in. You'll wake up in -Resolution. You look like you needed sleep." - -"I'm asleep standing up just now! But you?" - -"I'm O.K. We sleep all hours up here. Besides, you fellows have done a -lot for us; brought the world to our door, that's what you've done. Just -as well do a little something for you." - -So it happened that Curlie arrived at Fort Resolution during the wee -small hours of the night. After sleeping straight through until morning, -he was as ready as ever for that which a fresh day might bring. - -That day passed uneventfully. The dawn of the second day found Curlie -once more in the air. He was headed south. - -All the glories of the great white wilderness lay beneath him. The glory -of the perfect day, sky filled with drifting clouds, air with a tang all -its own. But none of these things held the boy's attention. - -His thoughts were divided between his immediate task, the piloting of his -plane, and that which lay in the immediate past and the probable future. - -At Resolution he had met Speed Samson, his rival. Great had been the -other pilot's astonishment when told of Curlie's adventure with the "Gray -Streak." - -"So it's true after all!" Speed had exclaimed. "There _is_ a plane -running wild in this wilderness. The pilot's living off other men's food -caches, like as not, and using others' gas." - -"Yes," Curlie replied. "What are we going to do about it?" - -"Wait for orders." - -"Yes, I suppose so," the boy agreed slowly. By nature he was a person of -action. "But suppose we come upon that 'Gray Streak' before orders reach -us?" - -"Pass 'em up. Let 'em go. That's me. My record, the record of my company, -the mail contract's at stake. - -"And," he added, meaning to be truly generous, "much as I want to win -that award for our company, I'd advise you to do the same." - -"It would count in your favor if you drove such a menace from the air or -brought them to justice," Curlie said thoughtfully. - -"If! Pretty big IF, boy. And if you fail, you may be in the sticks -somewhere with busted landing gear, out of the running. See?" Curlie did -see. And for the time being this seemed good counsel. Long and sober -thinking had left the matter unsettled in his mind. - -One item that weighed heavily on the safety side was the fact that he -carried in his plane that which was to prove of great value to his friend -Johnny Thompson and all the world as well--pitchblende. - -The venerable giant of a prospector, Sandy MacDonald, with whom Johnny -Thompson worked, had prepared his samples sooner than Johnny had thought -he might. He had sent those bits of rocks, that gave promise of producing -mineral worth a million dollars an ounce, over to Resolution. They were -now in the fuselage of Curlie's plane. - -"Guard them well," had been the prospector's last word of admonition. -"Those samples are pitchblende. From pitchblende comes radium. And radium -has been a boon to mankind. Through its mysterious rays of light it has -cured thousands of that most dreaded of diseases, cancer. If we can but -discover a cheaper supply, we will be benefactors of the whole race. Take -them to Edmonton. There's a laboratory there. If they are not equipped to -analyze them, they'll send them on. In time you'll bring us the result. -And may God speed your flight!" - -"May God speed your flight." Curlie seemed to hear those words now and to -feel the gentle touch of a powerful hand on his shoulder. - -"This is important," he told himself. "I must not fail him. The pay is -small. The reward may be very great. We--" - -His hands gripped the wheel tightly. A great white cloud lay directly -before him. Out of that cloud had come a plane. The air was clear, the -plane not far distant. His eyes could not deceive him. - -"Jerry!" he shouted to the mechanic at his side. (He had taken Jerry on -at Resolution.) "Jerry, that's the 'Gray Streak'!" - -"Absolutely!" Jerry straightened up in his place. - -The young pilot's mind became a battle field of conflicting emotions. -Safety, sure reward, the good of his company, his own personal glory -seemed to lie upon the side of his nature that whispered: "Keep straight -on. Let them go their way." - -"And there is the pitchblende, the radium," he said aloud. - -At the same time he appeared to hear a voice say, "Times come in our -lives when the good of scores, hundreds, perhaps thousands we have never -seen, may never see, drives from our minds that which seems good for us -and those best known to us. When that time comes we must act for the good -of all." - -"Who said that?" he asked himself. He could not answer. Somewhere in the -past it had been stowed away in the recesses of his mind. Now here it -was. It was as if God had spoken. - -"Jerry," he shouted, "we've got to go after them! Follow them to the end. -Find their hide-out. Bring them to justice!" - -"Absolutely!" Jerry turned his face about to display a broad grin. -"Absolutely, son!" - - - - - CHAPTER III - TRAILING THE GRAY STREAK - - -Still endeavoring to think through the things which Johnny Thompson had -revealed to her, Joyce Mills rode home beneath the great, golden Arctic -moon. - -More than once she murmured: "One of them is a thief. But how could he -be?" - -Three weeks spent in the company of very few persons in the lonely land -of the North reveals much. In three weeks, under such conditions, he is a -sly person indeed who does not reveal his true nature. Joyce had believed -that by this time she knew the young men of her camp as well as she did -Johnny Thompson, Drew Lane, or any other person with whom she had been -closely associated. - -"How hard it is to judge people!" She sighed deeply. To discover that we -have been deceived in a friend is always a shock. - -"I cannot doubt Johnny's word," she assured herself. "And yet--" - -She could form no real answer to the questions that came unbidden to her -mind. - -"I will watch," she told herself, "watch and wait. 'Be sure your sin will -find you out.' I read that somewhere and I believe it is true. If there -is a thief in our camp he will steal again, perhaps many times. In the -end, his sin will find him out." - -With these matters settled in her mind, she whistled sharply to her dogs -and sent them spinning away with redoubled speed toward the three rude -cabins that were a prospector's camp and her present home. - -Arrived there, she unharnessed her dogs and chained them to their places -before their kennels; then she went in to prepare supper. - -She was not the only cook in this outfit. They all took a hand. Supper -fell to her lot. Since the days were still short everyone worked till -dark, searching rocky ridges and river banks for elusive signs of wealth -and then walking home over long miles after dark. - -She was engaged in the mixing of baking powder biscuits when there came a -sound of sudden commotion outside. Flinging open the door, she all but -ran into Jim Baley, one of the three young prospectors in her outfit, who -was just home from work. Jim, however, was not the cause of the -commotion. The sounds of trouble came from the kennels. Dogs were howling -and snarling. Mingled with this was a sinister snap-snap of jaws. - -"Wolves! Timber wolves!" Jim exclaimed, seizing an axe. "Big as men, they -are. Savage brutes. They'll kill the dogs and eat 'em, like they was -rats." - -He was about to leap away to the battle when the girl held him back. - -"Jim, you'll be killed!" - -"I'll not. Besides, what of it? You can't let the defenseless be -murdered. In a country like this dogs are your best friends. They're -chained. Can't you see?" - -Feeling the grip on his arm loosen, he sprang away into the dark. - -Standing there erect, motionless, she tried to look away into the -blackness of the night. At the same time a warm feeling crept in about -the portals of her heart as she whispered to herself: - -"It can't be Jim! Oh, no! It can't be Jim!" She was thinking of the -thief, the one who had stolen those priceless films. - -An instant later she, too, seized an axe and raced away to the defense of -her four-footed friends. - - * * * * * * * * - -The mysterious gray plane which Curlie Carson, with characteristic -promptness of decision, had resolved to follow, sailed straight away into -the east. - -Jerry, the one who sat beside him, was, Curlie thought, a strange fellow -in many ways. He was a mechanic, and a good one. Self educated, he -thought all day long of bolts and nuts, pliers, wrenches, spark plugs, -valves and all else that goes to make up an airplane motor. He was, -apparently, quite fond of his youthful pilot. His answer to any suggested -course of action was always the same, "Absolutely." - -"Will he stick in a pinch?" the boy asked himself. "If need be, will he -fight?" He believed so. - -It certainly seemed strange to be sailing away into a totally unknown -land, following an airplane that carried a captive, and who could say -what other manner of men? - -"Are they kidnappers?" he asked himself, "escaped convicts, foreign -exiles?" To these questions he could form no answer. One thing he did -know; they were robbers. They stole that which in this barren land might -mean life or death to many: gasoline. - -A thought struck him. Instinctively he slowed his plane a bit. "What if -they turn on me?" - -What, indeed? They were flying over a barren land. The land beneath them -rose in rounded ridges of solid rock. No landing there. Not a chance. -True, here and there he made out an oval of dead white which he knew to -be the frozen surface of the lake. - -"Whose plane is the faster?" This he could not know. - -"Keep plenty of distance between," he told himself. "All I can do is -locate their base. After that we can invite the red-coated Mounties to -take a hand. They'll bring the thing to an end quick enough. They say a -Mountie always gets his man, and I guess it's true." - -One fact comforted him. He had, but an hour before, taken on a good -supply of gas. Because he was traveling light, he was able to carry it -with ease. "They may be as well supplied as we are," he told himself. -"But the odds are against them. If I can force them to land, short of -gas, where there is no supply of fuel, they are done. All I have to do is -turn back for aid. We'll mop 'em up. And the mystery will be solved, and -this wild land will be free of a great menace." - -He had now thought the thing through--at least as far as his limited -knowledge would carry him. The thunder of his motor grew monotonous. His -mind turned to other things. - -"Pitchblende. Radium!" he said aloud. "What a thing to dream of!" He was -thinking of the samples entrusted to his care by Sandy MacDonald, of -Johnny's camp. "They say it gives off heat and light; that if you carry -it in a tube in your pocket it will burn you, but not the pocket. How -odd! One of nature's unsolved mysteries," he repeated. "I wonder why men -spend so much time reading of gruesome murder mysteries when nature -offers them a thousand unsolved riddles many times more interesting?" - -Once more his attention was claimed by the outlaw plane. It had changed -its course. Heading straight into the wind, it was sailing north. - -"Storm ahead," he told himself. "Sure to lose 'em unless--" There was -just one chance. "Unless they run out of gas before we reach a snow -cloud. - -"One thing sure," he told himself, "they'll not lead me into a storm. Too -dangerous. Safety first, that's the order. Can't find a landing in this -desolate white world without the light to guide you. - -"And yet--" His brow wrinkled. "Storms up here sometimes take on a -terrific velocity. What if I run into one that is faster than my plane? -No getting out then. - -"Oh, well," he philosophized, "it's a chance you take when you agree to -fly in the North, especially if you volunteer to chase an outlaw of the -air. - -"Outlaw of the air." At once his mind was rife with speculation regarding -this mystery ship. - -"From time to time," he told himself, "planes are stolen from their -hangars just as autos are taken from garages. Not very common; but it -happens. Suppose a super-criminal wishes to escape justice by fleeing -from the United States? Suppose he can employ an aviator who is a thief, -or even bribe him to carry him into this land of empty spaces? Who would -know where to look for either the man or the plane? - -"On the other hand, Russia is not far away, just across Alaska. Plenty of -gas stations on the Yukon. It's only a short quarter of an hour in a -plane across Bering Straits. Plenty of reasons why some bold Russian -aviator might be hovering about up here. Might be a voluntary exile. -Might have Russian treasure to sell, jewels, diamonds, rubies and all -that from the old days. Might be preparing to spread propaganda against -the so-called 'capitalistic nations.' - -"But then," he chuckled to himself, "a person always thinks of the most -improbable solution of a mystery first. Those fellows up ahead may be -just some rich young fellows from Canada or the United States bumming -around up here, having what they'd call 'one whale of a time' at the -expense of the rest of us. There are plenty of fellows who'd do just that -if opportunity offered. - -"And if that's the answer," he set his lips tight, "here's where I teach -them a lesson. No matter how rich a fellow is, he's bound to consider the -rights of others; and any fellow who takes gas from another's cache in a -land like this is not worthy of any consideration." - -He put out a hand. His motor thundered a little louder. - -Then a look of consternation overspread his face. - -"Jerry!" he shouted. "We're headed square into a monstrous storm!" - -"Absolutely." - -"We'd better turn back." - -"Absolutely." - -"May be too late," the young aviator told himself. "But one can only do -one's best." - -Having cut a wide circle, he looked back. The outlaw plane had vanished. -It had flown squarely into a bank of the deepest clouds. They were the -darkest gray Curlie had ever seen. And that bank was an Arctic gale at -its worst. - -"May be the end of 'em," he grumbled. And for the life of him, he could -not help feeling sorry. - -"May be the end of us, too." He took a good grip on himself. "I'll do my -level best! No one could do more." - - - - - CHAPTER IV - PITCHBLENDE - - -The fight waged at Joyce Mills' camp with the gray shadows that were -timber wolves was short and furious. A great gaunt giant of the forest, -large as a man and quick as a tiger, who had been ready the instant -before to engage in an uneven battle with Joyce's dog leader, Dannie, saw -Jim Baley approaching on the run and turned to leap at him. - -Jim was no child. Born and reared in the rough timber-grown hills of -Kentucky, he was as slim and active as a blacksnake. For him an axe was -not alone an axe. It was a weapon. - -As the gray beast leaped for his throat, he gripped the axe handle, one -hand at each end, and swung it high. It caught the wolf squarely under -the chin. That same instant Jim's heavy boot shot forward in a vicious -kick. - -With a savage snarl the beast fell groveling in the snow. Before he could -regain his feet he was dealt a blow on the head that left him quite out -of the combat. - -Seeing their leader lying motionless before them, the five wolves that -remained turned to go slinking away. - -"Cowards! Cowards!" Jim shouted. "A sorry lot, you are! Wouldn't even -attack a dog unless he's chained. You--" - -He turned to find Joyce at his side. In her hand she still gripped an -axe. - -"So you thought you'd take a hand?" he grinned. "Well, 'tain't necessary. -They've left. Right smart glad I am to see your spunk. You'll need it in -this land." - -Bending down, he scooped a handful of snow to rub it across the back of -his left hand. It came away red. - -"You're hurt!" Joyce's words came quick. - -"Nothing much. Take a heap more'n that to kill a tough timberjack like -me. Scratched me with his claws, the ornery beast!" - -"We'd better tend to it anyway." - -"All right." - -"Bounty on him," Jim added, poking his foot at the dead wolf. "Twenty -dollars or more. Right enough, too. Destroyer he is. Kills everything -from pretty white ptarmigan to the lambs people try to raise further -south." - -Back at the cook-shack Joyce bathed his wounded hand, applied iodine, -then bound it up. And all the time she was thinking to herself, "It can't -be Jim. True courage and a feeling for others, even dumb animals, does -not go with a dishonest heart." - -But if Jim had not stolen the films that had cost so much and might mean -a fortune to some one, who had? Ah, well, there was time enough to think -of that. Now she must finish preparing supper. The others would be in -very soon. - - * * * * * * * * - -In the meantime there was cause for excitement in Johnny Thompson's camp. -Scarcely had Johnny arrived when Sandy MacDonald, a bearded giant of a -prospector, came tramping in. Over his back he carried a load that would -have broken the back of a slighter man. - -"That," he declared as he dropped the sack with a heavy sigh, "is more -pitchblende. It looks better than the last." - -"Tell us more about this pitchblende," Johnny begged. - -"Pitchblende," explained Sandy, as he dropped heavily into a chair, "is -the ore from which we take uranium. - -"And from uranium we get radium." - -Radium--Johnny knew in a general way what radium was. He knew little of -its value. - -"Radium," Sandy reminded Johnny with a benevolent smile, "is at present -worth about a million dollars an ounce." - -"How--how do you get it from that stuff?" Johnny pointed at the bag. - -"It's a slow process," said the aged prospector a trifle wearily. "You -crush the ore fine, then you leach it in acid. After two or three -leachings you get a fair amount of uranium. Then you separate the radium -from other elements. And if you've a ton of ore you'll get, if you're -lucky, as much radium as you can tuck under your thumb nail." - -"That is," he went on to explain, "if it's ore as rich as has been found -thus far. Of course mineralogists are always hoping to find richer -deposits. And when some one does make the discovery, even if it's on the -North Pole, men will go after it. And the man that finds it will be rich -beyond his wildest dreams; what's more, he will be classed as one of the -world's greatest benefactors. What better could he ask?" - -"What indeed?" murmured Scott Ramsey, his young partner. - -"This stuff," said Sandy, touching the sack with his moccasined foot, -"must go where the other samples have gone, to Edmonton." - -"Be a week before the next mail plane goes south," said Johnny. - -"That just gives us time for a cup of coffee." Sandy smiled a broad -smile. "What do you say we have it now?" - -They were an interesting group. Sandy, cumbersome, hearty, powerful even -in his old age, ever a prospector, never very prosperous, he had wended -his long way across the world always in a valley of golden dreams. Scott -Ramsey, blonde-haired and still youthful, with an air of business about -him, seemed to say with every move: "This is an adventure, but it must be -more. It must be a financial success." And so it must. He had led Sandy -to invest his all, a tidy little cabin in Edmonton and a wee bank -account, in this venture. - -Johnny Thompson had been included in the party because of his familiarity -with the North. He it was who selected and managed dog teams, built camps -and purchased supplies. Joe Lee, the silent, soft-footed Chinaman, was -the cook. Johnny was all else that goes toward making a prospector's camp -a place that may be called "Home." - -So, satisfied with their lot, glorying in the abundant health God had -given them, dreaming golden dreams of the morrow, they sat down to their -meal of pilot biscuits, caribou steak, potatoes, pie and coffee with the -feeling that the world was theirs for the asking. - -One question troubled Johnny a little: the affair of the afternoon, his -talk with Joyce Mills. Should he tell his companions of it? - -After due consideration, he decided to keep silent. "Who knows but we may -have made our great strike?" he reasoned to himself. "Pitchblende, -radium. Who knows? If we win, if they lose, nothing will come of it." - -Then a thought struck him. This was to be a race for treasure. Who would -win that race? Sandy and his group, or the others? Only time would tell. - -"We must do our best." He spoke aloud without really meaning to. - -"Yes indeed!" agreed Sandy heartily. "So we must, son. And so we will!" - - * * * * * * * * - -Strange to say, at this very moment Joyce Mills sat in the small cabin -allotted to her father, dreaming dreams and thinking of the revelation -that had come to her from Johnny's lips on that very afternoon. - -"One of them is a thief," she repeated to herself. "It does not seem -possible!" And indeed it did not. Never in all her life had she come upon -young men so frank, so kind and so generous, so whole-heartedly serious -about their work, and yet so joyous, as the three who at that moment were -sending out from the other cabin, to the accompaniment of Jim's banjo, -the hilarious notes of an old backwoods song. - -"It can't be, yet it must be," she told herself. - -Then her brow clouded. If they should find gold; if those others came to -file claims, as they undoubtedly would do, there would be trouble. - -"A fight. A terrible fight," she said aloud. - -And yet, how were those others to know when a strike was made? If -necessity required, would she tell them? To this question she could form -no answer. - -"Moccasin Telegraph," she murmured. "Those were the very words Johnny -used. I wonder what he meant?" - -Having thought this thing through as far as her mind would carry her, she -allowed mental pictures of her father's three young partners to drift -before her mind's eye. Jim, tall and slim, with a Kentucky mountaineer's -drooping shoulders and drawling voice; Clyde, big and strong, a little -loud, full of fun and ready for the best or the worst of any adventure; -and Lloyd, a Canadian, quiet, soft-spoken, apparently very well educated. -These were the three. - -"And one is-- - -"No, I won't say it!" she told herself stoutly. "It may not be true. And -if it's not, I must prove it." - -Having put this subject to rest, she allowed her mind to drift back over -the days that had just passed. - -She had come all the way from Edmonton, eight hundred miles, in an -airplane, her first journey through the air. What a thrilling experience -that had been! - -As she sat there listening to the roar of the fire, its roar became the -thunder of their motor as they went racing across the landing field at -Edmonton. - -The snow had been soft and sticky that day. It clung to the airplane's -eight-foot skis. Three times they crossed that broad expanse of -whiteness. Then came a redoubled roar from the motor, and some one said: - -"Up!" - -To her surprise, she found that passing through the air was not different -from skiing across the snow. Seated beside her father, with his three -young partners reposing on a pile of canvas bags before them, she had -watched through the narrow window while the houses grew small and then -began to pass from sight. - -They appeared to be moving very slowly, yet reason told her they were -doing better than a hundred miles an hour. The city vanished, and broad -stretches of farm land lay beneath them. - -"It's not exciting at all!" she shouted in her father's ear. "Just like -riding in a bobsled." - -Yet this was not entirely true. She did experience a thrill as they -passed from the land of broad farms to the world of great silent forests -where a lonely river wound its white and silent way. - -"We are pioneers!" she whispered to herself. "Adventurers entering an -unknown land!" And so they were. When at last they landed on the white -surface of Great Slave Lake, they found themselves a full hundred miles -from the nearest settlement. And beyond them, hundreds of miles to the -north, the east, the south, was a great, white, empty wilderness. Here -there was no one. - -"What a store of wealth must be hidden yonder!" her father had exclaimed. -"There are lakes no eyes have seen. Magnificent waterfalls tumble over -rocks that may be loaded with silver, copper and platinum. Those waters -may fall on sands of yellow gold. Yet no one has heard the rush of that -water. No eyes have been gladdened by the gleam of the rainbow in its -spray." - -He had been jubilant, happy as a boy. And Joyce had been happy with him. - -Yet, even now as she thought of it, her brow wrinkled. All this was very -well. They were comfortably housed and well fed in a land of real -enchantment. Yet all this must have an end. The three young men were -financing it. There was a limit to their resources. Her father, the -expert mineralogist of the group, was to receive his pay from the profits -of the enterprise. When the strike was made they were to share alike, an -even quarter to each man. "But if there is no strike!" She shuddered. "We -must win!" she told herself, rising and walking the floor. "We must!" - -Strangely enough, at that moment in his far off camp Johnny Thompson, her -trusted pal of other days, was declaring stoutly: - -"We will win!" - -Would they? And if not both, which party would win? - - - - - CHAPTER V - RACING THE STORM - - -While Johnny Thompson with his friends in one camp and Joyce Mills with -her companions in another were seated comfortably about their fires -listening to the singing of the wind that foretold an approaching storm, -Curlie Carson, who had at one time played so important a part in their -lives and might, for all they knew, yet play a stellar role in the drama -of the North into which their lives had been cast, was passing through -one of the unique experiences of his not uneventful life. - -Having watched the gray outlaw plane lose itself in the solid bank of -clouds that was a storm bearing down upon the land of eternal ice, he -had, as we have seen, chosen the safer part and, turning, had raced away. - -He had chosen what appeared to be the safest way. In this he was -influenced by the recollection that he bore in the fusilage of his plane -the samples of pitchblende that might mean a bright future for his old -pal Johnny and his companions. But was the way he had chosen really a -safe one? He was soon enough to know. - -Even as he turned, the vast gliding monster that was a storm appeared to -reach out a shrouded arm to grasp him, as if enraged by the sight of a -victim escaping from its grasp. - -Snow-fog gathered about him. Particles of sleet rattled like bird-shot -against his fusilage. - -Setting his teeth hard, he tilted the plane upward; but all in vain. The -shrouded arm followed. - -Abandoning these tactics, he righted his plane to shoot straight away -toward the south. A hundred, a hundred and twenty-five, a hundred and -forty miles an hour he sped on. But the storm rode on his tail. It set -his struts singing. It fogged the glass before him. It set up a chill -that no insulation could keep out, no heat from the exhaust dispel. - -"I'll beat it!" he told himself grimly. "I must! It will last for hours. -No one could land safely in such a storm. And one may not stay up -forever." - -Strangely enough, even in such a time of stress his mind went on little -holidays, moments long, to wonder about many things. The "Gray Streak"? -What could have happened to her? Had she gone right on through the storm -and, coming out into the uncertain light of waning day, had she landed -safely on the frozen surface of some lake or had she cracked up? If she -had cracked up, would the wreck be discovered? If it were, what would it -reveal? Once more he thought of master criminals, of Russian exiles and -sporting young highbloods; but he found no answer. - -At other times he thought of Johnny Thompson and his problems. Johnny had -told him of the stolen films that might mean so much to the mineral -hunting world. What would come of all this? Would the thief be -discovered? Would the swift and sure punishment that belongs to this -northland be meted out to him? Would the rival camps come together at -last? And would there follow a bloody combat? For the sake of Joyce Mills -and her heroic father, he hoped not. - -So, with his mind one moment filled with the strain of battle, the next -relieved by restful speculation, he raced the storm. - -The brief Arctic day came to its close. He tried to imagine his friends -seated by their fire, but succeeded only in bringing to his own -consciousness a desire for warmth and food. - -"Better the storm than that," he told himself. At once his mind was -filled with grim pictures of the gray specter that now followed him into -the night. It was a monster spider weaving a web as great as the universe -itself and at the same time reaching out one hairy leg to seize him. It -was an octopus in a fathomless sea extending a tentacle to grasp him. - -"It will end," he told himself. "All storms have an ending." - -This, he knew to be a half truth. Arctic gales blow days and nights -through. He could not last. His supply of gas must become exhausted. And -then? Grim rocks of the "Barrens" awaited them. - -"Why did we follow them?" he thought. - -Then, for the first time in all this storm he thought of Jerry. He turned -to speak to him. To his great surprise he found him fast asleep. - -Fear seized him. Jerry might not be sleeping. The cold might have -overcome him. He prodded him vigorously. Jerry opened one eye. - -"Jerry!" he shouted. "We're in one whale of a storm!" - -"Absolutely." Jerry closed the eye and once more lay back in his corner. - -"Well," Curlie thought, "there's courage for you, and confidence aplenty. -If he believes I can bring him through safely, I can!" - -From that time on he felt fresh confidence. How else could he feel about -it when Jerry, a veteran of the flying corps of the North, could sleep -through it all? - -"And yet we are in the air. The storm is still with us. I must not grow -over-confident," he told himself grimly. - -One more resolve came to him in this hour of stress. "If that gray -phantom of the air outrides the storm, and if it is my lot to sight her -once more I shall give chase just as I did this day." - -At that he thought of the small square of white cloth with the name -D'Arcy Arden etched in one corner. - -"Who can that person be? And why a captive?" - -But again the storm claimed his attention. It had now taken the form of a -gray ghost of the night. Slowly, but surely, it was wrapping its mantle -about him. - -"Nothing to do but fly into the south," he told himself as grim -determination took possession of his soul. - -This, he found soon enough, was to prove a difficult task. The glass -before him clouded. The gray ghost's mantle was hiding him from earth and -sky. His going grew heavy. Sleet was piling, fold over fold, upon his -plane. - -"It won't be long now," he thought to himself with a groan. - -Then, with a suddenness that was startling, the gray ghost's mantle -slipped away, leaving before him a gorgeous moon riding high over an -earth that seemed to sleep. - -"Peace!" he said. "This is a place of peace." Then realizing how strange -that remark would seem to one who heard it, he laughed aloud. - -To one who first flies over the Arctic wastes of the far Northwest, the -landscape seems as unmarked as the sweeping blue of a landless sea. No -cities, no villages, no roads, no railways, no farmhouses, not so much as -a cabin is there to guide him in his skyway wanderings. As time passes, -as he flies the same route again and again, that which lies beneath him -becomes familiar. There is the river. Here it forms as an S. There it -winds like a serpent. Here it is thickly bordered by trees, there lined -only by low-growing willows. There are the lakes. Here four of them form -the eyes, nose and mouth of a human face. Here a single large lake with a -broad river entering at a narrow end resembles an elephant with a -prodigiously long trunk. A hundred forms two thousand feet below mark the -lone birdman's way until at last he knows his route as the plowman knows -his homeward road, the seaman his shore or the Red Man his trail. - -It was even so with Curlie. He had not traveled the northern route long, -but certain spots had become well marked by his keen eye. - -"Jerry!" he shouted aloud. "Jerry! We have won!" - -"Absolutely," Jerry agreed sleepily. - -"Sure we have! Look! We have outridden the storm. And see! There are the -circles of willows that border Lake Athabaska. And away over yonder is a -feeble light. That's at Fort Chipewyan. Be there in twenty minutes!" - -"Absolutely." Jerry straightened up in his place. - -"Pork chops at the Chink's, Jerry," the boy went on. "Pork chops with -fried potatoes and coffee and half an apple pie. What say?" - -"Absolutely, son. Absolutely." - -"And after that, old sleepy head, you'll work three hours on the motors." - -"Absolutely, son! Make it four! Can't be too sure about the blasted -motor. You really can't." - -As the skis bumped, and then bumped again on the icy surface that was the -landing field at Fort Chipewyan, Curlie's eyes strayed toward the golden -moon as a voice seemed to whisper: "Somewhere beyond the sky there is a -power that guides and guards our ways." - -All of which has nothing whatever to do with the manner in which he and -Jerry stowed away the Chinaman's pork chops and fried potatoes while Sam -Kusik, the Russian Jew trader, and Tommy Wooden, the postmaster of this -far-flung outpost, plied them with questions regarding the radium strike -that had been reported, and the gray outlaw plane that had stirred wild -rumors in many quarters. - -"We saw the plane." Curlie laughed at their surprise and awe. "We chased -it into a storm. Did it crack up? Who knows? I doubt it. No such luck. An -honest man meets misfortune many times; a rogue but once, and that when -his time comes. Their time will come. And we'll do what we can to hasten -it. What say, Jerry?" - -"Absolutely." Jerry gulped down a draught of hot coffee. "Absolutely, -son. Absolutely." - - - - - CHAPTER VI - A SHOT IN THE NIGHT - - -The storm, which had so successfully defeated Curlie Carson in his effort -to follow the outlaw of the air, was but a narrow finger reaching out -from the vast, wind-blown ice pack that is the Arctic Sea. It did not -extend as far to the west as the spot on Great Slave Lake on which the -cabin occupied by Joyce Mills and her father was located. So it happened -that even while Curlie raced the storm for his very life, Joyce sat -comfortably by the great barrel of a stove that radiated heat aplenty and -dreamed of other days when she, with her friends, Johnny Thompson and -Curlie Carson and the young detective, Drew Lane, were engaged in deeds -of adventure. - -"I only wish Drew were here now!" she sighed. "He would help me solve -this mystery of the stolen films." - -That the films were to prove of inestimable value in the task of hunting -out rich mineral-bearing ore, she did not for a moment doubt. Only that -evening as he sat poring over the pictures of some rocks laid bare by -wind and rain, her father had told her with the greatest enthusiasm that -he had on that very day successfully located the spot marked on the -pictures and that it gave every promise of being a lead to rich -ore-bearing rock. - -"Only think!" he had exclaimed. "When I was a young man, when we went -over the Yukon Trail, we carried all we would need for two years, on our -backs and on sleds. And no dogs, mind you! Not a dog! - -"And when we arrived in the North all that vast, uncharted wilderness was -before us. We had not a single lead. Little wonder that we returned after -two years of terrible privation, empty-handed and heavy-hearted. - -"And now look!" He patted the pictures lovingly. "The airplanes give us -these. We have only to study them and follow their indications. - -"Not alone that, but the airplane carries us a thousand miles far above -impassable trails and leaves us with picks, shovels, and food in -abundance to work out our own salvation. Is it not all very wonderful?" - -Ah, yes, it was wonderful. Yet this conscientious girl, as she sat by the -fire thinking things through, was distinctly unhappy. - -"If only we had come into possession of the pictures in an honorable -manner!" she thought, with a sigh. - -"Why don't I confide in one of father's partners?" she asked herself. -"But which one?" - -That indeed was the question. Going at it in blind fashion, as she must, -she would with the usual bad luck of such a venture, ask advice of the -very one who had stolen the films. - -"And he would only lead me away on a false scent," she told herself. "No, -no! I shall say nothing. Watchful waiting, that's the thing." With that -she sprang to her feet. She felt in need of a touch of the cold night -air. Its tingle sent her blood racing. Beneath the stars she could think -clearly. - -She had ever been a person of action, had this slim, dark-haired girl. In -college it had been basketball, tennis and hockey. Here she was limited -to following-the dog team and taking long walks by herself. Drawing on -her parka and seizing a stout stick, she marched away into the moonlight. - -"How still it is!" she said to herself. "And how wonderful! The moon and -the stars seem near. God seems near. It is good to be alone with Him." - -So, sometimes communing with herself and sometimes with the stars, she -wandered farther than she intended. - -She had rounded a clump of spruce trees when suddenly the silence was -broken by a terrific snort, and a great dark bulk came charging down upon -her from the hill above. - -Now her gymnasium training, together with the cool nerve inherited from -her father, stood her in good stead. Leaping to a tree, she seized the -lowest branch and swung herself up. - -Not a second too soon. The irate monster passed directly beneath her. - -As he passed, she fancied she smelled fire, shot from his nostrils. "What -creature in these wilds could be like that?" she asked herself. "He's not -a bear, nor a moose. He's too large for any other creature." - -Here, surely, was a conundrum. It was not long in solving. As the -creature turned about for one more vain charge she saw him clearly in the -moonlight. - -"A buffalo!" she exclaimed. "A buffalo in this frozen land! How--how -impossible!" That he was indeed a buffalo and a very real one, the beast -proceeded to demonstrate by pawing and bellowing beneath her tree. - -"He'll keep me here all night. I'll freeze!" she thought, half in -despair. "This morning it was forty below, and to-night it is just as -cold." - -At last, taking a stronger grip on her nerves, she climbed a little -higher, selected a stout branch and settled down upon it to think things -through. - -She was, she knew, more than a mile from camp. No amount of calling would -bring aid. In time her father would miss her and there would be a search. -But in the North people remain up at all hours. Her friends might not -think of retiring for three hours. Her time was her own. They would not -think it strange that she was not there. - -"In the meantime I shall freeze," she told herself. In spite of her best -efforts at self-control, a touch of the tragic crept into her voice. -Already her feet, clad only in wool stockings and moose-hide moccasins, -were beginning to feel uncomfortable. - -"Stop feeling after a while." She shuddered. "Then they will be frozen. - -"Moccasin Telegraph," she murmured. "If Johnny had told me his secret -perhaps I could now flash a message to our camp." - -In the meantime the buffalo, having ceased roaring and pawing, had -settled down to what promised to be a long wait. With head hanging low, -he appeared to fall fast asleep. - -"Shamming," she whispered. - -But was he? Everyone knows that four-footed creatures often sleep -standing up. - -Joyce was not a person of great patience. She was all for action. - -"I won't freeze!" she declared stoutly. "I'll jump down and try to -out-dodge him. I'll take to the trees." - -Having resolved on this, she studied possible landing spots. In the end -she chose, one might think, the most perilous of all. - -"I'll climb up a little higher, and then I'll drop square on his back. -He'll be so startled he'll run away." - -No sooner resolved than done. From a perch ten feet above, she suddenly -descended upon the buffalo's back. - -The result exceeded her expectations. The great beast lurched forward, it -seemed, the very second she landed. She was pitched backward and landed -full length in the snow. - -Her landing place was soft, a bank of snow blown in among the branches of -a fallen tree. She was not injured. The breath had been knocked from her; -that was all. And this was fortunate. It gave her time to think. - -Having thought, she lay quite still. She was, she believed, quite covered -with snow. The buffalo, who was snorting and bellowing in an alarming -fashion, would find her only by stepping on her. - -"The branches will keep him back. I am safe." She whispered, scarcely -daring to breathe. - -A moment passed; another and another. Still the snorting and roaring -continued. - -Then a curious thing happened. A rifle shot rang out in the night. The -buffalo went crashing away through the bush. Then followed a silence. - -"A rifle," she whispered to herself. "There is no rifle in our camp." - -She was delivered from one peril, only to be threatened by another. She -was far from camp, and there were strangers about. - -Five minutes more she lay there. Then, feeling the drowsy sleep of the -North coming upon her, she cast aside the snow, to leap to her feet and -go speeding away toward the camp. - -Ten minutes later she burst into camp, exclaiming: - -"A buffalo treed me! I jumped on his back. A stranger shot at him." - -Such a speech called for an explanation. It was given over a hot cup of -chocolate. - -"Oh, yes, there are buffaloes up here," Jim drawled in the middle of the -talk. "Right smart of 'em. Woods-buffaloes, they are. There's a preserve -down south of here. Feller at Fort Chipewyan told me about 'em. He was -what they call a buffalo ranger. They're protected, these buffaloes. You -can't shoot 'em. Probably this one was a cranky old boy who couldn't -stand his relatives." - -"He couldn't stand me, either," Joyce laughed. "Here's hoping I never see -him again." - -Vain hope! - -"But the man? The rifle?" - -"Probably some Indian," replied her father. "We'll look into that in the -morning." - -They did not. A short, fierce wind-storm that night blotted out all -evidence of the girl's adventure. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - THE WINGED MESSENGER - - -Curlie and Jerry were away with the dawn. As they rose from the -glistening white of the landing field to the transparent blue of the sky, -Curlie's heart sang with joy. It was great, this rising aloft to greet -the sun. With a safe landing place, the frozen river, ever beneath him, -with a dependable mechanic beside him and the long, long lane of air -before him, who could ask for more? Once Curlie did wrinkle his brow. He -was thinking of the mysterious gray ship he had followed into the storm. - -"If that keeps up," he told himself, "the sky will no more be safe. It -will be full of lurking dangers as was the Spanish Main when pirates and -buccaneers lurked in every cove." - -With all his thinking he could not solve the mystery of the nameless and -numberless plane. Instead, from out the air there leaped a fresh mystery. -A simple thing in the beginning it was too--only a bird in flight. - -Birds are common enough in the Arctic. Even in mid-winter ravens croak -from the tree-tops, pelicans stand upon icy rocks watching for fish and -screaming jays cut a path of blue across the wintry sky. - -But this bird was neither raven, pelican nor jay. Curlie knew that at a -glance. Having long watched the flight of birds, he could distinguish the -darting course of one, the soaring flight of another and the steady -flap-flap of a third. This bird, he knew at a glance, was a pigeon. - -"A pigeon in such a place!" He fairly gasped with astonishment. - -Then a thought struck him squarely between the eyes. "It's a -carrier-pigeon! Here may be a clue. I'll follow him." - -Fortunately the course taken by the bird was almost the same as that he -must follow to reach his next stopping place, Fort McMurray, the -headquarters of steel. At this place he would unload his cargo of furs -and mineral samples entrusted to his care, then wire for further orders. - -"Who would turn a pigeon loose in this bleak land?" he asked himself. -"Only some one in desperate circumstances or a man without a heart." At -once he thought of the mysterious one who piloted the strange gray plane. - -"He's heartless enough," he assured himself. "Holding some one, a woman -or a boy, captive! He'd do anything. There'll be a message tied to the -bird's foot. I'm sure of that. All I have to do is follow him to his -destination. Might bump right into the man's confederates. Then the -mystery would be solved at once." - -But what was the bird's destination? How was Curlie to know that? "It may -be Edmonton; probably is," he told himself hopelessly. "I can't follow -him there, not just now. Already I am hours behind my schedule. Little -more and I'll be joining the ranks of the unemployed." - -Even as he said this, as if to make an end to this dilemma, the pigeon -wavered in his flight, sank earthward, and began to circle. - -"Going to alight," Curlie shouted to Jerry. - -"Absolutely." - -"I'm going to land with him. There's a cabin down there by the river. -Seen it many times. Who lives there?" - -"Don't know." - -"May be a partner to that man of the 'Gray Streak.'" - -"Absolutely." - -"We'll see about it." - -"Absolutely, son. Absolutely." - -Graceful as the bird itself, the plane sank lower and lower, went bump, -bump, bump three times, and glided away on an unmarked field of -glistening snow. - -Ten minutes after this landing they were approaching the cabin. The -carrier pigeon was nowhere to be seen. - -Had it not been for three dogs skulking at the back of the cabin, and a -few fresh moccasin tracks in the snow before the door, the place would -have seemed deserted. - -"Strange the fellow don't come out to meet us," Curlie grumbled, as no -one appeared to greet them. - -It _was_ strange. In the North the airplane has come to be what coastwise -steamers are to fishing villages along a rockbound coast, or the -slow-going local passenger train is to mountain towns. It brings the -mail, reports news of the outside world, and delivers such necessities as -the land itself does not supply. At the first sound of drumming motors -the cabin dwellers flock forth to greet their soaring friend. - -Not so, here. The place was as still as it might have been had its last -occupant passed away. - -Curlie knocked loudly on the door. No response. He knocked again, more -loudly. - -"Asleep or drunk," he muttered. He gave the door a lusty kick. It flew -open. At the same instant a short, scrawny, red-faced man sprang from a -bunk in the corner. - -"Sorry," apologized Curlie. "A pigeon soared down here. Seen it?" - -"And if I have?" The man's tone was defiant. - -"We want to see it." - -"Your pigeon, I suppose? Flyin' 'ere in this 'ere blasted frozen -wilderness." The man took a step backward toward the corner. A heavy -rifle rested there. - -Jerry might be slow at times. Not always. - -"As you are!" he commanded. At the same time his hand dropped to his hip. - -A queer, cowed look came over the cabin-dweller's face. - -"Oh, all right. 'Ave your own way!" he grumbled. "W'at d' y' want?" - -"The pigeon." - -The man's face worked strangely. He was like a man about to go into a -convulsion. Reading these signs of distress, Curlie spoke more gently. - -"We think he carried a message. We--" - -"You think!" the little man broke in. "I know. He does! An' 'at message -you'll 'ave, an' welcome! But not 'im!" - -"All right. The message," agreed Curlie. - -The little man disappeared into a narrow room at the back, only to -reappear with a small billet enclosed in thin oil-cloth. - -"There, y' 'ave it!" He seemed greatly relieved. "There's the message!" - -With trembling fingers, Curlie unrolled the bit of cloth. He spread the -message on the table and dropped into a chair before it. - -For a long time he sat staring at it; yet it would not have required a -mind-reader to tell that he made nothing of it. And indeed, how could he? -The message, more than a hundred words long, was so written that not one -word made any manner of sense with any other that preceded or followed -it. - -"That," he said to Jerry, "is worse than a cross-word puzzle. - -"The worst of it is," he added after a moment's contemplation, "we don't -know who sent it, nor whether we have the least right to interfere with -it. - -"You see," he explained, "there are Government posts right up to the -shore of the Arctic. The heads of the posts may be trying pigeons as -messengers. Then, too, some lone trapper may have carried that bird a -thousand miles into the wilderness with the intention of using him in -case of distress. This may be a distress message." - -"Written in code?" Jerry lifted his eyebrows. - -"Don't seem probable. But the Government message would be in code. - -"I think," Curlie added after further thought, "that we'll make a copy of -it and send the bird on his way." - -"How do you know you will?" The cabin-dweller was again on his feet. -There was a dangerous glint in his eye. - -Curlie tried in vain to read the meaning in his expression. Was he, after -all, a confederate of those outlaws who had taken to riding the sky in a -plane fueled at another's expense? - -"I believe you are in with them!" he exclaimed angrily. - -"What d' y' mean, in with 'em?" the little man demanded hotly. - -"The 'Gray Streak,' outlaw of the air." - -Instantly the look on the man's face changed. "Before Gawd, I know less -'n you about this 'ere ghost of the air!" - -"Then," said Curlie, as his face cleared, "here is the message. It's up -to you. The bird came to your cabin, not to ours." - -He handed over the carefully wrapped billet, arose and led the way out of -the cabin. He then climbed into the plane with Jerry following, turned -his motor over, set it throbbing, and flew away. - -If Jerry marveled at all this, he ventured not one question. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - WHITE FOXES - - -One feature of the North fascinated Joyce Mills more than any other--the -dog teams. Her outfit had engaged two of these teams at Fort Resolution. -Wonderful dogs they were, too. Long, rangy, muscular fellows, they stood -to her waist. And how they could travel! - -"All right, boys! Mush!" she would cry. And away they would fly. - -On days when one of these teams was not in use, she would go for a long -drive into the great unknown. It made little difference what direction -she took, for all this world about her was new. - -Often, because the dogs traveled best when following a scent, she allowed -them to choose their own course. Invariably they took up some trail. At -times it was only the tracks of a man on skis or snowshoes, at others it -was the mark of some dog sled. Whatever it might be, though the trail was -windblown and three days old, they followed it with unerring steps. - -On the day when Curlie Carson took up the flight of the pigeon, she -started on one of these dog team jaunts. Once more she allowed the team -to take its course. This day the leader chose the tracks of a man on -snowshoes. - -"One of our men," she told herself. "Be just time to come up with him -before sunset. He'll enjoy a ride home." - -As we have said, Joyce was no weakling. While training her mind, she had -developed her body as well. This day she rode only a part of the way. - -Trotting after a dog team rouses the drowsy blood and sends it coursing -through the veins. It stimulates thoughts. This girl's thoughts on that -day were long, long thoughts. At times she dreamed of gold, placer gold, -great moose-hide sacks bulging with nuggets. She knew that Lloyd, the -young Canadian of their outfit, had studied the aerial photographs that -were taken a hundred miles from the camp, and then had gone into a brown -study. - -"Looks like quartz, gold, up there," she had heard him murmur. "Why not -placer gold in the streams farther down?" He had disappeared on a strange -mission early next morning. When he returned late that evening, if he had -anything to report he had made no mention of it. A strange, silent -fellow, this Canadian. - -"Gold," she said aloud. "Gold. What will it not buy? Comfort; ease; -education; a home. Some even believe it will buy friends. But not true -friends, I am sure of that." - -Gold! Would they find it? And if they did, what then? A frown gathered -like a storm cloud on her brow. She had thought again of Johnny's strange -revelation. "One of your men is a thief," she seemed to hear him say. - -"I'll find the thief!" she told herself with renewed determination. - -"But if we make a rich strike before I find him?" She shuddered at -thought of the terrible possibilities involved. - -Then, shaking herself free from all these brooding thoughts, she shouted: -"_Ye! Ye! Ye!_" to send her dogs spinning away at a reckless speed. - -Since the land here was rocky and uneven, this resulted in a spill. -Coming to the top of a ridge, the dogs rushed pell mell down the other -side and landed all in a heap in a bunch of willows at the bottom. - -Joyce was recovering from this spill and her dogs were sitting about her -grinning when upon looking up she beheld, not ten paces away, the man she -had been following. - -She caught her breath in surprise. He was not Jim, nor Clyde, nor Lloyd. -Nor was it her father. It was a man she had never seen before. - -"Where did you come from?" she wanted to ask, but did not. It gave her a -shock to know that she had taken up this man's trail not half a mile from -her cabin and, having followed him for miles, was now alone with him in -the great white world. - -He was strange, too, and had, she thought, an evil face. "But I must not -judge too soon," she told herself. - -The man was short with broad shoulders. He had a dark face that might be -French, Indian or half-breed. - -"Hello!" he said rather gruffly. "You follow? What want?" - -She looked at him, nonplussed. What indeed did she want? Nothing. - -She told him so. Plainly he did not believe her. - -"My name," he said stolidly, "Pierre Andres. Trapper, me." He jingled a -bundle of traps hanging from his arm. "You want white fox skin? All -right. I geeve heem you." - -"No! No!" she persisted stoutly. "I want nothing. I am looking for some -one." - -"Some one look for gold." He placed a hand above his eyes. "Allee time -look. No find. Eh?" He tried to smile, and his face became uglier than -before. "Oh, you find. Bye and bye. Not know mine." He chuckled deep down -in his throat. - -"See! Look!" he exclaimed suddenly. He made a motion as if to drop on all -fours. "Buffalo." He sent out a curious snort. "You!" He made a face. -"'Fraid, you. Up tree. Then, boom! Buffalo gone! Is it not so? - -"And now I gotta say good-bye." - -"Good--good-bye." The words stuck in her throat. Speaking to her dogs, -she sent them spinning back over the trail. - -Her mind was in a whirl. Who was this man? What had he been doing about -their camp? Had he been near when she was treed by the buffalo? Had he -fired that shot? - -She thought, of his traps. "Hope he hasn't set any near our cabin." - -Only the night before, while out for a stroll in the moonlight, she had -made a delightful discovery. Three beautiful white foxes had their home -beneath the cliff back of their cabin. She had surprised them at their -play. She did not want one of their skins for a decoration. - -But now, while she was wondering whether this man had any connection with -Johnny's half-mythical Moccasin Telegraph, her dogs suddenly took a turn -to the right, speeding away on a fresh trail. - -Seeing that this trail, cutting her old one at an acute angle, led toward -camp and hoping once more that it might lead her to one of her party, she -allowed the dogs to pick their own way. - -This time she was not disappointed. They had not gone half a mile before -she sighted, standing out dark against the sky, a lone figure at the -crest of a ridge. - -"It's Lloyd Hill," she told herself with a thrill of joy. She had -recognized him on the instant. His was a military bearing not often found -in the North. At this moment he stood rigidly erect, looking away toward -the west as a commanding general might while surveying some vast smoking -battlefield. - -She was obliged to cross a narrow valley to reach him. This gave her time -for reflection. Lloyd Hill was not like the other men of her camp. He was -more reserved. He was, as her father expressed it, "a good listener." He -talked little. When he did speak his English was perfect. Jim spoke with -the mellow drawl of the southern mountains; Clyde with the breezy tongue -of the west. Lloyd impressed her as coming from a fine family; yet he -never spoke of his family. A silent, rather slender, dark-eyed fellow, he -was ever alert, yet never in a hurry. - -"Always seems to be all there," her father had said. "But how tense he -is. If you fired off a gun when he wasn't looking, he'd jump three feet -from the ground!" This was more true than he knew, and for good reasons. - -With these thoughts passing through her mind and with one half-asked -question lurking back of all, "Who stole those films for the pictures we -are using?" she crossed the intervening space to climb the ridge. - -All this time, though she was sure he knew she was coming, he did not so -much as turn his head. Only when she had reached his side did he speak. -With one arm outstretched he said: - -"Do you see that?" - -"See what?" She turned a puzzled face up to his. "I see the frozen bed of -a stream. There are rapids and a waterfall over there, too swift to -freeze. And I think I see a pelican waiting for a fish." - -"But off to the right?" - -"Hills, rocks, snow." - -"Ah, yes. But once that stream flowed there. If you look closely you will -see that the narrow banks of a rapid stream are still suggested there. -Yes, that's where it ran." - -"What changed its course?" - -He shrugged. "Jam of logs and drifting ice in the spring, perhaps. -Anyway, it happened. See this." - -He dropped something in her hand. It was a fine yellow crescent. - -"That," he said with a sudden intake of breath, "is gold. Free gold, they -call it. Found it many miles up from here in the rocks. Gold up there. -But not enough for quartz mining. Too far from everywhere. - -"But that," he pointed again to the ancient bed of the stream, "looks -promising. There are rapids and falls in it, just as there are in this -new channel. And at the foot of the falls there may be golden sands, worn -away from the rocks and carried down there." - -He broke off abruptly. "Jump in! Let's get back to camp." - -On the return journey she insisted upon his riding part of the way. -Scarcely a word was said during all that long twilight ride. She liked -him all the better for this. - -"I wonder if there really could be gold?" she thought to herself. "Much -gold. Anyway, the ground is frozen. How could he prospect there now?" - -As if reading her thoughts, he said: - -"There's a steam-thawer over at Fort Resolution. The doctor's got a -tractor. We could haul it over and thaw that ground out in a hurry." - -To the girl's great surprise, during the evening he said nothing to his -partners about this recent discovery. "I wonder why?" she said to -herself. "Well, since he does not speak of it, neither shall I." - -"Punch Dickinson will be dropping down here with the plane to-morrow -morning," Clyde Hawke said. "I asked him to come when I saw him last." - -"That's right!" Lloyd Hill leaped from his chair. "Just in time. I'll -ride over with him." All eyes were turned on him for an explanation. - -"Found some encouraging dirt back in the hills," he said simply. "Need a -thawer. One there. I'll bring it over." - -If they expected more details they did not get them. - -"Since you're going," Newton Mills said after a moment, as he dragged a -bag from a corner, "you might take this along and see what you can do -about getting it down to Edmonton for an analysis." - -"What is it?" Jim asked. - -"Pitchblende." - -"Pitchblende, radio-active rock. Last price quoted on radium was a -million dollars an ounce," Jim drawled. "Be great if we'd discover a -pound or two laying around loose up here somewhere!" - -"Wouldn't it!" laughed Clyde. - -Though she understood little of this talk and was unable to tell what was -said in jest and what in earnest, Joyce was thrilled by this new -discovery. - -"It will go to Edmonton," she told herself. "Be some time before we can -get the report, know the truth. In the meantime we may dream, and half -the joy of life comes from dreaming." - -Before retiring she slipped on her faun-skin parka and stole out into the -crisp air of night. She climbed the ridge that lay between their camp and -the rocky cliff. Then she turned to look back. - -She caught her breath. How wonderful it was! The moon, a ball of pale -gold, hung high overhead. The whole empty white world, clean as fresh -laundered linen, lay before her. - -But she had not come for this. Creeping farther up the ridge where some -scrub spruce trees grew, she moved stealthily forward into the shadows, -at last parting the branches noiselessly and looking into the space -beyond. - -"Ah, yes," she breathed, "there they are." - -Three white foxes, two old ones and one half-grown cub, were sporting in -the moonlight. How beautiful they were! And how they did romp! "No -kittens could be half as cute," she told herself. - -Now they formed a circle and chased one another's tails round and round. -Now they piled into a heap and rolled about like balls of snow. And now, -sitting in a row like choir boys, they sang their night song. - -"_Yap--yap--yap!_" - -In the midst of this Joyce thought of the stranger she had followed that -day, and shuddered, she hardly knew why. - -All this was forgotten as, half an hour later, she crept beneath her -downy feather robe and fell asleep, dreaming dreams in which gold and -radium were sadly mixed with Indians and traps, white foxes, wild -buffaloes and moonlit night. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - EAGLE EYES - - -There are some who believe that, should one be so fortunate as to reach -Edmonton in Alberta, Canada, he would be at an outpost of civilization. -Nothing could be more false. Edmonton is not an outpost. It is a city. - -There are those again who believe that all cities are alike. They, too, -are mistaken. The city of Edmonton is not like any other city in the -world. - -No one knew this better than Curlie Carson. He was not a stranger to -other cities. Chicago, New York City he knew. Belize, in British -Honduras, had seen him on her streets. Paris he loved for her beauty. Yet -none of these thrilled him more than did Edmonton. On his days off, -between flights, nothing suited him quite so well as sitting in the -narrow lobby of his own hotel, the old Prince George, listening to the -scraps of conversation that drifted unbidden to his ears. For, while not -an outpost, Edmonton is the gateway to a thousand outposts. All the vast -Northwest lies beyond it. - -And down from this Northwest, even in these conventional days when all -men appear to think alike, talk alike, and dress alike, men still drift -into Edmonton who are unique. They dress in strange ways and speak of -affairs that are far from the minds of the commonplace men of the street. - -They drift into Edmonton, and then an invisible bond draws them one and -all to the Prince George. There in the lobby they sit and talk of timber -drives along some unknown river, of mineral in the Rockies, of musk ox, -of reindeer on the tundra, of fish in Great Slave and Great Bear Lakes, -of fur from the far flung barrens, of petroleum and of tar-sands, of gold -outcroppings, and a hundred other curious industries and discoveries. - -"The thrill one gets from it!" Curlie said to Jerry that evening, after -they had followed the carrier pigeon to the lone cabin and had left it -there, to continue their flight to McMurray and then to Edmonton. "The -thrill comes from knowing that every man of them is sure that he is going -to make his fortune at once, or at least after the break-up in the -spring." - -"That," said Jerry, "is the pioneer spirit. It is not dead. It still -lives here." - -"Yes!" exclaimed Curlie. "And I am glad it does! How wonderful it is to -live in a land where men still dream!" - -"Ah, yes." Jerry settled back and closed his eyes as if he, too, would -dream. - -Curlie was in no mood for dreaming. The incident of the carrier pigeon -was too fresh in his mind for that. - -Drawing a slip of paper from his pocket, he began studying it. "I'd give -a pretty penny to be able to read it," he grumbled to himself after a -time. He was looking at his copy of the code message he had taken from -the carrier pigeon. So absorbed did he become that he did not notice that -a tall, dark-haired man moved across the room to take a chair directly -behind him. The man had small, piercing eyes. He wore no beard, yet the -very blueness of his chin suggested that he might recently have had a -beard. His eyes, as they fell upon the paper in Curlie's hand, became -strangely fixed. - -Curlie did not read the message. Indeed, as we have said, since no two -words of it made sense as they stood, how could he? It was one of those -messages that impart information only after they are rearranged. It is -possible that every fifth word, plucked from the rest and set in order, -would make a sentence. Then again, it might be every third or every sixth -word. Or perhaps the first and fourth, then the fifth and eighth words -might be combined with the ninth and twelfth, and so on. The thing had so -many possibilities that Curlie gave it up very soon and, folding the -paper, put it back into his pocket. - -Perhaps this was just as well, for the man of the eagle eye, if one were -to judge by the tense look on his face, even from his point of -disadvantage was making progress at deciphering the message. - -"Curlie," said Jerry starting up from his reverie, "why did you allow -that little fellow back in the cabin to keep the carrier pigeon?" - -"I--I don't know." Curlie seemed confused. - -"What? You do a thing and don't know the reason?" - -"Sometimes I do." Curlie spoke slowly. "There are times when I seem to be -guided by instinct, or shall we say led by a spirit that is not myself, -that is higher and wiser than I. At least," he half apologized, "I like -to think of it that way. Probably it's all wrong. - -"But I say, Jerry!" He sat up quickly. The eagle-eyed one started -suddenly, then rising, glided silently away. "I say, Jerry old boy, that -chap in the cabin was a world war veteran. A real one from Canada, or -perhaps Ireland. He's one of those scrawny little fellows so small and so -quick that a shell couldn't get them, nor a bullet either. Served through -it all, then came back here to live on the birds and fish he can get with -a light rifle and a gill-net. You can't be rough with a chap like that, -you really can't." - -"No," murmured Jerry. "Not even if he committed murder. But, Curlie, do -you think he's in with the crowd that's flying wild up here and burning -up our gas?" - -"That," said Curlie, "remains to be found out." - -"But, Jerry!" He leaned far forward. "There's something about that little -trapper and the carrier pigeon that we don't know. I'm going to keep an -eye on that little fellow and his cabin. There's something worth knowing -there. And in the end I'll know it." - - - - - CHAPTER X - THE VOICE OF THE WILDERNESS - - -Strange to say, at about the time Curlie and Jerry spoke of the pigeon -that seemed so out of place in this frozen land, others in the cabin on -the shore of far-off Great Slave Lake were speaking of this same bird. -This did not come to pass, however, until a certain mysterious -individual, seated beside the fire in Johnny Thompson's cabin, had -maintained complete silence for the space of two full hours. This person, -who had the straight black hair of an Indian and the sharp, hawk-like -features of a certain type of white man, was known far and wide as "The -Voice of the Wilderness," or more briefly as "The Voice." The Voice spoke -only when the Spirit moved him. And woe be to that one who attempted to -break in upon his periods of silence. - -Johnny knew him. Sandy MacDonald knew him. They knew his ways; knew, too, -that at times he was able to render valuable service to those who -respected his silence. - -When, therefore, as the twilight faded, he appeared at their door, they -greeted him with a hearty "B'Jo" (a corruption of the French _bon jour_), -made a place for him by the fire, poured him a cup of black coffee, and -left him to his silence. - -That did not mean, however, that the others might not speak. On this -night it was Sandy MacDonald who talked. And when Sandy elected to speak -something was said, for Sandy was wise in many lores and was no mean -philosopher besides. - -Appearing to sense the fact that The Voice there in the corner would -maintain a long silence, he drew on his fur parka and invited Johnny to -join him in a stroll in the moonlight along the shore before the cabin. -As they walked along the snow-whitened shores at a spot where, other than -themselves, no one lived, he said as a look of contentment overspread his -face: - -"Johnny, for me this is the place of peace." - -"This place?" Johnny looked at him in surprise. - -"Yes. I have been here before. Must have been ten years back. I was -prospecting then with a pack on my back. No, I didn't build the cabin. -Some other dreamer had been here before me. - -"It was late winter when I arrived. I lingered through spring and summer. -Why? I couldn't tell you that. Perhaps I was getting acquainted with -nature and with God. - -"You know, Johnny," his voice was low and mellow, "for each of us there -is a place of peace. Once there was a man who was asked to define peace. -He led the one who asked to a waterfall. There in bubbling, tumbling -confusion a tumultuous cataract made its way to the rocks below. - -"'Peace!' his friend cried. 'Do you call this peace?' - -"'No,' replied the philosopher, 'Not this. But look! Above the falls, -poised over that rushing confusion, swaying there on a slender branch, is -a tiny bird. And if you will watch closely, though because of the -thundering waters you cannot hear him, you will see that he is singing -his little song to the tune of the rushing water. He has found peace.' - -"And so it was for him," the aged prospector added, after looking away at -the stars. "There are men like that, thousands of them. Go into some -great steel mill where is constant din and confusion. Look far up to a -narrow cage. A man stands manipulating levers. Climb up there and ask -him: 'Where is your place of peace?' - -"If he knows the answer it will be: 'Here.' - -"You'll find the same thing in a great city, Johnny. Go into some -department store where the rush is greatest; in the wheat pit where men -are shouting loudest; it's all the same. You'll find men there who'll -say: 'This is the place of peace.' - -"But for me--" His tone dropped once more. "As for me, this is the place -of peace. Do you know that at the back of the cabin only a few low trees -grow?" - -Johnny nodded. - -"It's no clearing. No axe has been put to any tree. When God and the -birds planted these low forests they left this place for me. - -"Spring and summer," he mused, "they are marvelous here. The wild ducks -come to lay their eggs and rear their young. There's an egg or two extra -for me. There are ptarmigan in the low hills and fish aplenty. A light -rifle and a gill-net, that's all you need for living well. - -"At night you hear the bull moose calling to his mate. One stormy day you -see the caribou passing by your cabin, a line many miles long, straking -away toward the north. - -"When the notion seizes you, you drop into your canoe and paddle away. -You enter a broad bay and you say to yourself, 'There must be a -prosperous village deep in the heart of this bay. There the saw mills are -humming and the merchants are measuring out goods over the counter. There -I will find a bed and a meal such as only good Molly McGregor can -provide.' - -"But you are deceiving yourself. There is no village, no saw mill, no -store, no bed save that of spruce boughs, and no meal save that which -nature will provide. - -"In all this broad bay there is no village, nor even an inhabited cabin. -This is God's country and His alone. - -"His and mine!" he added reverently. "That is why I love it. That is why, -for me, it is the place of peace. - -"And, Johnny," he went on after a time, "sometimes I'd leave the lake and -go wandering away into the heart of the forest, following a trail not -made by man but by wild creatures of the North; moose, caribou, deer and -bear had been there. And then I, smaller than them all, walked there -unafraid. It made me feel strong, Johnny; made me think I was truly a -child of the Great Father. - -"The path was soft under my feet, all padded with moss, Johnny. The air -was cool and damp. And such a stillness as there was, until some little -bird began his faint, melodious song. - -"And then a noisy old raven who was raising his black brood in a tree -near-by would spy me. And, ah! how he would tear the air into shreds with -his senseless warning! - -"I'd hide myself away and squawk like a young raven who'd been captured. -Then I'd throw myself on my back and look up as the angry black-coated -one would come over shouting at me. I'd shout back and laugh, laugh at -him and at the sun and everything that is good and clean and new. I'd -imagine I was a boy again, Johnny, just a boy. Yes, Johnny, this is the -place of peace, the place I can call home. - -"But come!" He shook himself as if to bring himself back to the present. -"Come, let us go inside. The silence may be broken. The Voice may speak. -It will pay well to listen. Indeed it will." And once again he told the -truth. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - THE CLUE - - -The room Curlie Carson occupied while he stayed at the Prince George at -Edmonton was on the second floor. It was reached by a very narrow -elevator. There were probably stairways leading up. Curlie had never -taken the trouble to look into that. - -On this particular night, after he had tried in vain to study out the -mysterious message, he retired early. He fell asleep the moment his head -struck his pillow. - -Since it was one of those silent nights of intense cold, he left his -window open only a crack. - -Late in the night he awoke with a feeling that a sudden draft of air had -blown across his face. - -"Wind's coming up." He shuddered with cold as he crept from his bed with -the intention of shutting the window. Still not fully awake, he found -himself bewildered by the facts that presented themselves to his mind. -The wind had not risen. There was no draft. Yet the room was icy cold. - -"As if the window had been wide open," he thought. - -Throwing up the shade, he looked out. At the back of the hotel was a -narrow court and an alley. Down that alley a man was walking. He was tall -and seemed rather gaunt. - -"Probably some watchman been in for coffee," he told himself. - -Just then the man turned his head. He looked back and up. Then it seemed -to the boy that he resisted with difficulty an impulse to bolt down the -alley. - -"Been into something," Curlie decided. "None of my business, though." - -Having drawn the shade once more, he turned about and would have been -under the covers in another ten seconds had not his bare foot come into -contact with something soft and furry. - -A surprised downward glance revealed a large mitten lying close to the -window. - -"That," he whispered excitedly, "is not my mitten. No one's been here but -Jerry. It's not his either. How--" - -He broke off. Fully awake now, he was beginning to put facts together. He -had awakened with a sense of cold. The room was frigid; yet the window -was open only a crack. No gale was blowing. And now here was a mitten -belonging to no one he knew. And it lay by the window. - -"Some one has been in this room," he told himself. "He lost his mitten. -I've been robbed!" A thrill shot up his spine. "But in Edmonton of all -places! The police are speedy and successful in their work. If I've been -robbed I'll--" - -Once more he broke off. He had not been robbed; at least his most -valuable possessions, his purse and his watch, had not been taken. - -"The mystery deepens." He searched his mind for some motive and found it -at once. - -"The paper, the copy of that message taken from the pigeon!" he exclaimed -breathlessly. - -He thrust nervous fingers into his inner coat pocket. - -"Right at last. It _is_ gone! - -"And now," he thought, sitting down upon his bed, "what's next? - -"I might call the office and tell them what has happened. They would call -the police. There would be an investigation. The police would ask -questions. I had been robbed? What of? A paper? What paper? A message? -What message? How did you come by it? How indeed? And how much right had -I to copy a message taken from a carrier pigeon?" - -To this last question he could form no adequate answer. - -At once his mind was in a whirl. He was from the United States. Having -read all his life of the efficiency of the Mounted Police (and to a boy -all Canadian officers are "Mounties"), he held those officers in great -awe. - -"I'll not notify the office." He crept back into bed. "I'll handle this -affair myself." - -Holding the mitten up before him, he examined it closely. It was a large -mitten made of long-haired fur. The fur was on the outside. It was gray. -First impressions made him believe it was wolf's fur. A more careful -examination caused him to doubt it. "Some foreign fur, perhaps," he -concluded. - -"This mitten," he told himself, "is a clue. Find the other mitten in some -one's pocket. That's the man. - -"This mitten," he began enlarging on the idea, "this mitten is from -Siberia. The man is a Russian. For some reason, not known to us, he and -his friends of the flying 'Gray Streak' have entered this land by -crossing Bering Straits and Alaska. They have treasure. They are -negotiating some secret treaty. They--there's no knowing their mission. -But this is the man to find. - -"All of which," he told himself soberly a moment later, "is probably -entirely wrong. But who flies the 'Gray Streak'? Who sent that message? -Who stole my copy? These are questions I mean to answer if I can." - -At that he fell asleep. - -Next morning, somewhat to his surprise, he found the gray mitten still -lying by his bed. And the mysterious message was still missing. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - THE VOICE SPEAKS - - -The tiny clock that ticked away cheerfully in the corner of the cabin -indicated that a full hour had gone by, and Johnny and Sandy sat by the -fire awaiting the moving of the spirit that was to restore animation to -the motionless figure lumped over in the chair. - -To Johnny, who was accustomed to action and plenty of it, this seemed a -strange procedure. A bit spooky it was, too. Night lay silent over all. -Only the dull glow of a half-dead fire lighted the room. From time to -time a log, burned to glowing charcoal, would break and fall. For a -moment after, strangely grotesque shadows would dance upon the wall. Then -they, too, would lapse into inactivity. - -At last the figure in the corner stirred. A bony hand outstretched seemed -to beckon. Sandy knew the meaning of this. All the time the great coffee -pot had stood just close enough to the fire to simmer low. Now he poured -a steaming cup and passed it to the outstretched hand. - -"See!" came in a hollow, cracked voice after the cup had been drained. -"See many strange things, me." - -"Ah!" Johnny thought to himself, not daring to stir, "The oracle speaks." - -"See Devil Bird," the Voice went on. "See two Devil Birds." - -"He means airplanes," Johnny told himself. "Devil Birds belong to Indian -legends. Airplanes are like them." - -"One Devil Bird," the Voice droned on, "gray like clouds on a day of slow -rain. No marks. No, none. No white man's writing." - -"The gray outlaw," Johnny breathed. - -Sandy placed a hand on his arm for silence. - -"Other Devil Bird plenty marks," the Voice went on. "This one follow gray -like a cloud Devil Bird. Go fast. Both, very, very fast. One go. One -follow." - -"That will be Curlie chasing the 'Gray Streak.'" Johnny's lips barely -moved. "How does it end?" - -"See storm," the Voice continued. "Gray storm. Plenty wind. Plenty cold. -Plenty snow. Gray Devil Bird not stop. Lost in cloud. Other Devil Bird -turn back. Run. Run very fast. Storm follow very fast." - -Johnny sat forward, scarcely daring to breathe. - -"One hour, two hour, three, four, big race, cloud chase Devil Bird. Devil -Bird fly fast. - -"Bye-um-bye," the Voice lost his animation, "bye-um-bye all right. Fort -Chipewyan. All right." - -"Curlie is safe. But what about the 'Gray Streak'?" Johnny was about to -ask the question aloud when the pressure of Sandy's arm stopped him. - -For some time after that the Voice was silent. Sandy cast some bits of -dry sprucewood on the fire. It flared up and for a time the place was as -bright as day. When it had died down the Voice spoke again. - -"See girl, white man's girl. White man, too, much white hair. See three -white man, not too old." - -"That," thought Johnny, "will be the party who are trying to beat us in -the discovery of minerals by using the films stolen from Sandy and his -partner." He frowned. It hurt him to feel that his one-time pals, Joyce -Mills and her father, now belonged to a rival camp. That this was due to -no fault of theirs he realized clearly. - -As he closed his eyes now he seemed to see the girl, Joyce Mills, as he -had seen her on that day when, after their final battle with a great -city's crime, she had asked: - -"When do we go back?" - -They had stood then on a rickety little dock before a deserted cabin on -the shore of Lake Huron. - -How well he recalled his own answer: "We don't go back. We go on into the -silent North, perhaps. It may be that we shall find a land where men are -just and merciful and kind." - -"I said that," he told himself. As he looked back upon it now, that -remark seemed near to prophecy, for were they not now in the far North? - -"There is a destiny that shapes our ends, rough-hew them though we may," -he thought to himself. - -Ah, yes, they were in the North. Yet, how different it all was from what -he had dreamed! He had dreamed of working by her father's side, of -sharing with him and with the girl who held a central place in both their -hearts the joys and the privations of a strange new land. - -"And now this!" he thought grimly. - -But the Voice spoke once more. "See girl. See dog team. See much danger." - -Once more Johnny leaned forward. - -"See--see--" The Voice grew faint. "See dim. See not at all." - -Johnny started to his feet. Sandy pulled him back. Once more the fire -flared up, then again died away. - -"See bird." The Voice rose high. "Strange bird. Not Devil Bird. Bird, how -you say? Like raven. So big. No croaks. No black. Gray like clouds when -sun not yet up. Fly, fly fast, that bird. Fly far. Not sing, that bird. -White man keep in box. White man let him out, say: 'Fly away! Fly -straight!' Fly far, that one." - -"Must be a carrier pigeon," Johnny thought to himself. "But who would -have a pigeon in such a land?" - -Two minutes of silence. Sandy cast more tinder on the fire. The light -flared up. Johnny started and stared. The figure was no longer in the -corner. He fully expected the Voice to drone on. It did not. The Voice -had slipped silently from the room, into the night. - -A few moments later, as Johnny stood looking away at the glimmering field -of white that was the frozen lake, he murmured two words: - -"Moccasin Telegraph." Then he turned back into the house. - -And that is how it came about that Johnny and Sandy sat for an hour -before their fire telling one another all they knew about carrier pigeons -and speculating on their possible use in this frozen land. - -"I read," said Johnny, "an article in some paper telling of the manner in -which blackmailers used carrier pigeons. They sent a pigeon with a demand -for money to some wealthy man. The money was to be attached to the bird's -leg and the bird was to be freed. Detectives in airplanes tried following -the pigeons." - -"Think they could?" asked Sandy. - -"Who knows?" For a time after that they were silent. At last Sandy yawned -as he rumbled, "Time for three winks." - -Johnny did not get his three winks until he had put many thoughts of -airplanes, carrier pigeons, gold, radium and old-time friends to rest. -But at last sleep came, and before he knew it there was a new day. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - CURLIE SLEEPS ON THE RIVER - - -Time passed, as time has a way of doing. There was much to be -accomplished and Curlie Carson's slim shoulders bore their full share of -the burden. - -Always in the back of his mind as he labored one thought remained to urge -him on. He was working not for himself alone but for the glory of his -company. The men who toiled with him and those in the office in far away -Winnipeg were, he knew right well, worthy of his most loyal endeavors. - -"Loyalty. That's the great word," John Mansfield, the President of the -Company, had said to him. "Loyalty to a proper cause or a deserving group -of human beings; that is the greatest driving power this old world will -ever know." - -Curlie believed he spoke the truth. He rejoiced in the knowledge that, -come what might, his loyalty and his most earnest endeavor would never be -overlooked, discounted or disregarded. - -So Curlie worked untiringly as millions have done before and other -millions will do in the years that are to come. - -All one's life may not be spent in the unravelling of mysteries and -hunting adventure. This Curlie knew full well. His work? Was there -adventure in that? Very little. Piloting a six-passenger airplane over -the Mackenzie River route is about as exciting as driving a bus in New -York. Curlie carried a load of freight, beef, eggs, coffee, calico and a -score of other items from Fort McMurray to Fort Chipewyan. He answered an -emergency call from Resolution. A Catholic Sister was rushed to the -hospital at Edmonton. - -At Edmonton he took on two cases of eggs, a case of oranges, a package of -phonograph records, one missionary and two "Udson's Bay's Men" (as the -native Canadians call them), and sailed away straight for the shore of -the Arctic Ocean. He was there on the second day and, after a night's -sleep, was ready for the return journey. - -It was during this return journey that one or two questions that had been -puzzling him were, in a way, answered. - -At Fort Chipewyan he lay over for a few hours to await the passing of a -snowstorm. He did not tarry long enough. The storm was traveling south. -It was making but fifty miles an hour. He was doing better than a -hundred. He had not been in the air an hour when he realized that he -could not reach McMurray without running into that storm. - -"That means I can't see to land," he grumbled to himself. Jerry was not -with him. "Have to sleep on the river." - -Sleeping on the river is not as bad as it sounds. Here and there along -the river, trappers' cabins are to be found. The inhabitants of these -cabins are for the most part known to the pilots. And any weary bird-man -is sure of a hearty welcome there. The coffee pot is ever on the fire and -a pan of beans rich in bacon fat ready for warming. There is an extra -bunk in the corner to which the stranger is welcome. But, for the most -part, the pilot prefers rolling up in his eight-foot-square eiderdown -robe and sleeping on the floor of his cabin. This is what is known as -"sleeping on the river." - -It may appear strange that out of the three possible cabins on this -section of the river Curlie chose to come to earth before the one -occupied by the rough and ready little world war hermit who had in so -strange a manner defied him when a pigeon had been tracked to his window. - -"Oh, it's you, me lad!" the scrawny little man exclaimed, as Curlie -climbed from the cockpit. "Sure it's sorry vittals I be 'avin', but such -as they be, y' are welcome." - -"Ptarmigan!" exclaimed Curlie. "Nothing better than that!" A brace of -these birds hung by the cabin door. - -"And can y' eat 'em?" - -"Sure. Why not? They're fine." - -"Every man to 'is taste. Sure I've fed 'em to me dorgs until they've -grown feathers, they 'ave. But it's the birds ye shall 'ave, roasted with -bacon fat fer seasonin'." - -Curlie could not complain of his birds, nor of the coffee he drank. - -"That," he said, "is the best coffee I've had for a month!" - -"An' I wouldn't doubt it!" exclaimed the little man. "Learned 'ow t' brew -it from a bloomin' Australian bushman in th' bloody war; right in th' -trenches. - -"Ye see," he went on, warmed by his own beverage and cheered by kind -words, "I were in th' signal service. Bein' small, I was set to carin' -fer pigeons an' sendin' 'em away with messages a-hangin' from their laigs -or their necks. - -"And y' know, son, 'avin' 'em always with ye like yer bloomin' dorgs, -makes 'em seem like yer bloomin' pals. D' ye understand that?" - -"Yes," Curlie replied, "I understand." - -"An' ye know, son, if it weren't fer 'avin' one of them pigeons under me -arm in a cage made of wood, I'd not be trappin' foxes now." - -"No?" Curlie sat up. "Tell me about it." - -He did tell Curlie. And for Curlie that story held a special interest. It -was no great story as stories go; just the account of one little underfed -Irish boy soldier lost in a forest in No Man's Land, with a leg half torn -away by a shell, and a plain, drab carrier pigeon kept safe by the boy's -shielding body. The boy scribbled a note to his pals in camp, then -released the pigeon that he might bear the message home. - -"They found 'im safe," he ended quite undramatically. "They found th' -message an' after that th' 'eathen enemy's guns was silenced, an' then -they found me, too. - -"'T'ain't much of a story, son. But ye'll not be thinkin' me soft when I -tell ye as 'ow them carryin' pigeons seems like the truest friends I ever -had." - -"No," said Curlie huskily, "I surely will not." - -Before Curlie left the cabin next morning he heard a sound that bore a -suspicious resemblance to the coo-coos he was accustomed to hear on his -uncle's farm when the pigeons were waking to greet the sunshine. - -"I believe this little chap kept that bird for a pal," he told himself. -"And he might have done worse than that--a whole lot worse, yes, a whole -lot worse." - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - DREW LANE ON THE WING - - -During that week there had been no cessation of activities in the two -camps where the search for rich mineral was in progress. Since it had -been found that the report on the radium-bearing pitchblende must be -delayed for some time, there was nothing for it but to go out in search -of other prospects. - -The entire group at Joyce's camp, her father, Jim, Lloyd and Clyde, -worked like beavers. Lloyd had gone to get the thawer. He had returned in -four days. - -"I miss him more than I dreamed I would," Joyce had told herself on one -of these days. "He seems to confide in me. And that, I guess, is the sort -of friend a girl needs." - -Indeed, for a quiet man he had told her much. On that evening before he -flew away to Fort Resolution, he had spoken of his life, his struggles, -his hopes, his fears. He had entered the world war as a boy soldier, only -sixteen. He had carried stretchers through it all, had brought many a -poor wounded soldier to safety. In time he, too, had been dropped by a -shell. His recovery had been slow. But he had come back. - -"And now," he told her earnestly, "I must make good; for my mother's sake -I must! She is the grandest of women; gave me as a boy to her country -without a murmur, and allowed them to keep me four years. Four years. You -don't know what that means--to a mother." - -Ah, yes, Joyce had missed Lloyd. But now he was back. They were all back. -Lloyd's steam-thawer had been going for three days. What success had come -to him? Would there be gold on that ancient river bed? - -She was thinking of all this as she stood bare-headed in the starlight on -a glorious Arctic night. Then the night claimed her. The moon was not up. -But the stars! Every one of them seemed a spark of fire fallen upon a -curtain of midnight blue velvet. - -"They burn, but they do not consume," she thought, as she moved slowly up -the hill toward the place where the white foxes played. "Stars are like -our love for our fellow men and God. They light the world, but do not -destroy." - -She had come close to her watching place at the back of a cluster of -scrub spruce trees, when a voice close beside her drawled: - -"What are you all doing up here by your lonesome?" - -It was Jim, the Kentucky mountain boy. Her first impulse was one of -anger. Why should he intrude upon her privacy? This lasted but for a -space of seconds. The night, the stars, the yellow lights from the cabins -below, together with Jim's appealing southern drawl, changed her -impatience. - -The rebuke that came to her lips remained unuttered. Instead, she held up -a hand for silence, then pointed toward the clump of trees. Then together -they crept forward. - -"There! There they are!" she whispered low. - -"Foxes!" he whispered back. "Cunnin' little critters!" - -After that for ten minutes, with the golden firmament swinging overhead -and the foxes frisking in the starlight, they watched in silence. - -The foxes were more playful than ever. Joyce had hung some pieces of -caribou fat and shreds of white fish out for the snow-buntings and -bluejays. Some of these bits were within reach of the foxes when they -stood on their hind feet and clawed upward. Others were hung higher. The -lower ones soon vanished. It was truly wonderful to see the antics they -went through in their attempts to reach the others. They leaped, they -clawed. They did everything but stand upon one another's shoulders. When -none of these availed, they sat on their haunches and, pointing noses at -the tempting morsels, sang their white fox song. - -"As if that would do any good!" Joyce chuckled. - -"Singin' for their supper," drawled Jim. - -One thing puzzled Joyce. To-night there were only two foxes. Always -before there had been three. The small one was not there. Where could he -be? - -"Perhaps he overslept," she told herself. But she was a trifle worried. -These little wild playmates had become very dear to her heart. - -Frightened, suddenly, by the slamming of a door down below in one of the -cabins, the two foxes scampered into their holes, leaving Joyce and Jim -alone with the night. - -"They've gone in for the youngster, I guess," Joyce laughed. - -"The youngster?" - -"Always before there have been three. The other was only a cub, or would -you say a kitten? He is the cutest thing you ever saw." - -After that, having turned about to seat themselves on the hard packed -snow and to gaze away toward the great white world and the blue dome -above it, they communed in silence. - -A faint glow appeared on the margin of that sea of white. The arc of a -golden circle appeared. Moving in solemn majesty, the moon rose to clothe -their world in purple shadows. - -"This," whispered the girl, "is moonlight in the great white world." - -"Do you know," said Jim, and there was a deep seriousness in his tone, "a -time like this makes me certain that thar's more to life than that thar -we see. We don't live to fret and fuss a little, to hunt gold and find it -and be rich fer a little spell, or not to find it and be poor as p'ison. -We don't just shuffle off. That's not the end of it. - -"Look at those stars, that moon. Don't they tell you things?" - -"Yes." Her voice was low, musical. "Yes, Jim, they do." - -"Do you know," he went on after a moment, "we mounting folks is ignorant -folks, I reckon. Not much larnin' amongst us. But we sit a heap. And we -think a heap. And when we see a thing or get told something we just -naturally gotta try to think it plumb through to the end. - -"Do you know?" He was looking away once more. "When I look away at them -thar stars, hit reminds me a heap of my old Kentucky home away up on -Poundin' Mill Creek that flows into Clover Fork of the Cumberland River. - -"Way back yonder--" His voice was like the low strum-strum of a banjo. -"Back yonder's a cabin whar I've set many's the night, listenin' to the -tree toads sing and some old bull frog croakin', and seem' the lightnin' -bugs streakin' across the air. Then I'd see the mountings all settin' in -a row like a lotta plumb big folks settin' by the hearth a-whisperin'. -And I'd see the stars a-comin' down close to listen. And it was plumb -pretty, Miss Joyce. Plumb pretty. Mighty nigh the prettiest picture I -most ever seed. - -"But, Miss Joyce," he leaned forward, "'t'ain't no prettier nor this here -up here. And, you know," he hesitated, "you know, somehow you sort of fit -into it all. Plumb queer now, ain't it?" - -"Yes, Jim, it is." Joyce felt a strange thrill run through her being. It -was strange that she, a girl who had spent all her life in a great city, -should fit into a picture such as this. She was grateful for the -compliment. - -After that, for a long time, they sat in silence, listening to the faint, -all but inaudible sounds of an Arctic night and watching the world that -seemed so new, so fresh, so ready for those who were good and kind and -true. Can souls speak, though no words be uttered? Who knows? Joyce -wondered, but did not speak. - -It often happens that we go from joy to sorrow in a single hour. So it -was with Joyce. Her hour with Jim had been one of transfiguration. To go -from communion with a human companion to seek a four-footed friend might -seem the imperfect ending of a perfect hour. But who can understand the -heart of a girl? - -Joyce was still wondering about the half-grown white fox. Why had he not -come out to play? - -She was not long in finding the answer. As they stepped into the moonlit -playground of her little white friends, Jim's keen eyes discovered a dark -object. It was a steel trap. And in the trap was the baby white fox, -quite dead. - -"Who could have done that!" Joyce exclaimed, all but in tears. - -"Some trapper." - -"But there are no trappers here; that is, I have seen only one." She -recalled the stranger she had followed by mistake. - -"We'll leave him a message," said Jim. - -Springing the jaws of the trap, he caught it by its chains, then crashed -it so violently against the rocks that it flew in bits. - -"No right to set it so close to our camp!" he grumbled, throwing it down. - -"They say that Indians read signs. Well, there's my sign." Selecting an -untouched circle of snow, he placed there an imprint of his large -moccasin. - -"And this," said Joyce, placing her foot close to his, "is mine." - -At that, without another word, they turned to make their way down the -hill. - -It was when he was about to leave her at her cabin door that Jim spoke -again. - -"Thar's somethin' been on my mind for a long time, Miss Joyce. I--" - -"The stolen films," flashed through the girl's mind. "It was Jim. He -stole them. He wants to confess. But I can't let him now--" - -"Please, Jim," she broke in hurriedly, "not to-night. Tell me some other -time, but not now." - -"All right, Miss Joyce." And he was gone into the night. - -Joyce stood there alone, allowing the cool night air to fan her hot -temples. She was troubled. Had she done wrong? Should she have allowed -the mountain boy to make his confession? - -"I couldn't," she told herself at last. "This has been a golden hour. How -could I have it ruined? Another time will do as well." At that she turned -and entered the cabin. - - * * * * * * * * - -Strangely enough, at this very hour in their far away cabin, another -group was discussing the stolen films. - -After long thought Johnny had decided that it was his duty to tell the -men of his camp the story of the stolen films and of the men who at that -moment were using their hard-earned leads for profit. - -"Old Timer," Scott Ramsey was saying to Sandy, as they sat beside the -roaring fire, "do you think it would be too hard on those fellows to move -right in and file on their land the moment they make a strike?" - -"Not one whit!" Sandy's chair came down with a bang. "Trouble nowadays -is, too many folks have vague ideas of what's honest and what isn't. Get -wrong notions, lots of them, when they're in school. Steal ten dollars, -that's wrong; but snitch another chap's toy pistol, that's sport. That's -the way they look at it. It's all wrong. - -"Lots of young football fellows think it's being bright to carry home -souvenirs, napkins, salt-shakers, silver from a restaurant. It's wrong! -Hew to the line, I say. - -"If those young fellows think it was a sporting proposition to filch -those negatives and make prints from them and then come up here with them -to hunt gold, they're wrong. - -"But say!" he demanded suddenly, "how'd they get them?" - -"That," replied Ramsey slowly, "is just what I don't know. - -"You see," he went on thoughtfully, "after I'd taken the airplane trip -and snapped the pictures and had them developed and enlarged, I was low -on funds. I showed the pictures to a geologist and he said the thing -looked good. - -"While I was searching for a partner with money, I asked permission to -store those films in a vault, the vault of the people I had worked for in -Winnipeg. - -"When I found you in Edmonton, I had the pictures, but not the films. One -set of pictures was enough. The films, I thought, were safe." - -"But how did you find out they had the films?" Sandy asked, turning to -Johnny. - -"I ran onto a photographer I knew in Edmonton. Always did like to be -around where you smelled developer and hypo, so I stuck around. He showed -me some defective enlargements he was about to throw away. I knew right -away that they were the same as some we were planning to use. After that -it was a fairly simple matter to trace the men who had engaged him to -make the enlargements. The thing that surprised me most was that two of -my best friends, an old man and his daughter, are working with those -three young men." - -"You can't get information through them?" Scott asked. - -"I can, but I won't," said Johnny. - -"Right enough!" exclaimed Sandy. "I honor you for it." - -"The thing I can't understand," said Sandy after a time, "is, how did -they get hold of those films if they were in a vault?" - -"That _would_ bear looking into," agreed Ramsey. "I'll write a letter -to-night. Old Benny Brooks is still with the company, or was the last I -knew. I'll write and ask him." He did. But even in the days of the -airplane, mail is a trifle slow in the North. And in the meantime the -search for that elusive wealth that lies hidden in the rocks and beneath -the snow went on. - - * * * * * * * * - -It was about this time that Curlie Carson, on returning from his trip to -the mouth of the Mackenzie River, received a telegram that set his head -whirling. - -"_Am on my way by fast plane. Big business._" This is the way the message -ran. It was signed "_Drew Lane_." - -This telegram, together with a paragraph in a back number of the Edmonton -daily paper, gave him what appeared to be a solution of the mystery which -the "Gray Streak" had created. The article was captioned: - -"Mail plane stolen from Chicago Airport." - -In brief, this new story told of the theft of a powerful biplane from -beneath the very nose of her pilot. Having taken on his load of air mail, -this pilot had stepped into the office to discuss his routing with his -chief. Then, according to the story, the look-out in the tower, who -checked the numbers of all planes coming and going, had seen some one -resembling the pilot enter the plane and take off. - -"The strangest part of the whole affair," the story went on to say, "is -that, after a somewhat prolonged conversation, the real pilot returned to -the spot where his plane had stood, and it was gone. It is assumed by the -police that the man who stole the plane, having studied the dress and -mannerisms of the pilot, had been able to imitate him so perfectly that -the look-out, who knew him well, had not discovered the fraud. - -"In the meantime," the article concluded, "Where is the stolen biplane? -And where is the half-ton of mail, some of which is reported to be of -great value, that was the airplane's cargo?" - -"Where indeed?" Curlie said after reading the article through twice. -"Unless here in the wilds of the Northwest? Where else in the world could -a great biplane be hidden? And where else could they refuel without being -caught? - -"Let me see." He scratched his head. "It was six days ago that I wrote -Drew Lane telling him of the mysterious 'Gray Streak.' Plenty of time for -him to get his keen mind at work on that Chicago airplane case, to arrive -at some very natural conclusions, and then to get himself assigned to the -task of hunting down this 'Gray Streak.' - -"So," he drawled slowly, "I am to have some assistance in the solution of -this great mystery." - -Was he glad Drew Lane was on his way north? Ah, yes, to be sure he was. -Who would not be? Drew Lane was the sort of chap any one would be glad to -greet once again. But was Curlie glad that some one else was likely to -beat his time in solving a great mystery? Of this he could not be sure. - -"And yet," he told himself after a few moments of sober thought, "at such -a time as this, when the rightful possessions of many are endangered, -when the efficiency of the air service that has done so much for this -barren land is threatened, it is one's duty to set his personal hopes -aside and to welcome the aid of any who may assist in bringing the -malefactors to justice. So, welcome, Drew Lane, old top! Our arms are -open wide. - -"And one thing is sure," he added after a moment's reflection, "there -never was a truer sport, a braver cop, nor a better pal than Drew Lane! - -"Brave! Why he'd drop right down upon them from the air if need be." - -How near this last came to being prophecy, he was, in time, to know. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - OVER THE RAPIDS - - -On the day following her experience with Jim and the foxes, Joyce Mills -once more took to the trail with her dog team. And a dangerous trail it -proved to be. - -She wanted time to think. And what better opportunity could be afforded? -Well tucked in, half buried in caribou robes, with the wind at her back -and her toboggan sled gliding over the snow, and with Dannie, the leader, -choosing his own course, her mind had little to do but wander at will. - -Her thoughts were for the moment on that strange brownish-black rock her -father called pitchblende. He had found samples and had sent them south -on the airplane. - -"Will they contain radium?" she asked herself. "Much radium?" - -Her father had told her a little about the wonders of radium. "A grain," -he had said, "one thirty-second part of an ounce, is worth more than -thirty thousand dollars. In a year all the operators in the world -produced less than nine grams. Yet a single half gram owned by a great -hospital has sent many a poor soul, stricken with the deadly cancer -disease, back to his loved ones in perfect health. The healing qualities -of radium is one of God's great gifts to man. Think what it would mean to -find a fresh and richer supply of this life-restoring mineral?" - -She had thought, and had thrilled to the very core of her being. - -So she dreamed on and on and, like many another, all unaware of impending -danger, enjoyed the drowsy comfort of the passing hour. - -Suddenly she was shocked from her dreaming, for her dog team, breaking -away from a leisurely trot, sprang away across the snow like a pack of -hounds in full cry. - -Her first thought was, "They are after a snowshoe rabbit. But Dannie! I -hoped he was better trained than that." - -So he was. Next instant she knew the cause of this terrific speed and her -cheek blanched. The outlaw buffalo, the very one who had before brought -her into great peril, was upon their trail. With a mad bellow, with white -frost pouring from his nostrils like smoke, he charged straight on. - -They were on the lake's ice. No trees to climb here. Speed was their only -chance. How fast was a buffalo? Could he outrun a dog team? She was to -know. - -The team's speed for the moment saved her. As the buffalo charged down a -treeless slope, he fell behind them. One instant more, and he was on -their trail. - -"What if the sled tips and I am thrown out?" she asked herself with a -shudder. - -But the thought of what might happen was crowded out by that which was -happening. The buffalo was gaining. There could be no question about it. - -"He has shortened the distance between us by ten yards," she told -herself. - -She caught the gleam of his terrifying horns, heard his deep, guttural -bellow; then, dragging her eyes away, she shouted bravely: - -"Now! Dannie! Now! _Ye! Ye! Ye!_ Now, Grover! Now, Ginger! _Now! Now! -Now! Ye! Ye! Ye!_" - -The splendid creatures responded to her call that was half plea, half -command, by a fresh burst of speed. But was it enough? She dared not look -back. They sped on across the white waste. - -Moments passed, agonizing moments they were. Urging her dogs to their -utmost, she still refrained from looking behind. If she looked her heart -might fail her. - -"The way out!" she repeated to herself over and over. "What can be the -way out?" - -What indeed? She might, if there was time, call upon her dogs to pause in -their mad rush. They might face about and trust their fates to a battle. -That these fine fellows would fight she did not question. - -"But what chance?" Her voice was choked with a dry sob. "Hindered by the -harness, they could never win." - -Dark to the left on the horizon a clump of tamarack showed. - -"Too late! We'll never make it. We--" - -Then suddenly, as upon that other occasion, a curious thing happened; a -rifle cracked. - -This time the result was different. It was as if an avenging God had -said: "It is enough." The girl heard a dull thud and, looking fearfully -about, saw the outlaw buffalo lying upon the snow. A bullet had brought -his mad career to an end. - -Instinctively the dogs slowed down. The girl's eyes searched the low -hills for her benefactor. He was nowhere to be seen. - -A moment passed into eternity; another and yet another. In all that great -white world not a living creature moved. - -Seized by a strange new fear, she spoke to her dogs and once more they -sped away. Ten minutes later they were back on the trail they had -followed in the beginning. And this, she discovered by a study of -snowshoe prints, was the trail of her father and his companion. - -Once more she settled back in peace. But not for long. This was to be a -day of days in her life. - - * * * * * * * * - -Drew Lane followed hot on the trail of his message. Curlie Carson was -warming up his plane for one more journey in the land of great white -silence when a small, fast monoplane circled above the field for a -landing. - -This little ship of the air caught Curlie's eye at once. And why not? It -was painted a vivid red. - -"In the name of all that's good!" he cried, when he saw Drew Lane spring -with his pilot from the cockpit. "You don't expect to do detective work -up here in that fire wagon, do you?" - -Drew laughed as he gripped Curlie's hand. "What does color matter? It's -speed that counts. She's the fastest thing in the air. Let me get sight -of those robbers in that lumbering old mail truck and you'll see -something pretty. The Red Knight of Germany won't be in it with me. - -"But tell me." He sobered. "You've seen this gray outlaw of the air. Do -you think it could be the plane that was stolen in Chicago?" - -"Y--e--s," Curlie said slowly. "It could be. Same type of plane and all -that. But--" - -"But what?" - -"Nothing. At least not a thing that's tangible. Just a fancy, I suppose. -I found a mitten in my room. It was made from the pelt of a Siberian -wolf-hound." - -"For John's sake!" Drew Lane stared. "What's that to do with an outlaw -plane?" - -Curlie told him of the carrier pigeon, of the copied message, and of the -theft in the night. - -"That," agreed Drew when he had ended, "may have a bearing. At least -we'll not forget it. But, as for me, I stick to the theory that this -outlaw is driving the stolen mail plane. There were valuable papers on -board, being transferred from one city to another. Owners have offered a -large reward. And say!" he exclaimed, "why couldn't those fellows be -trying to collect the reward through carrier pigeons?" - -"Wrong end to," Curlie objected. "If they were doing that the pigeons -would be sent in a crate to the persons paying the reward. Then the plan -would be to have them released with the reward in thousand dollar bills -attached to them." - -"That's right. Well, we'll see." - -Drew then changed the subject. "You're off for the North?" - -"In an hour." - -"I'll trail you." - -"How far?" - -"Until I get a hunch to sail away on my own." - -"Which won't be long," Curlie grinned, and then led him away for a cup of -coffee. - - * * * * * * * * - -In the meantime, strange and terrible things were happening to Joyce and -her friends. With her team she had left the lake and had traveled two -miles into the low hills when, on rounding the point of a ridge, she -sighted her father. - -Quite close at hand, he was bending over a rocky ledge that hung above a -rushing cataract. "A dangerous position," she told herself. "One step -and--" - -To her great consternation, at that instant she saw him throw up a -hand--then plunge downward. - -There is a section to the north and east of Great Slave Lake where the -surface of the land is one heap of gigantic rocks. The land falls off to -the west so rapidly that the streams are little more than cascades -playing continually over giant stairways. It was into one of these -unnatural streams that her father had fallen. - -Even as Joyce stood looking, too terrified to move, Clyde Hawke, a -powerful swimmer, plunged in after her father. So swift was the water, -however, that he was three yards behind in the mad race for life. - -Never very strong, Newton Mills, now prematurely old, offered little -resistance to the wild torrent that appeared determined to carry him to -destruction. One fortunate instance, for the moment, saved him. An -overhanging snag caught at his stout jacket. It held for a space of -seconds. Before the stout canvas gave way, he had secured a tight grip on -the snag. Ten seconds more, and the brave young westerner, swimming with -one hand, had gripped the older man by the arm and was struggling to -bring him ashore. - -The battle seemed all but won when, without warning, the snag gave way to -cast them once more upon the mercy of the torrent. - -To Joyce, who had made her way to the brink of the stream and stood ready -to lend a hand, all seemed lost. - -The last vestige of hope left her when, with a cry of horror, she saw -them, tight in one another's grip, disappear beneath the ice of the pool -that lay beyond the rapids. - -"They're gone! Gone!" she sobbed. - -But what was this? Beyond the narrow stretch of ice was a second chain of -rapids less precipitous than the first. Poised on a rock at the very -center of the rapids, she had seen a lone pelican waiting for fish. Now, -as if disturbed, he rose and went flapping away. - -"Can it be--" - -Plunging headlong over rocks and treacherous ice, she made her way to -this second space of open water. She was just in time to lean far over -and grip Clyde by the collar of his coat. Then, securing a hold upon a -stout willow bush, she clung with the grip of death. Not one life, but -two, depended upon her strength and endurance. Clyde Hawke still retained -his grip upon her father. Together they had passed beneath the ice and -had come out on the other side. - -Ten minutes of heart-breaking battle with the elements, and they had won. -Or had they? True, her father lay upon the snow beside the exhausted -youth who had risked his life to save him; but he neither moved nor -spoke. Was he dead? She could not be sure. - -Time restored strength to the plucky Clyde Hawke. Then together they -carried Newton Mills to a sheltered crevice among the rocks. After -gathering dry twigs and branches, they built a roaring fire. - -"It's the only thing that will save him," Clyde explained. "Home is too -far away." - -Joyce removed her warm fur parka. Then she walked a short distance up the -hill. When she returned Clyde had stripped off her father's clothing and, -after chafing his limbs, had dressed him in her parka. As she came up her -father's eyes opened and he murmured hoarsely: "That was close, awful -close!" Then his eyelids fell. - -With the hatchet from his belt Clyde cut off spruce branches and built -them a shelter. Sheltered by the three walls of boughs and warmed by the -fire, they soon were as comfortable as they might have been in the cabin. - -When her splendid mind had regained its full powers, Joyce sprang up and -cried: - -"The dog team!" - -She had left the dogs, she hardly knew where. And the toboggan sled was -lined with caribou-skin robes. - -"I will go for them." She stood up. "As soon as you are dry enough to be -safe, we can take him home in the sled." - -"When you're back I'll be O.K.," Clyde said simply. - -A hurried search showed her the dogs curled up in a low run where the -sled had tangled in the willows. "Good old pups!" she murmured, as she -gulped down a sob. - -Two hours after dark they arrived at camp from an expedition that had -threatened to be the most disastrous in the entire history of the -enterprise. Newton Mills was still unconscious. Would he recover? Who -could say? - -By great good fortune they found Punch Dickinson there with his plane. He -had arrived late and was prepared to stay all night. Although night -flying is, as a rule, off the program of Arctic flyers, he agreed in this -extremity to go to Resolution for the doctor. - -A little more than two hours later, there came the thunder of the motor -and Punch was back with medical aid. - -"It's the shock and exposure," was the doctor's verdict. "With care he -should pull through." - -"He'll get the care right enough," said Jim Baley. "He ain't one of them -sorry old men. He's a king. That's what he is. We'll stick with him if we -don't never find narry a bit of radium nor gold." - -"Come to think of it," Punch Dickinson started up from his place by the -fire, "I've a message for you. Report on your pitchblende I guess." - -He drew two envelopes from his pocket. - -"Curious thing happened." He seemed ill at ease. "You know two bags of -samples went down; both of them pitchblende? Well, some way the tags were -torn off and there's no way of telling which sample belongs to which -outfit. I--I'm sorry it came out that way. But up here I guess you're all -friends in the same game. Luck for one is luck for all." - -"Luck for one, luck for all?" Joyce wondered as her mind went over the -words. - -"What's to be done?" - -Clyde, the westerner, scratched his head. "Guess we get first look," -smiled Lloyd Hill, putting out a hand for the envelopes. - -"Seems that it might be a case of sending down more samples," he murmured -as he tore open the first envelope. - -"I'm sorry some one blundered," Punch apologized. "I know how hard it is -to get samples. I--" - -"Just a minute." Lloyd Hill held up a hand. "Looks as if it hasn't made -any difference. The reports are almost identical; same amount of copper, -same nickel, same cobalt and--" - -"Radium! Radium!" - -Instantly the word was on every tongue. "Just a trace," said Lloyd -reluctantly. "Not enough to make the slightest difference. In other -words, we lose, all of us; the other fellows, too." - -"Oh!" The cry that escaped the girl's lips was a cry of pain. Her father -had hoped much from his radium rock. She had hoped, too. She had dreamed. -Johnny Thompson had dreamed. They were all friends together. And all had -lost. - -"And now this!" she whispered as she turned to hide a tear that would not -stay. "Now father is desperately ill. If he recovers I must tell him -this. And we hoped so much!" Truly this was her darkest hour. - -The air of the cabin suddenly seemed oppressive. Throwing on a coat, she -wandered out into the night. As she stood there bathing her hot temples -in the cool night air, a figure moved silently toward her. - -"You find gold? Mebby yes? Mebby no?" - -It was the Indian, he of the traps. He had found his broken trap, she -felt sure of that. As she looked he seemed to leer at her in a mocking -manner. Then he passed on into the night. - -The look on that man's face disturbed her. Many things troubled her. She -was tired, needed rest. - -"I must sleep," she told herself. - -The doctor was to remain, at least for the night. Her father was in good -hands. Creeping away to her small room, she disrobed in the dark and was -soon fast asleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - PAWNS - - -Johnny Thompson and Scott Ramsey were disheartened by the news that -Sandy's pitchblende was of no value. - -"It's the end of one glorious dream." Ramsey stared into space. - -"Yes," Johnny agreed, "that's gone." - -"Not a bit of it!" Sandy's keen old eyes snapped. "There's pitchblende in -these rocky old ledges such as the world has never known. - -"Look here. Do you know that in 1922 a pocket of several hundred pounds -of remarkably rich pitchblende was mined in the Belgian Congo, that it -yielded two or three million dollars worth of radium, and that this -discovery actually caused a drop in the price of radium? If they can do -that in South Africa, we can do it in northern Canada!" He banged the -table with his huge fist. - -"And now look at this!" He drew forth an enlarged photograph to spread it -on the table. To the average person this would have seemed a snap-shot -that had gone wrong. It showed only dull stretches of rock, intermixed -with rough ledges and narrow stretches of snow. - -"See that!" Sandy's long finger trembled as he pointed. "Taken sixty -miles from here, this was. Looks like the real thing to me. Pitchblende. -Radium." He said these last words almost reverently. - -"There's no stopping him," Johnny told himself. "All the same, if he'll -permit me, I'll go out and look those ledges over for him. With the -specimens we have now, it would not be hard to gather others. Only an -analysis could give the final touch to such a find anyway. I'll suggest -it when the right time comes." - -Scott and Sandy were ardent chess fans. As Sandy was spreading his men -over the board a little later, he looked up at Johnny. - -"Ever play chess?" he demanded. - -"A little." - -"You should. You should play much. Tell you why." He allowed his powerful -hand to rest upon the board. Between his thumb and finger was the -smallest man of all, a pawn. "Chess," he went on, "makes you think. And -thinking is always good for your soul. That's why the study of -mathematics is worth while. - -"But there's a more important reason why you should play chess." His -expressive eyes gleamed. "Chess is the game of life. Oh, yes, it's the -game of war, too; but life for most of us is one long battle, so it's the -game of life, too. - -"See that little fellow?" He held up the pawn. - -Johnny nodded. - -"That's you and me. All my life I've been a pawn. Nothing much to be -ashamed of. Out of every hundred people born in the world, ninety-nine -are pawns and always will be. So you've plenty of company. - -"A pawn," he went on, "is very much handicapped in his movements. If he -chooses, at the beginning of the game he may move forward two squares. -After that he must cover only one square at a time, and that straight -ahead. - -"Knights, bishops, castles, queen, these have far greater freedom of -movement. These, in life, are the highly successful ones, the great -scientists and other scholars, successful lawyers, merchant princes. - -"But you and I, Johnny--" He put the pawn on its spot. Very carefully -placing it in the exact center, he went on: "You and I are like this -little round-headed pawn. - -"Oh, yes, he has one other chance; he may move to one side as well as -forward, but only to destroy some other pawn who happens to be on the -spot at the wrong time." - -"Poor old pawn," Johnny sighed. - -"Not so fast!" the canny old man exclaimed. "The pawn moves forward -slowly. He is insignificant, his movements unimportant. Often he is -neither noticed nor missed. But there may come a time in this battle of -the board, as in the battle of life, when knights and bishops, castles -and queens have fallen, when the poor little pawn in a single move takes -on a position of tremendous importance. All the time, with his snail-like -pace, he has been coming closer and closer to the king-row. When the time -comes, when he is prepared to glide across that last black line into the -king-row, if there is no knight, bishop or queen to stop him, then he may -look back from the king-row and say: 'I am about to make a wish. My wish -must be granted, for I have made my long and laborious way to the -king-row. Now I wish to be a knight. I wish to be a bishop. I demand the -right to become a queen.' And behold, his wish must be granted! - -"And that, too!" he exclaimed in a booming voice, "That, too, is life! -All these long years I have been a pawn. Now, very soon, with God's help -and for the good of my fellow men, I shall step over into the king-row. -Then I shall choose what I am to be, knight, bishop or queen. - -"And you, too, my good friends," he placed one hand on Scott's shoulder, -the other on Johnny's, "you shall go into the king-row with me. - -"But mind you," his tone became solemn, "when a man becomes a knight or a -bishop in this life we are living now, he assumes as great a -responsibility as did knight or bishop in those brave days of good King -Arthur and his Round Table. - -"Come, Scott, boy." His tone changed. "The men are placed. Who wins -to-night?" - -Johnny smiled as the two settled down to their game. His smile was very -friendly. He was coming to love this brave old prospector more and more. - -"He believes in himself and in God," he told himself. - -"'Trust thyself. Every heart vibrates to that iron chord.'" Where had he -heard that? He could not recall. He liked it all the same. - -"It's like Sandy," he told himself. "He did not say, 'Let those fellows -who stole our films find gold or radium, then we'll step in and get our -share.' He said, 'We'll go out and find it.' And by all that's good, we -will!" - -No Knight of the Round Table ever went forth with higher resolve than did -Johnny as he ventured forth on the long trail that would take him to -those rocky ledges that showed so plainly on the enlarged photograph. And -no knight of any land faced more dangers nor dreamed of higher adventures -than did he. Nor were his dreams to be in vain. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - "HERE'S HOPING" - - -The news of the arrival of Chicago's best known detective, Drew Lane, in -the northern wilds spread over the land as oil spreads over water. Mail -planes speeding on their courses dropped the surprising news. -Gold-hunting planes picked it up and carried it on. Dog teams creeping -over the white surface of the earth did their bit. Every trader, every -trapper and every Indian passed the word along. Above and beyond all this -was some mysterious means of communication which no one appeared to -understand but which none doubted. This carried the news to every corner. -And from each corner the word came echoing back: "Drew Lane is here. He -rides in a bright red plane. The 'Gray Streak' may well tremble now!" - -Some there were who doubted Drew Lane's power. Not least among these were -certain members of the Mounted Police. "All very well for Chicago," they -laughed, "a young chap like that. Plenty of nerve, no doubt. But what -does he know about the North? Leave it to the Mounties. In the end, we -get our man!" - -"In the end." Ah, yes! But there were those who shook grave heads at -this. Rumors were not lacking that told of the bold, evil doings of the -"Gray Streak." Some of these, to be sure, went unconfirmed. Yet when a -starved trapper with a starved dog team came in from the Barrens to tell -of a cabin pillaged to the last cupful of flour, the last bacon rind, -they said: - -"It is time this was stopped!" - -But who was to stop it? As for Curlie Carson, his answer was: "Drew -Lane." And yet, in the back of his head was a great desire. He hoped that -for the glory of the Company that had trusted him with a powerful and -valuable plane in this land of many hazards, he might help to bring the -"Gray Streak" to justice. - -Even Joyce Mills, busily engaged as she was in the business of bringing -her father back to life, and puzzled as she ever was with the problem of -the stolen films, found time to listen and thrill at the tale of the -arrival of her one-time pal and all-the-time friend, Drew Lane, and to -lend an ear to the stories that came floating in from all quarters. - -"He'll get them," she told her father. "I am sure he will." - -In her more sober moments she puzzled as ever about the stolen films. -Matters were coming to a head in their mining camp. Hope ran high. - -"But one is a thief," she whispered more than once. "Jim, Clyde, Lloyd, -which could it be? Jim is so religious, so kind and so--so--How could he? -Clyde saved my father's life. How could I doubt him? And Lloyd went all -through that terrible war as a boy soldier. He might have gone home from -the horror of it all simply by saying the word, yet he never said that -word. How can one doubt a man like that?" - -So the days passed. Her father's condition improved. The work at their -camp progressed. - -From the other camp Johnny Thompson went in search of pitchblende, only -to return empty-handed. Nothing daunted, he prepared for a second -journey. - -In the meantime, with his pilot, Don Burns, one of America's finest, Drew -Lane scoured the country for signs of the "Gray Streak." Starting at -Edmonton, he soared in ever widening circles until his ship of flaming -red was known to every Indian child from Fort McMurray to Lake Athabasca -and beyond where Great Slave River winds its white wintry way into the -lake that bears its name. - -From time to time he came to earth for food, fuel and sleep. All the -resources of the land were at his command. The poorest trapper was ready -enough to share with him his last batch of sourdough pancakes. But -information? Ah! That was quite a different matter. - -"Where is the 'Gray Streak'?" - -"Where indeed, Monsieur?" So spoke the half-caste French-Canadian. So -spoke they all. "He is there, somewhere; not here. He has been seen on -the Porcupine, at Great Bear Lake, over the Barrens. But not here, sir. -Thank God, not here!" - -"And all the time," thought Curlie Carson, as the days passed, "that -D'Arcy Arden person is being carried about as a captive. Or, can that be -true? Could a girl stand such a life? Or even a woman, or a boy? Think of -the mental strain!" - -"Drew," he said one day as they met at the Chink's at Fort Chipewyan, "if -you ever come up to them, be careful. Think of that captive. If there is -shooting to be done, watch the course of your bullets." - -"I'll watch," Drew replied quietly. - -That Drew had watched the course of many bullets Curlie Carson, yes, and -most of the world besides, knew right well, for Drew Lane had not -hesitated to arrest the higher-ups in one of the greatest crime rings a -city has ever known. - -"This," Curlie laughed, "should be a mere vacation for you." - -"Hardly a vacation," Drew replied soberly. "No work, especially work that -concerns the safety and welfare of many people, can ever be a vacation. -Do you know, Curlie," his tone became deeply serious, "it's just because -this case is different and quite new, and because its dramatic moments -are to come in a land strange to me, that I fear it." - -"Fear it, did you say?" Curlie stared. - -"Fear of failure is not considered a weakness," Drew answered quietly. -"Fear of failure properly applied puts one on his guard, leads him on to -do his best." - -"But you will succeed!" Curlie spoke with conviction. - -"Here's hoping!" - -They parted at this, but Curlie was to recall those two words, "Here's -hoping," and that not twenty-four hours later. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - FLUTTERING FROM THE CLOUDS - - -And then the most astounding thing happened. - -At Fort Smith, which lies on the way north from Chipewyan, Curlie -received a message instructing him to proceed without delay to -Resolution. - -In defending his dogs from an infuriated bull moose a trapper had been -badly injured. It was necessary to carry him at once to the hospital at -Edmonton. - -"No pursuit of the 'Gray Streak' this trip," said Curlie as he hurriedly -gulped down his coffee and prepared for flight. - -"Absolutely not," agreed Jerry. - -The thing they saw enacted that day will never seem completely real to -Curlie. "More like a moving picture drama," he has said many times. - -The day was one of mixed weather. One hour the sky was clear. The next it -was filled with scudding clouds. There were times in between when it was -half sky and half clouds. - -It happened during one of these clearing spells. Their plane was bumping -along like a bob-sled over the clouds, with the sky clearing, and fine -chances of reaching Resolution in time for dinner when suddenly Jerry -nudged Curlie, then pointed silently to the edge of a silver-lined cloud. - -There, Curlie made out clearly enough, just emerging was the "Gray -Streak." - -"Of all the luck!" Curlie groaned. - -But what was that glint of red in the distance? For the first time in his -life Curlie thought he knew how a gray-backed old pike must feel when -some red lure is drawn through the water at a distance. - -"Is it Drew Lane?" he asked himself. "Or is it some strange trick played -on me by the sun?" - -Now he thought he saw it. And now it was gone. A small cloud appeared to -hide it. The cloud moved on. It was not there, that red speck. But yes, -there it was, a little larger. Or was it? - -Between keeping an eye on his own instruments and that elusive spot of -red, he completely lost sight of the "Gray Streak" until once more Jerry -nudged and pointed. - -Curlie looked, then groaned aloud - -"Going to land! What rotten, rotten luck!" - -"Absolutely!" - -It was true that the "Gray Streak" was circling for a landing, equally -true that Curlie had sworn to do all within his power to bring that -outlaw's career to an end. And yet, he did not swerve one inch from his -course. How could he? He had orders. This time they must be obeyed to the -letter. A man's life depended upon it. - -And then came the moving picture drama which was after all not drama at -all, but life--life so pulsating and real that Curlie was to start from -his sleep with a cry of surprise and pain on many a night thereafter. - -The "Gray Streak" had been sighted at a position some five miles before -them. It was landing almost directly beneath the airway they followed. -Indeed, it was coming to rest on the surface of the river. - -The red spot Curlie had seen, or thought he had, was off at right angles -to their course. A large cloud had blotted out that spot until Curlie was -all but directly over the "Gray Streak," which by this time had come to -rest on the river, when there emerged from that cloud a large red spot -which could no longer be mistaken for other than Drew Lane's red racer of -the air. - -"What luck!" Curlie fairly shouted. "What luck for good old Drew Lane! He -will--" - -He broke off to stare. He was close enough now to make out a human figure -clinging to the upper surface of the red plane. - -"Drew!" His breath came quick. "It can't be the pilot. It must be Drew. -But why--why would--" - -Again he gasped. The figure that at this distance seemed so tiny, slipped -from the plane to shoot downward. - -Ten seconds of suspense, then a sigh of relief. A parachute had unfolded. -Together the figure and the parachute drifted into a cloud. - -"Going after them single handed," was Curlie's conclusion. "Good old -Drew! He hunts alone. And, like the Mounties, he gets his man. He--" - -At that instant, for the first time in all his flying career, Curlie -Carson all but lost control of his plane. A dip, a side twist, three wild -heartbeats, and he was himself again and his plane went thundering on. - -Yes, he had all but gone into a tailspin, and that with his motor -thundering at its best. But who could blame him? The parachute he had -seen a few seconds before, bearing his good friend Drew Lane safely -toward the earth, had suddenly come fluttering out of the clouds. Borne -on by the wind, it drifted aimlessly. Drew Lane had vanished. - -"It's the end!" Curlie thought, with a gulp. - -Filled with rage, once his plane had righted itself, he felt himself -consumed by a desire to disregard all orders; to drop to earth and engage -the "Gray Streak" in a battle to the death. - -But, guided by a more sober counsel, he thundered straight on toward -Resolution. Duty had called. He must obey. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - A THREE DAYS' QUEST - - -Before the parachute, from which Drew Lane had so mysteriously dropped, -had floated out from the cloud, the Red Racer, still manned by Drew's -pilot, had passed into another cloud. - -"He does not know," Curlie told himself. "He believes that Drew made a -safe landing and will believe it until some one has told him the truth." - -It came to him that it was his duty to hunt out the Red Racer and break -the sad news. - -"But what would be the good? One does not fall thousands of feet and -survive. My first duty is to the living." - -He flew into Resolution, drank a scalding cup of black tea, took on his -emergency passenger, and then flew straight back to Fort McMurray. There -Punch Dickinson, who had come to relieve him, took over his task and he -was free. - -"Free to think!" he told himself bitterly. - -And such thoughts as they were! He lived over again trying days in a -great city when Drew Lane had played the part of a true friend to him, -saw again his quiet smile, seemed to hear his voice. And then, as he -closed his eyes he saw a thing like a white sheet flutter from the clouds -to go drifting away on an all but endless journey, and heard once again -the thunder of motors. - -For a long time he tossed aimlessly about in his bed. Then a great -resolve to control his mind won for him rest. - -Morning found him with the time and the great desire to follow the "Gray -Streak" to the bleakest shore of the Arctic, if need be. - -He called the office and obtained permission to use his plane in this -pursuit for three days. - -"At the end of that time you must report for duty at McMurray," came over -the wire. "Take no chances that will cause you to break this trust." - -He gave his word; then, with Jerry at his side, he flew away into the -morning. - -If the news of the arrival of Drew Lane in this land spread rapidly, the -story of his departure into a cloud spread with no less rapidity. It -reached Johnny Thompson's camp just as he was preparing to venture forth -on another search for radio-active pitchblende. Like his good friend -Curlie, he set his lips tight in a determination to do his utmost in -avenging the death of a friend. - -"He planned to drop down and face them single-handed," he said to Sandy. -"Somehow they must have found out his plans. They weakened the parachute -ropes or his belt, so they would give way under his weight." - -Was this the solution? Who could say? There were many who believed it. -For had not Drew Lane taken off at Edmonton airport? And had not Curlie -Carson been robbed of a code message in his hotel in that very city? Who -could say how many accomplices the "Gray Streak" might have in this -frontier? - -And after all, who was the outlaw pilot of this "Gray Streak"? There were -those who believed the plane to be manned by Russians bent on raising a -revolution in Canada and annexing this Dominion to Russia. "What could be -more logical?" they argued. "Like the Russians, we are northern people. -Our problems are their problems. How could they doubt that we would join -them were the opportunity really given?" - -In support of this theory, there was the gray mitten fashioned out of the -pelt of a Siberian wolf-hound. It had been found in Curlie's room. The -thief had lost it. - -"And yet," another pointed out, "there are thousands of gray wolf-hounds -in the United States and Canada. Their pelts are made into mittens. Such -mittens may be bought and are worn in Winnipeg." - -"It's that Chicago mail plane." This was Curlie's opinion. "That city is -making life hard for dangerous criminals. The biggest of them all is out -on bail. He is likely to be sentenced to three years in prison. What -could be more logical than that he, or some one like him, should seize a -plane to fly to the security that is found in wide open spaces?" - -Some there were who believed that the "Gray Streak" was manned by -reckless youths. This number diminished as charges piled up against this -pirate of the air. - -The news of Drew Lane's disappearance brought sorrow into the camp of -Joyce Mills and her father. - -"He was a true friend," Joyce said sadly. - -"He was indeed!" her father agreed. - -One ray of hope cheered their lonely path. The gleam of gold along their -trail seemed to grow brighter day by day. - -Thus matters stood as Curlie Carson, with Jerry at his side, sailed away -in the light of the morning sun, bound on his three days' search for the -"Gray Streak." - - - - - CHAPTER XX - THE HUNCHBACK BOWMAN - - -Three days, coming to earth only for fuel and sleep, Curlie and Jerry -skimmed the far horizon searching for some sign of the "Gray Streak." The -days were fair. Beneath them lay the earth, a blanket of white broken -only by streaks of black where spruce and tamarack followed a narrow -stream. Beyond, to the north, south, east and west, lay the gray rim of -the horizon. Three times Curlie's heart leaped at sight of a plane on -that horizon. Each time he met with disappointment. A commercial plane -bringing trappers in from the Barrens and two mineral hunters, they -brought him no news of the ship he sought. - -And then, on the third day at a time when he was feeling the urge of duty -to turn back, the "Gray Streak" hove in sight. - -What to do? To follow? To turn back? The thing must be decided on the -instant. Official orders said, "Turn back." Romance, adventure, the -desire to avenge a fallen comrade, the common good of all those who had -come to dwell in the North, urged him on. - -Duty whispered. - -The call of romance rang in his ears. Romance won. - -"Jerry, we're going after them." - -"Absolutely, son." Jerry's grin was good to see. - -Three hours later Curlie found himself following the lead of that -mysterious ship. Grave doubts had by this time entered his mind. - -"How is this to end?" He asked this question many times. Many times, too, -he told himself it was his duty to turn back, that a cargo of freight for -the north awaited him, that each mile on this mad adventure was counting -against him as a pilot with a blameless record; yet something still urged -him on. - -A hundred, two, three, four hundred miles they flew. - -Then like a flash it came to him that he was being led away into a land -where no man was. - -"They hope I will run out of gas and be obliged to land where there is no -fuel supply. And then?" - -He shuddered at thought of that which might follow. Save for his bow and -arrow, neither he nor Jerry was armed. "And if they did not attack us, we -would be in a fair way to starve before we could beat our way back across -this rocky wilderness." - - * * * * * * * * - -At this same moment Johnny Thompson was enjoying adventures all his own. - -With his dog team on his second journey in search of pitchblende he had -traveled fifty miles, and the day was still young. That was because he -had started at two o'clock in the morning. In this north country where at -one time of the year there is no night at all and in another there is no -day, men forget the conventions of life. Instead of three meals a day, -they may eat five, or two, or only one. If a journey is to be made, they -start when they are ready. Johnny had been ready at two in the morning. - -He was fond of night travel. Then the moon casts ghostly shadows. The -stars burn like candles. All living things are afoot. White foxes are -barking on the crests of rocky ridges. Wolves follow a traveler for -hours. He did not mind the wolves. Like Curlie, he was an archer. His -powerful bow, a curious affair made of wood, rawhide and some secret -glue, presented to him by an Indian, was ever at hand. - -Now and then a dark bulk that was a caribou loomed in the distance. - -"If I could pick off one of those I could make my journey twice as long," -he told himself. - -He thought of the mineral he had come to seek, pitchblende. More illusive -than gold and many times more precious, radium, the product of -pitchblende, had somehow gotten into his blood. - -Sandy possessed several books and pamphlets on radium. During his spare -time Johnny had delved into these and had been fascinated by the story of -radium. He had learned that while radium is worth sixteen million dollars -a pound, a quantity worth twenty cents mixed with phosphorescent zinc -will so illuminate a watch dial that time may be read from it on the -darkest night. - -Sandy had shown him a spinthariscope. In this curious instrument he had -witnessed the flash of light that comes from a single atom of radium. - -"And think!" Sandy had lowered his tone impressively. "Should this -instrument be left in a dark chamber for a thousand years, that tiny atom -would still give off light!" - -As he traveled he paused now and then to chip off a bit of rock with his -hammer, only to cast it away. He would do this to-day, to-morrow and the -next day. Then, unless he obtained an extra food supply, he must turn -back. - -Yet in three days he could travel far. Beside some ancient river bed, on -the rocks above a cataract that even winter could not conquer, at the -crest of some mountain-like ridge, he might come upon the brownish-black, -velvet-like quartz that would spell riches for old Sandy, Scott and -himself. Always he thought first of his brawny, gray-haired friend. - -"He is past seventy," he told himself. "A prince of a man. Always lived -for others. Ever a prospector, this is his last great adventure. It must -be a real one. It surely must!" - -His mind returned often to the strange tales Curlie had told him, tales -of the "Gray Streak." - -"What if they were to swoop down upon me here on this river?" he said to -himself with a shudder. - -Once more he thought of pitchblende. "I'll have some that shines like a -candle in the dark before I turn back." - -Before he turned back? How little he knew of that which would happen -before he turned his face toward camp! - -Two things happened in quick succession. A caribou appeared on a ridge -not fifty yards from his sled. A quick, fleeting arrow, and his food -supply was supplemented by two hundred pounds of rich, juicy meat. Part -of this he would hide in a scrub spruce tree, ready for use on his -return. The rest would feed his dogs and himself for three days. And -there was other food on his sled. - -It was while he was preparing this meat that a truly curious thing -happened. On a ridge a quarter of a mile from where he stood appeared a -lone traveler. He drove a dog team. And such a team as it was! Up until -that moment the boy had not believed that dogs could go so fast. - -"Like the wind!" he exclaimed. "As if they had wings and raced an -airplane." - -The driver was stranger still. He was short and broad. As one looked at -him from a distance it seemed that a pair of very broad shoulders had -been set upon a pair of long legs, and a head placed atop it all. Yet -those legs were powerful and fast. This strange being followed the team -with ease. - -"The hunchback bowman." Johnny's lips parted with wonder, and a thrill -ran through his being. The bow and his sled had been made by a hunchback, -an Indian. But this Indian had lived hundreds of miles away. "The -hunchback bowman," he repeated, then turned to the task of the hour. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - BOWLED OVER LIKE A TENPIN - - -As Curlie sped on his way after the "Gray Streak," which was leading him -farther and farther into the great unknown that is the Arctic wilderness, -he came to a sudden resolve. - -"I'll turn back! Fifteen minutes more, and then if we do not arrive at -their base, if they are not forced down for want of gas, I will head for -Fort Chipewyan," he told himself. - -Then nature took a hand. Out of the north a whirling avalanche of snow -came tearing down upon them. - -Just as the last trace of land was blotted out by this winding sheet of -white, the boy made out a broad, level expanse which he knew to be a -lake. - -"Be over it in five minutes," he shouted to Jerry. "Got to land there, -make or break." - -"Absolutely." Jerry's grin was still there. - -At that moment, as if angered at thought of losing its prey, the gray -storm leaped at them. Throwing its feathery arms about the plane, it -tossed them high. Curlie gasped. His indicator showed a speed of one -hundred and sixty-five miles an hour as his ship, quite out of control, -shot aloft. - -Cross currents ripping from both sides tossed the plane as a kitten -tosses a ball. Feeling his safety belt loosen, the young pilot dug in his -toes and stayed with the ship. - -As sudden as their entrance into the cloud came their departure. Tossed -forth like dust from a cart wheel, the boy found his plane tilting at an -angle of forty-five degrees. - -With a quick intake of breath, he righted the plane and headed her -downward. - -Five minutes later, from out a mass of white they approached a second -mass that somehow seemed solid. And so it was. They hit the lake with a -force that set their teeth rattling. For a space of seconds it seemed -that their ship might go on her nose. But, like some bird lighting on a -limb, she tilted twice, then shot away on an even keel. - -"Good old ship!" the boy murmured. - -There was still call for care. A massive wall of stone, the bold shore of -the lake, loomed before them. With a deft turn, the boy brought his plane -about and set her skirting that shore. A moment more and they came to -rest not a stone's throw from that protecting cliff. - -But what now? As he climbed down from his place Curlie saw at the edge of -a clump of willows and scrub spruce, where the shore was less abrupt, a -small cabin built of logs. - -It was a new cabin. The hewn ends of the logs were still white. Smoke -curled from the chimney. - -"Jerry," said Curlie, "do you suppose that some strange chance has led us -to the very door of the cabin occupied by those mysterious rascals?" - -For once Jerry's ready answer did not come. Quite as much mystified as -his pilot, he merely shook his head and stared. - -At that moment Curlie's ears caught a strange sound, the curious whining, -yelping sound of a creature in distress. But what kind of creature? - -"Can't be a dog," he told himself. "Don't sound right." He had never -heard such a sound in his life. - -As he stood there puzzling over this fresh mystery, the door of the cabin -flew open. A man stood in the door, a broad-shouldered, powerful man. And -in his hand he gripped an axe. - -He did not look at the two standing there. Perhaps he did not know they -were there at all. Or did he? Their motor had been shut off far down the -lake. He might not have heard it. - -However that might be, he did not bestow so much as one glance upon them. -Instead, for a space of ten seconds, he looked down through the scrub -timber that lined the lake's shore, then strode resolutely some fifty -paces away. And now for the first time Curlie noted that some creature -was moving there. - -With the snow whirling and eddying about him, it was impossible for the -boy to distinguish objects plainly. As he stood there watching that -strange, powerfully built man walk from his cabin toward the moving -object at the edge of the scrub forest, many questions raced through his -mind. - -Who was this man? Was this truly the hiding place of the mysterious pilot -and his band? If so, what then? - -At this point he thrust a hand inside the cabin to draw forth his bow and -his quiver of razor-pointed arrows. - -"Safety first," he whispered to Jerry. - -"Absolutely." - -Again his mind was filled with questions. What creature was this moving -there in the snow-fog? Was it a human being? He doubted this. Had it been -he who had produced those strange cries of distress? He could not know. - -And now, as the man, axe in hand, approached, the mysterious creature -reared himself to his full height. Curlie caught his breath. He was -taller than the man. When he lunged forward, as if to seize the man, -something appeared to hold him back. All but losing his balance, he -leaned far forward. - -The man struck at him. The stroke fell short. The next instant, -recovering his poise, the creature struck out with surprising speed. - -Appearing to have been injured by this sudden blow, the man stumbled -backward. But the next instant Curlie caught the gleam of the axe and the -creature went down. - -"It's a bear. What a lucky stroke!" he said to Jerry. - -But wait. The battle was not over; in fact it had hardly begun. Looming -high over the man, a great bulk had appeared from out the low forest. -Without the least warning it launched itself upon the man. They went down -in a heap and for a space of seconds a wild whirl of snow hid them. - -"Come on!" Curlie shouted, gripping his bow. "That's a barren-ground -grizzly! The other was a cub. She'll get him. We must do what we can!" - -He was at the scene of battle in a twinkling. For half a minute it was -impossible to distinguish the man from his assailant. - -Then the bear threw up her head. - -Curlie let fly an arrow. At short range, it passed quite through the -beast's great neck. - -With a roar of rage and pain, the monster turned about to sniff the air. -Then, as the hair rose on her back like a mane, she reared herself to a -towering height. - -Cold perspiration started out on the boy's temples. His antagonist was -truly immense. Yet grizzlies had been killed with bow and arrow. A second -arrow found its mark. Backing off, he sent a third speeding. - -Then the creature charged. One more arrow, and he sprang for a tree. Not -a second too soon. She went crashing by him, and then collapsed in a heap -on the snow. - -Jerry had vanished. But now he appeared again. - -"Well," Curlie stammered, "we killed the bear." - -"Absolutely." Once more Jerry smiled. "I'd have helped if I could." - -At once they turned their attention to the stranger. He was sitting up in -the snow. His face, his jacket, the snow about him were red with blood. - -"Wh--where did you come from?" he asked unsteadily. - -"Sent from the sky," was the boy's quick reply. - -"You--you saved my life." - -"Perhaps," Curlie answered laconically. "We'll get you to the house, then -see how much of you is saved." - -Together he and Jerry assisted him to the cabin. And all the time the -young aviator was asking himself, "Who is this man? Why is he alone in -this vast wilderness four hundred miles from anywhere? Is he truly a -member of that gang? Will they come here? And if they do?" - -In the hours that followed there was little time to think of these -things. The stranger had been clawed and bitten by the bear in a most -alarming manner. Jerry, who until now had appeared pure mechanic, -displayed astonishing ability in another line. Bringing his first-aid kit -from the plane and supplementing it with materials taken from a medicine -chest in the corner of the cabin, he displayed great skill in dressing -the man's wounds. - -Through it all the man uttered not one word. This is not to be wondered -at. He was in great pain. Once for a short time he lost consciousness. -When revived he turned over with a groan to utter a single word: - -"Nelson." - -While Jerry engaged with his task, Curlie examined the food supply. In a -grub box he found flour, sugar, bacon and a miscellaneous assortment of -cans. Under the eaves hung a generous cut of fresh caribou meat. - -He put some of this meat to broil over the coals. He brewed a can of -strong coffee. When Jerry had completed the dressing of the man's wounds, -he offered the man a cup of this coffee. He gulped it down eagerly; then, -to their astonishment, he turned over with his face to the wall and fell -fast asleep. - -"He'll do well enough now," said Jerry. - -"But we must get him out to a doctor at once. Complications may set in." - -"Absolutely." - -"What say we eat?" - -"Righto!" - -Five minutes later they were munching fresh caribou steak and cold -biscuits. But in Curlie's mind a score of questions still circled round -and round. - - * * * * * * * * - -It was on this same day that Johnny Thompson, who had followed the dog -team far into the wilderness in search of radio-active rock, met with -some of the most startling adventures of his eventful life. - -Two hours after sun-up he had paused to build a small fire and had -prepared himself a breakfast of beans warmed in a pan, bacon and pilot -bread. The dogs, who lay contentedly on the snow, knew that their turn to -eat would come when the day's work was done. Dogs on the trail are fed -but once a day. - -His breakfast over, he had driven in a leisurely manner up a small -stream, across a narrow lake, around a series of rushing cascades, and -then across a second small lake. - -He was beginning to feel the strain of long continuous travel, his dogs -were lagging, when he came to a third lake much larger than the others. -There he met with what to him seemed extreme good fortune. He had started -upon the journey prepared to spend his nights rolled up in his feather -robe, sleeping beneath the cold white gleam of the stars. But here, -nestling among the scrub spruce trees, was a cabin. True, it was but a -narrow shelter built of logs, but its roof of heavily painted canvas was -still intact, its door still hung upon its hinges, and there was a rough -chimney of stones with a crude fireplace at its base. - -"What could be sweeter?" he said to his dog leader, Ginger. "What, -indeed? A floor to sleep on, a place for a fire and shelter from the -wind. Going to storm, too." He stepped outside to sniff the air. "Yep, -sure is!" - -A hasty examination showed him a lean-to against the upper end of the -cabin. Beneath this were tiers of ten gallon tins piled high. - -"Empty." He kicked one. - -"No. Full. Gas. Some aerial mining company's base. Well, I won't disturb -them. My craft don't burn that kind of fuel." - -Digging into his pack he drew forth a large piece of juicy caribou meat. -"Guess this will be better than gas." His dogs crowded around him. He cut -off bits of meat and threw them up to be caught by the hungry travelers. - -Having looked after his four-footed friends, he set about the business of -making the cabin comfortable for the night. Had he known who was to enjoy -these comforts, his steps might have lagged. As it was, he toiled -lustily. Finding an axe, he cut down scrub spruce trees and chopped them -into fire wood. Having piled one corner high with fuel, he filled a large -kettle with ice hacked from the surface of the lake and set it on the -fire to thaw. - -He was preparing to plan his own dinner when a curious sound for so -desolate a region struck upon his ear, the drone of an airplane motor. - -"Now, who--" - -He dashed to the door. Finding that the plane was out of sight beyond the -bend, he ran out upon the ice. The next moment a large plane, gliding -upon its skis, came toward him. Having judged its course and concluded -that it would pass several paces before him, he stood quite still. - -To his surprise and consternation he saw the plane take a sudden swerve. -Before he could escape it was upon him. He leaped to one side just in -time to miss the still revolving propeller, but was struck on the head by -a strut and bowled over like a tenpin to lie there quite motionless upon -the snow. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - GREAT GOOD FORTUNE - - -Which is most to be desired, thrilling adventure or great good fortune? -Individuals will ever answer this question in their own way. The soldier -of fortune, going from war to war throughout a long lifetime, seeks only -adventure. Men of great wealth, shuddering at thought of anything -approaching true adventure, lock themselves up in their caged offices to -count their gold. - -However we are to answer this question, it is necessary to state that -while Johnny Thompson and Curlie Carson were passing through thrilling -adventures, their good friend Joyce Mills was enjoying a taste of great -good fortune. - -The days following her father's narrow escape from the rushing river were -trying ones. Yet they were days of hope. Her father's recovery, though -slow, seemed sure. He was a man of splendid vitality. Overtaxing labors -had partially shattered his nerves. But all his life he had fought hard -battles. This was but one more battle, and he fought it nobly. - -At the end of ten days he was able to be about the cabin a little and to -sit for long hours dreaming by the fire. Then it was that for the first -time Joyce told him the disappointing news of the test that had showed -plenty of copper and nickel, but no worth-while amount of radium in his -pitchblende samples. - -"I am so disappointed." Joyce's tone was very sober. "It was my hope that -we might truly do this suffering world a great service." - -"With radium?" - -"Yes." - -"Never you mind." He placed a hand gently on her arm. "We will do it yet. -If we find only gold, we will use it to buy radium for some little -hospital in some needy section of our great city." - -"Does the world need more gold?" - -"Perhaps not. But with gold we may purchase the things we and our fellow -men need. 'Ours not to reason why,'" he repeated with a strange smile. - -It was on that very evening that Lloyd Hill, the Canadian youth with the -alert and restless eyes, came to the Mills' cabin. He seemed in an -uncommon state of excitement. - -"Joyce," he said, coming to the point straight off, "will you do me a -favor?" - -"Always. Anywhere." She laughed a strange laugh. - -"I've something to share; at least I hope I have. That is, I mean there -is a great joy or great disappointment due. Whatever it may be, I want to -share it--with you." - -"Wh--when?" - -"To-morrow." - -"Oh, all right." - -"To-morrow. Will you drive out to my diggin's? I'm going out early. Been -thawing frozen ground all day. Stuff it with dry moss. Won't freeze, not -much. To-morrow--well, it's my big moment." - -"I--I'll come." Her voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion. She had -caught it from him. - -"Be there at nine." - -"At nine," she repeated after him. Then he was gone. - -She slept badly that night. Sometimes she fancied she heard a voice -saying, "You find gold? Mebby yes. Mebby no." At other times she thought -of her companions. She had not quite forgotten that all their efforts to -find gold, silver, radium were guided by films that rightly belonged to -another. No longer could she believe that one of these men had committed -the theft. She thought of Lloyd Hill's faultless world war record. She -recalled the time Jim had saved her dogs, and that night he had talked so -earnestly of religion. Most vivid of all was the memory of that hour when -her father's life had hung in the balance and Clyde Hawke had snatched -him from the grave. - -"They couldn't have done it!" she told herself stoutly. "And yet--" - -She woke from a period of belated slumber just in time to swallow a cup -of steaming coffee, hitch her dogs and go speeding away across the snow. - -When she arrived at the scene of the diggings the young prospector was -nowhere to be seen. - -"He's here somewhere," she told old Dannie, the dog leader, as she turned -him about and tied him to the sled. - -Having passed a mound of dark earth, she approached a crude windlass when -a voice coming apparently from the very earth called: - -"Is that you?" - -"Where are you?" she called back. - -"Where a miner should be. In the mud. Come to the windlass and look -down." - -She obeyed. He was, as he explained, "drifting" along the old bed of the -river, cutting a passage toward the rocks that had formed the falls. - -"Give me a hand!" he exclaimed. "Twist the windlass. Now! Up she goes! -Dump that anywhere, and lower the bucket." - -The excitement of the hour being still upon him, it did not occur to him -that the task he had set for her was little fitted to her slight form. As -for the girl, catching his enthusiasm, she toiled on for an hour without -apparent effort. Again and again the bucket rose; again and again her -aching muscles responded to the call. - -"It's gold," she told herself. "It must be! This time we must win!" - -"Dump this bucket to one side, and the next and the next," he shouted up -at last as, feeling her strength oozing away, she stood for a moment -easing her aching back. His next words, running through her being like an -electric current, gave her strength she had not known before. "These," he -explained, "may be pay-dirt. We should be nearing the pocket." - -Again the windlass creaked and groaned. Again her sore muscles responded -to her iron will. One, two, three, four, five, six buckets were added to -the fresh pile of earth. - -Then, for a time there was silence below. The cry, "Ready! Up she goes!" -was slow in coming. It failed to come at all. Instead, there was a low -shout of triumph, then a call: - -"Catch!" - -Before her some shining object rose in air. With a deft hand she caught -it. Then her turn came. - -"It's gold!" Her tone, in which were mingled hope, disbelief and -unbounded joy, called forth a roar of mirth from below. - -"Gold," he agreed. "Only one sizeable nugget, but gold all the same." - -"Gold!" she cried once more. - -At that moment she seemed to hear a voice say: "You find gold? Mebby yes. -Mebby no." - -Did she see something stir beyond the low ridge to the right? She thought -she had. Dannie appeared to agree, for suddenly he rose to his feet and -growled. - -"Gold!" She spoke more softly now. "How much gold?" - -The young Canadian did not answer. Perhaps he had not heard. With hands -that trembled he once more gripped his shovel to fill his bucket with -thawed earth, that by this time ran heavy to coarse gravel. And from each -shovel-full came more than a suggestion of that yellow sand that is gold. - -"Gold!" the girl murmured again, this time very soberly. "Whose gold?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - WHITHER AWAY? - - -What had caused the plane that had struck Johnny Thompson to swerve in -its course? Some secret device for changing its course? An unevenness on -the surface of the frozen lake? Johnny will never know. Some things, -however, he did learn soon after he came to. One of these was that for -some unknown reason he had been made a prisoner. He found himself in the -narrow confines of an airplane cabin. And in the cabin, quite close to -him, was a boy some two or three years his junior. The boy was dressed in -a parka of caribou skins, coarse trousers and moccasins. - -"Something," Johnny told himself, "is terribly wrong." In an effort to -sit up, he attempted to move his feet. He found it impossible to move -them separately. They were bound together. - -"Say!" he whispered hoarsely. "What's the idea? And who are you?" - -"My name," the other replied quietly, "is D'Arcy Arden. What's the idea, -do you ask? You may answer that. My feet are bound together the same as -yours. Looks like we were in the same boat, or perhaps you might say, -same plane." In spite of his predicament, the boy managed a chuckle. In -this he was joined by Johnny who immediately felt better in spite of his -aching head. - -"D'Arcy Arden," he repeated half aloud. "Where have I heard that name?" -He had heard that name; seen it, too. He shut his eyes and at once the -image of a square of white cloth with D'Arcy Arden written upon it -appeared. - -"Your name on a handkerchief," he said to the other boy. - -"My handkerchief!" The boy's eager blue eyes fairly shone. He tossed his -blonde hair back to stare at Johnny. "Did some one really find it? And -will he rescue me?" - -"Some one found it," Johnny replied slowly. "Curlie Carson, an aviator. -Afraid it won't do you much good, though. He was down in a storm when you -passed. Couldn't follow, of course. Lost all track of this 'Gray Streak,' -as he calls it. Where is he now? Hundreds of miles away, I suppose." - -Little he knew about that. - -"But tell me," Johnny commanded in an awed whisper. "What sort of outlaws -are these that they come into a country without a mark on their plane, -burning the gas of honest people without so much as a by-your-leave, and -carrying off everyone who comes near them?" - -The young boy's face broadened into a grin. "Again I must, what would you -Americans say? 'Pass the buck.' I don't know, at least not much. You have -seen them?" - -"No." - -"No?" - -"Only their plane. They bowled me over as they landed, then apparently -picked me up and chucked me in here." - -"They were kind to you in one way," said D'Arcy. "They gave you your -feather robe. Mind sharing it? I've been frozen stiff for days." - -Johnny had been too greatly concerned about the troubles he had suddenly -fallen heir to to think about comfort. But another's comfort; that was -different. At once his hands were busy untying the thong that bound his -eight-foot-square robe into a roll. - -Ten minutes of tugging, twisting, tucking in, and they were lying side by -side rejoicing in the warmth that comes even in the Arctic wilds. - -"Now," said Johnny, "tell me what you know. Are they bank robbers from -the States?" - -"I don't think so." - -"Rich men's sons on what they'd call a lark?" - -"Oh, my no!" - -"Foreigners who are trying to enter this country or the United States -without passports?" - -"Perhaps. They are foreigners; great husky fellows with tall fur hats and -great bearskin coats. They speak hardly a word of English. But if all -they wish is to enter a country, why all this secret wandering in the -air? Why not enter and have it over with?" - -"But you?" Johnny asked. - -"My father's a buffalo ranger down on the preserve. You know we have -woods-buffalo in a preserve south of Great Slave Lake, just as you have -them in Yellowstone Park. I was looking for some strays when they landed -on the river. And they nabbed me." - -"But why?" - -"Who knows? 'Fraid I'd get some one on their trail perhaps. I think -they'll use me for ransom, or a decoy sometime, maybe. Who could tell -that? All I know is I'm here. Very little to eat. Freezing at night. -Flying here, there, everywhere." - -"Have--have they a base?" - -"I don't know. Never been out of this cabin. They--" - -"Listen!" Johnny laid a hand on his arm. "Some one climbing into the -cockpit." - -At once the motors thundered. "Warming up." D'Arcy formed the words with -his lips, then made the motion of soaring with his hand. Johnny -understood. They were leaving. - -A glance out of the narrow window told him the weather had cleared. - -"Took gas here," he told himself. "Warmed themselves by my fire, ate my -dinner; now we are away." His heart was filled with impotent rage. -"Probably leave my dogs to starve, or wander into the wilds!" - -In this last he was wrong. Five minutes later the door was thrown open -and a dog tumbled in. He was followed by four others. Then the door was -slammed shut. - -In their joy at finding him again the dogs nearly ate Johnny up. - -"Good dogs!" The boy's tone was husky. "Lie down, that's a good fellow! -Lie down." - -He watched eagerly until the last dog came tumbling in and the door -slammed shut. Then his face fell. - -"Ginger," he murmured dejectedly. "They must have done him in. He was my -pal. They'd never get him alive. Poor old Ginger!" - -"Was he your leader?" There was true understanding in the other boy's -tone. Born and bred in the North, he knew what a good dog leader meant. - -"He was more than a leader," Johnny said huskily. "For two years, ever -since I was in Alaska, he was my companion and pal. But now--" - -"Don't be so sure they killed him," said D'Arcy. "I haven't heard a howl -from any dog. Plenty of barking, though. He may have slipped his collar." - -"And gone back over the trail!" Johnny exclaimed. "There's hope in that. -If he makes his way back to our camp, then Sandy will know that something -has happened to me. And he'll never rest until he finds me. In his -younger days Sandy was a Mountie. You know what they're like!" - -"They get their man." - -"Yes, and Sandy will get his." - -"Who's Sandy?" - -"He's the man I'm with. We're looking for pitchblende with radium in it." - -"Pitchblende? Radium?" - -"Tell you more later. Look! We're off!" - -They were indeed gliding over the ice. Faster and faster they went until -with a graceful swoop they rose above the scrub forest and were away. - -"It's a shame!" Johnny exclaimed. "It's a shame that a thing so marvelous -as an airplane should fall into the hands of such black rascals!" - -"Whither away?" he murmured as their speed increased. He could form no -answer. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - A FACE AT THE WINDOW - - -The mysterious gray airplane bearing Johnny Thompson and D'Arcy Arden to -some unknown destination had not been gone from the abandoned mining camp -a half hour when a curious figure appeared upon the scene. His was the -height of a boy of ten, the breadth of a giant. His prodigious arms, when -hanging straight down, touched the snow. His face was all but hidden by a -coarse black beard. A pair of red lips, a huge nose and two bead-like -eyes gave character to his face. For all his physical appearance, he -might have been a baboon dressed like an Eskimo. He was not. He was a -hunchback Indian. - -No sooner had he arrived upon the scene than he appeared to understand -that something was radically wrong. - -And, indeed, evidence was not lacking. In a spot of clean snow, stripped -of its load and turned upside down, was Johnny's sled. Close at hand the -snow was trampled as if from a battle. In the trampled spot were -footprints of a dog and a man. - -The Indian searched the entire locality carefully. The cabin, the sled, -the scrub forest, all fell under the scrutiny of his beady eye. He was -looking, if truth were known, for a dead dog. He found none. - -With a grunt he turned to his own team. A second's hesitation, and he -returned to the abandoned sled. Having righted it, he spied something -half buried in the snow. - -He picked it up. Instantly his eyes lighted with a strange mixture of joy -and astonishment as they gazed upon that object. It was a bow, Johnny's -bow. And that bow had been given to Johnny at a spot hundreds of miles -away by a hunchback bowman. - -This discovery appeared to alter the Indian's entire course of action. -Beginning again, he went over the ground with painstaking care. He -searched the cabin, the forest, the ice covered lake. Finally he followed -the course taken by the plane as it glided over the ice before its -take-off. - -When all this had been done, he lifted his face to the sky as if in -prayer; then speaking to his dogs, one of the fastest teams known to this -white world, he set them upon a course they were to follow not alone -until darkness fell but on and on through the night. - -Whatever this person's purpose might be, he could but have appeared as a -heroic figure as, steadily following his untiring team, he traced what to -all appearance was a blind trail on through the night. - -Scarcely less heroic was a lone gray figure, traveling in the opposite -direction. With unerring instinct this gray form followed back over the -trail Johnny and his team had traveled. This lone gray figure was only -that of a dog; but even a dog, with a purpose, may become a hero. - - * * * * * * * * - -Once more in Johnny Thompson's mind, as he felt the strange gray plane -whose pilot he had not so much as seen go thundering on, many questions -whirled round and round. Why, why was he a captive? Why was D'Arcy Arden -here? Who were these great, dark, whiskered men who flew an unmarked -plane over these northern wastes? - -"One would not think it possible for strangers to live so long and travel -so far in such a land without supplies of their own," he told himself. -"Yet in no other land could it be done so easily. In summer it is -necessary for dwellers in this land to bring in supplies of gasoline and -food for winter's use. These supplies brought in by steamboat are often -left in unguarded spots. Up until now, men in this land have been honest. -It is the only way man can survive in such an unfriendly land. But now, -if this continues, no man will be safe from cold and hunger." - -Having thought this thing through, he renewed his resolve to do all -within his power to bring this unbearable situation to an end. - -"But what's to be done?" He was obliged to smile at himself as he -realized how helpless he was. With his ankles tied together he was -speeding he knew not where in a plane he had seen only from the outside, -and which was piloted by men whose very names were unknown to him. - -"I may help yet," he told himself. "Stranger things have happened." - -As he looked down upon the world that glided beneath him, he saw that the -shadow gliding across the blanket of white, their shadow, was far to -their right. - -"Long shadows," he shouted to D'Arcy. - -The boy heard him above the thunder of motors. "Yes," he nodded. "Soon be -night. And then?" He held his hands before him in a gesture of -questioning and uncertainty. - -In that gesture one might have read, "Where are we going? Where will we -land? Do these people have a base? Will they take us there?" - -Would they? Curlie Carson had been forced down by a storm. The pilots of -the mystery plane had taken a chance and had flown on and out of the -storm. Had Curlie come by mere chance upon their base? Was the powerful -man, whose life he had saved, an accomplice of the mystery flyers? Let us -see. - -At the moment Johnny was watching the distant gliding shadow, Curlie sat -before a fire that roared up the mouth of a crudely built chimney while, -propped up comfortably in a chair, the injured cabin dweller sat beside -him. - -"We've done what we could for you," Curlie was saying. "The very best we -could, but it's not enough. We'll have to take you out to a doctor. -Complications may set in. Some of those wounds are deep." - -"I know." The man spoke with a slightly foreign accent, but his choice of -English words was good. "You have been very kind. You saved my life. No -doubt of it. - -"That bear," his voice rose, "was a thief. Two thieves they were, she and -the cub. In a land like this you have to depend upon fresh meat, caribou, -rabbit, ptarmigan, fish. - -"The trees are short--you know how they are, ten inches across the bottom -of the trunk, but tapering off like a top, not ten feet tall. I hung my -meat in trees and my fish on racks. Those bears clawed it down and ate -it. - -"I set a bear trap. I caught the cub in the trap, you saw. I thought the -big one was not about. She was. You know. And she--she nearly got me. If -it had not been for you, I-- - -"Say!" He broke off. "Who sent you here? Why did you come?" - -"No one sent us," Curlie replied quietly. "Yes, perhaps some one did. I -believe it was God. He does things that way." - -"God? Yes, perhaps." - -"It looked very much like a wild goose chase," Curlie went on. "We were -following a mysterious gray plane. The plane is absolutely without marks. -It flies everywhere on gas that belongs to others. It's a menace. Ever -heard of it?" He looked the man squarely in the eyes. But if this man -experienced any emotion he did not betray it. - -"Heard a plane once or twice," he said slowly, "flying high. Thought they -were gold seekers, out taking pictures. - -"You know what lake this is, of course?" - -Curlie shook his head. - -"Lake Dubawnt. It's practically unexplored. Some natives here, Caribou -Eskimo. Wild as deer. Seen 'em several times. Never came up to them. -Might not be safe. Might send you a shower of arrows. - -"It's a big lake. Half as large as Lake Ontario. No one comes here. It's -a thousand miles from Edmonton. And a thousand miles with dog team or -canoe is a long way." - -"But by airplane?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"And you live here all the year alone?" Curlie's tone took on an eager -note. - -"Alone? Oh, no. Not alone." The man's voice trailed off into nothingness. -Then, turning his face toward the fire, he sat a long time looking into -the flames. He appeared to be reading them. After a time he said, - -"God sent them? Well, I shouldn't wonder. God seems to have a hand in -many affairs. I'll be thinking more of Him after this; natural enough -that I should." - -And so the twilight faded into darkness and little white foxes came out -to bark on the crest of the hill above the fringe of scrub trees. Far -away a white Arctic wolf prowled in search of sleeping ptarmigan. - - * * * * * * * * - -Just as those evening shadows deepened into darkness the gray plane that -carried Johnny Thompson and his new found friend to some unknown -destination dropped down from the sky to alight upon the frozen surface -of a broad lake. What lake? This Johnny could not tell. No one came -forward to inform him. He was not invited to dismount from the plane and -relieve his stiffened muscles. Half a loaf of hard bread and a bottle of -water were thrust in at the door. Then they were left, he and D'Arcy, to -darkness and silence. - -By propping himself on an elbow Johnny was able to look through the -narrow windows. To the left was a glistening expanse of white. On the -right was a narrow fringe of low trees skirting a hill, and at the edge -of the trees a cabin. A light shone cheerily from the cabin's one small -window. From time to time this light appeared to flare up. This, Johnny -knew, was but the increase of illumination that came to the interior of -the cabin when the log fire flamed high. - -"Going to be tough, sleeping here with all these dogs," said D'Arcy. - -"Not so bad." Johnny's tone was cheerful in spite of his misadventures. -"They mind me pretty well. I'll make them stack up together down by our -feet. They'll keep one another warm. - -"The thing that troubles me most," he went on after a time, "is that this -ends my search." - -"Search?" - -"For pitchblende. Radio-active rock, you know." Johnny's tone was -thoughtful. "It's not so much for myself. I'm young. Lots more chances -for me. But Sandy, he's old. His last great adventure. - -"And then, think what it would mean to find pitchblende that would yield -a large per cent of radium! - -"It's an awfully long process, this getting radium from pitchblende. You -crush the ore fine, then leach it out with acid. Leach it three or four -times, and you get a small quantity of uranium. But uranium is not -radium. It only contains radium. Another long process, and you get the -radium clear. But how much? Much as would rest on the head of a pin, -probably. - -"In a whole year all the radium workers in the world produced only eight -and a half grains, about a fourth of an ounce. Some figures are -staggering because of their bigness. Radium figures are shockingly small. - -"And yet," the boy's tone became deeply serious, "a single half gram of -radium, one sixty-fourth of an ounce, has been used to work remarkable -cures. Men who seemed doomed to an early and terrible death have been -cured and sent back to their happy families, all because of radium. - -"And if you want large figures, here they are. One gram of radium is -worth about $35,000. One ounce $1,000,000. One pound (if there were such -a thing in the world) $16,000,000. And no discount for large orders." - -"I'd like to have a pound in my pocket right now," D'Arcy chuckled. - -"You might regret it." - -"Regret it?" - -"If you left it there long enough though you had it securely packed in a -tube, it would burn." - -"My pocket." - -"Not your pocket. But it would burn _you_. - -"It's the strangest element this old earth knows." - -Having thus disposed of this interesting subject, the two boys munched -their bread, drank their water, put the dogs in their places and, rolling -up in Johnny's feather robe, prepared to make the best of a bad situation -by sleeping the night through. - -Despite his strange surroundings and the extraordinary position in which -he found himself, Johnny slept soundly. - -He was awakened, he knew not at what hour, by the low growl of a dog. - -"Down Tige!" he commanded in a low voice. "Be still!" - -The dog lay down in his place. - -"What could have disturbed him?" Johnny asked himself. - -The moon at that moment was under a cloud. The interior of the cabin was -dark. He caught the sound of light tapping. It came from the window on -his right. Strain his eyes as he might, he could see nothing. - -Then suddenly the moon, creeping from behind the cloud, flooded all with -yellow light. - -Involuntarily the boy shrank into the shadows. There was a face at the -window. And scarcely could one have imagined an uglier face; a great -nose, red lips and beady eyes framed in shaggy hair. - -But suddenly the boy leaned eagerly forward. His eyes lighted with a -strange fire. Then in a whisper curiously like a cry of triumph, he -exclaimed: - -"The hunchback bowman!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - A POCKETFUL OF GOLD - - -In the meantime Lloyd Hill had climbed from his hole beneath the frozen -crust of earth to stare at his slender companion, Joyce Mills, in genuine -dismay. - -"That is no task for a girl!" he exclaimed. "I was too eager. I--I wanted -to share it with you!" - -Truly the girl's appearance would never have done in a parlor setting. -She had thrown off her fur parka. Her heavy wool dress was smeared from -waist to hem with sandy mud. Her moccasins were a wreck. Her hands were -red and blistered. She had been turning the windlass and dumping pay-dirt -for three solid hours. - -"No! No!" she protested gamely. "Why, it has been marvelous! I--I -wouldn't have missed it for anything. Truly I wouldn't!" - -"Well, then," replied Lloyd, in a calmer voice, "now that the worst is -over, I suggest that you put on your parka and prepare to rock this thing -back and forth for an hour while we pan our pay-dirt and see how much -gold we really have." - -"There is some," she replied excitedly as her head disappeared inside her -parka. "I saw it gleaming among the pebbles." - -"Oh, yes, there is some." - - * * * * * * * * - -Strange as it may seem, at this moment Scott Ramsey, in that other -prospector's camp seventy miles away, was bursting through the door with -a shout: - -"They've found it! Gold!" - -Sandy MacDonald, who had been stirring up a batch of sourdough flapjacks, -turned about to stare. "Found gold? Where?" - -"Those fellows who have been using our pictures. They've found gold in an -old creek bed." - -"When?" - -"Two, three hours ago." - -"Then the Moccasin Telegraph works?" - -"Sure it works. And now--" - -"Seems a shame to claim a share." - -"It does. But it's only just. We must not let foolish sentiment stop us. -We must think of our rights." - -"Scott," said Sandy thoughtfully, "did you ever receive an answer to that -letter you wrote to your friend in Winnipeg asking about those films?" - -"Never did." - -"It should be here by now." - -"Yes. But it hasn't arrived, not yet." - - * * * * * * * * - -Lloyd Hill's method of extracting gold from pay-dirt was simple, but -effective. He had arranged a board trough a foot wide, six inches deep -and ten feet long in such a manner that it might be shaken backward and -forward. Since the trough was tilted slightly, any substance within it -would move slowly toward the lower end. - -At that end was a pocket half filled with quick-silver. - -He shoveled pay-dirt into the trough. As the girl rocked the trough -backward and forward he poured upon it warm water from his steam thawer. -As the mass of soft earth moved downward, heavy particles went to the -bottom, then into the mercury pocket. The mercury collected the gold to -itself. The lighter rocks were crowded out and passed on. - -"Won't get it all," Lloyd explained as he shoveled. "Not near all. But, -if it's any good we'll thaw it out and work it over again in the spring." - -For an hour after that they worked in silence. Only once did the young -man lift his face to the wind, to mutter: - -"Going to storm." - -Already the wind was rising. Joyce felt bits of snow cut her cheeks. - -"No matter," she murmured. "It's not so far back. And you couldn't lose -old Dannie. Good old Dannie! He knows the way." - -Then a thought struck her. She seemed to be hearing Johnny Thompson say: -"If you make a strike, we'll know it. Moccasin Telegraph." - -"Does he know?" she asked herself. "If he knows, will he come, he and the -others?" - -Once more she felt the sting of snow on her cheek, and shuddered. - -But had they made a strike after all? They would soon know! - -Pausing to rest his weary muscles, the young Canadian allowed the -pay-dirt to drift off the rocker until nothing remained save that which -was in the pocket. - -"Now--" His voice was a trifle unsteady. "Now we shall see!" - -Thrusting in his hand, he stirred the mass in the pocket. And as he -stirred the tense muscles of his face relaxed into a smile. - -"Joyce, my child!" he cried, seizing her and sending her whirling round -and round. "We win! There is gold! Gold aplenty!" - -"Four pounds if an ounce!" he exclaimed a little later when the work was -done. "And this is only the beginning! - -"Night's coming." He looked away toward the west. "Night and storm. No -one will disturb these diggings. Hop into the sled and we will be going." - -Wearily, with every muscle in her body crying for rest, but with a heart -pounding with joy, the girl dropped to her place in the toboggan sled and -allowed her companion to tuck the soft caribou-skin robe about her. - -"Joyce," he murmured, "you've been a great pal to me this day! Settle -down for an hour of rest. You shan't set a foot on the snow until we -reach your cabin door." - -"We have won!" he exclaimed, as he gripped the handle bars. - -"God has helped us," was her answer. - -"Yes. We trusted God and did our best." - -What a moment for shadows! Yet shadows came unbidden. One floated at this -moment before the girl's eyes. "Those films were stolen," she seemed to -hear a voice saying. - -"Oh, please!" she pleaded half aloud. "We will do what is right. All will -be well in the end." - -Too weary for further thought, she closed her eyes and gave herself over -to the pure joy that comes with gliding across the snow in a toboggan -sled behind a swift and eager team, the Arctic's best. - -Three hours later Joyce was seated alone by the fire. The hour was late. -There came a sound at the door. Having turned about, expecting her -father, she was a little startled to see instead the mysterious stranger -she had, under unusual circumstances, met before. - -Twice this man had, she believed, saved her from the mad buffalo. Now, -without a word, he closed the door to make his way to the seat before the -hearth. Presently he raised a hand to point to the coffee pot. - -From all this you will be led to believe that this stranger was none -other than the one so well known to many of the inhabitants of the land -as "The Voice." And so he was. - -Joyce Mills had been about the world a great deal. She was not easily -frightened. The man did not disturb her. Understanding his gesture, she -replenished the fire and in due time poured out a cup of black coffee. He -drank it scalding hot. Once again he sat as in a trance. Once more he -demanded coffee and got it. Then he spoke: - -"You find gold." It was not a question, but a statement. How could she -deny it? And yet, how did he know? They had told no one and the discovery -was only a few hours old. Without a word, she stared at him. - -But more was to come. - -"See. See young man, big, strong, brave. Fly red devil bird, fly, that -one. See that one drop down, down, down!" - -The girl closed her eyes. He was speaking, she knew all too well, of Drew -Lane. - -"But not dead." The man's voice rose to a high pitch. "Not dead, that -one." - -"Yes, yes! He is dead!" came her quick reply. - -"No!" The man was angry. Half rising from his chair, he fixed her with -his eagle eye. - -"No. He not dead!" He sank back into the chair. - -Sensing somehow that whether he spoke truth or falsehood, this man's word -was not to be disputed, she held her peace. - -After a time he spoke again. This time his story was long and rambling. -It told of two boys made prisoner and kept in the cabin of an airplane. -His description of the older of these boys fitted Johnny Thompson so well -that Joyce could not mistake it. - -"More romance," she told herself, "but let him talk." - -The man rambled on. He spoke of the "Gray Streak," of a hunchbacked -Indian, of swift dog teams and of a curious cavern beneath the -snow-covered earth. - -She listened. But all the time she was thinking: "I wish this dreamer -would go away. I wish father were here." - -In time both her wishes were granted. - -With her father came the fortunate young gold hunter, Lloyd Hill. - -"Do you know who that is?" Lloyd exclaimed before she had half finished -telling of her visitor. "He is known as the Voice. Everyone who lives in -this land believes he speaks the truth. I have never known a case in -which he erred." - -"But he said Drew Lane was not dead." - -"And who will prove he has not spoken the truth?" - -"He said Johnny Thompson was a prisoner in the 'Gray Streak.'" - -"And so he may be." - -Joyce lost her power of speech. If all that the Voice had said were true, -this was indeed a strange world. - -"Time will tell." She settled on this conviction. "But if it is all true! -If it is! - -"But how could he know all this? Surely he cannot be in many places at -the same time?" - -"Moccasin Telegraph." - -"What _is_ Moccasin Telegraph?" Her tone was eager, commanding. - -"That is a question no one can answer; at least no white man. A question -no red man is willing to answer. We only know that they know. Time and -again in this great white wilderness catastrophes have befallen men. A -trapper has been killed by an enraged bull moose. A hunter has been shot -by his own gun. A plane has crashed. Each time, within an hour or two, -some Indian hundreds of miles away has described the tragedy in detail. -How do we explain it? How could we? We do not try. We say Moccasin -Telegraph, and leave it at that." - -"It--why, that is uncanny!" - -Seeing that the whole affair was getting on her nerves, Lloyd wisely -changed the subject. - -Yet, two hours later, before she fell asleep, the girl found herself -puzzling over these things. - -"Johnny Thompson a prisoner in the cabin of the 'Gray Streak,'" she -whispered to herself. "And the 'Gray Streak,' where is it? The 'Riddle of -the Storm,' Curlie Carson called it. What a riddle! - -"And Drew Lane? His is a riddle of the clouds. - -"What a world this is! Long ago Johnny Thompson said we could come here -to find peace. Have we found it? Truly this world knows no valley of -contentment." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - WALLS OF LIGHT - - -The hunchback bowman stood tapping upon the airplane cabin in which -Johnny Thompson had been made prisoner. How had he traveled over all -those weary miles? How had he known the way? Had the airplane left a path -across the sky for his eyes? - -Who will answer? For that matter, who will answer a hundred questions -that might well be asked concerning the strange natives of the North? How -do they follow trails that are wind-blown, no trails at all, over miles -of darkness and storm? How do they in the midst of fog, without sun, moon -or stars to guide them, steer frail craft over dark waters to land on -unlighted shores before their wigwam doors? How can they know what -happens a hundred miles away at the very hour at which it happens? To all -these questions there is no answer. Ask them. They will reply, "We cannot -tell." Do they speak the truth? Who can say? - -The bowman was here. How? What matter this? He was here. He was Johnny's -undying friend. Once he had saved the boy's life. His hand it had been -that, with so much skill, had fashioned the bow taken by him from the -snow hours before. The lost bow, the overturned sled had spoken to him. -They had said, "Your friend, Johnny Thompson, is in distress." - -He had replied, "I will go to his aid." Now he tapped upon the glass and -beckoned. - -For answer, Johnny threw back his robe, disclosing the stout steel -manacles on his ankles. - -The hunchback's reaction was startling. Wrenching open the door with his -powerful hands, he prepared to drag Johnny from the cabin to his sled. - -With a sigh Johnny told him that the other boy must go too. The Indian -understood. Swiftly, silently he lifted the second boy and carried him to -the sled. Then, dragging forth Johnny's robe, he wrapped it about them. - -At a barely audible call from Johnny, the five dogs came bounding from -the cabin. Then they were away. - -The Indian made no effort to hitch Johnny's dogs to the sled. There was -no need. His own tireless team was still fit for the trail. In the North -both dogs and men are accustomed to long hours of rest and long days of -toil. - -So, with no sound coming from the darkened cabin where, relying on their -false security, the mysterious ones slept on, the sled glided away into -the night. - -For an hour they followed the shore of the lake. Then turning sharply to -the left, they climbed a steep hill to go gliding along a ridge. Mile -after mile of glistening white had passed beneath their runners when at -last they went tobogganing down a steep incline to tumble all in a heap -at the bottom. And that bottom was the frozen surface of still another -lake. - -Fifteen minutes more and, just as dawn was breaking, they found -themselves facing a brown wall of rock. In the center of this wall was a -narrow opening. Into this opening they were invited to crawl. - -"D--do you think it's safe t--to go in there?" D'Arcy Arden looked up at -Johnny. With their feet still bound together, they were obliged to crawl -on hands and knees. - -"Safest thing in the world." Johnny prepared to lead the way. "I have one -rule for every land; do as the natives do. If a native says a thing is -safe, you may be sure it is. - -"Besides," he added as he crept forward, "this man is an old friend of -mine. Think of the miles he traveled to save me!" - -For all his confidence in his guide, Johnny was a little surprised at the -place he entered. Not so much a cave as a passageway among a tumbled mass -of jagged rocks, it led right, left, up, down until he was fairly dizzy. -But at last they came into a rather large, low chamber. - -To his surprise, Johnny found that in this chamber he could see plainly -enough to find his way about. He was, however, too much worn down by -excitement and lack of sleep to note this with any degree of interest or -to ask questions about it. Having been assured by signs from his strange -host that they were now quite safe and that he was prepared to guard the -entrance, he curled up once more beneath his robe and, with D'Arcy at his -side, fell asleep in a chamber which sunlight never entered, but where -darkness never reigned supreme. - - * * * * * * * * - -At about the time Johnny and his companions reached the cave, Sandy -MacDonald, the veteran prospector who had risen early that he might get a -full day of prospecting, heard a scratching at the door of the cabin. - -As he threw open the door Ginger, Johnny's gray leader, with a look upon -his face that seemed almost human, sprang upon him. - -"Ginger!" Sandy exclaimed. "Where's Johnny?" - -For answer the dog turned and dashed through the door. He went a distance -down the trail. Then, seeing he was not followed, turned back. - -The aged prospector's astonishment knew no bounds. He had not expected -Johnny back, had believed him safe in some cabin or camping beneath the -stars. And here was his indispensable leader racing into the cabin and -demanding attention. - -"Something's happened! I get you!" Sandy said to the dog. "Just a cup of -coffee, and I'll be with you." - -The intelligent creature appeared to understand for, weary messenger that -he was, he threw himself down beside the fire and fell fast asleep. - -The instant the door opened, he was on his feet, ready to lead the way -back over that long weary trail to the cabin he had left, and then on and -on, who could tell how much farther? until they came upon his young -master. Such is the humble devotion of a faithful dog. - -"Ginger, old boy," the gray-bearded prospector rumbled, as he turned his -team into the trail, "I figured I'd come onto that pitchblende today, -regular velvety black stuff and heavy, heavy as gold, the real stuff, and -radium, radium aplenty. But when a pal of ours is in distress, that's a -different matter. Success? Well now, that can wait until to-morrow." So -they hit the long, long trail. - - * * * * * * * * - -But Curlie Carson and his mechanic Jerry--what had happened to them? They -had slept the night through and with the dawning of a bright new day were -eager to be on their way. - -"I'd give a penny to know why that chap lives way up here back of -beyond," Curlie said to Jerry, as they prepared to warm up their motor. - -"Don't you know?" - -"No. Do you?" - -"Absolutely. He's a trapper. Scattered all over this country, these -trappers are." - -"Then he's not connected with the 'Gray Streak?'" - -"Not a chance; nor is that little chap back there beyond Fort Chipewyan, -the one with the carrier pigeon." - -Curlie showed his disappointment at this fresh discovery. He had come a -long way on a wild goose chase. He had hoped against hope that this cabin -might furnish a clue to the solution of the mystery that gathered itself -about that gray rover of the sky. Yet here was Jerry telling him there -was not a chance. - -"But why didn't he tell us he was a trapper?" he objected. - -"These men of the North are silent fellers," Jerry said slowly. "You'll -find that out. They live in the midst of silence. They're here because -they love silence. People that like cities live in 'em and talk aplenty. - -"One thing helps," Jerry added after a time. "Our record is still good. -We've added a grand distance to our total year's flight and, this being -an errand of mercy, counts extra special." - -Curlie smiled as he thought what an accidental errand of mercy it had -been. - -"But not so much an accident after all," he said half aloud. "God planned -it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. And what God plans can never be called an -accident." - -The baggage their passenger proposed to take with him was proof enough -that he was a trapper. This was composed of bales of white fox skins. - -"This," he explained, "is only part of our catch. My partner left with -the rest on our dog sled five days ago. It's five hundred miles to Fort -Chipewyan. You have to carry food for yourself and your dogs. We didn't -dare try it together. Too much of a load for so long a journey. I was to -come down later. But now," he smiled, "guess I'll beat him out. That's -the glory of the air." - -"Yes," Curlie agreed, "that's the glory of the air." - -Even then his mind was but half occupied with the affairs of the moment. -He was thinking of the mystery plane. - -"What became of them?" he asked himself. "Did they make a forced landing? -Could they have crashed? Did they reach their base? If so, where is it? -Will I ever find it? And if I do? - -"The riddle of the storm," he murmured, "of two storms. When will it be -solved?" For the first time he realized how fully this problem had taken -possession of his thoughts. - -"Such a riddle!" His tone became animated. "And its solution means so -much to these far flung dwellers of the North. - -"One thing comes first. That's clear. We must get this wounded man to the -doctor at Resolution! - -"Oh, Jerry," he called. "Is the motor O.K.?" - -"Absolutely." - -"All right. Let's go." - -The motor thundered. Curlie climbed aboard, looked back to see that his -passenger was ready, then set the plane gliding over the snow. A moment -later the great bird rose with a graceful glide and soared toward the -clouds. - - * * * * * * * * - -Johnny Thompson did not sleep long in the hunchback's curious cave. -Everything was too strange for that. There were too many matters that -needed thinking through. - -He did not waken suddenly, nor all at once. For a time, only half awake, -he lay there wondering. Who were these mysterious airmen? Why had they -taken him prisoner? Would they follow the track of the hunchback's sled -and attempt to recapture him? He sincerely hoped they would not. - -"Could be but one end to that," he told himself. "They'd be shot through -and through by my Indian friend's arrows." He had seen that Indian kill a -grizzly bear with those arrows. - -He thought of Ginger, his dog leader. - -"Did he escape, or did they kill him?" He was bound to believe that his -good pal of many a long trail was safe. - -"And if he is," he whispered to himself, "if he is--" Suddenly he sat -straight up, wide awake. A thought had struck him squarely between the -eyes. "If Ginger is alive, he has gone back over the trail. He has told -Sandy MacDonald that something is wrong. They will start back over the -trail. They will follow until they come to the camp of those mysterious -aviators. Then Sandy will be made prisoner. And Ginger! They will surely -kill him this time. - -"It must not happen! I must attempt to find that trail and head them off. -There is not a moment to lose! I--" - -He broke off to stare about him. His startled eyes, roving from corner to -corner of the cave and from floor to ceiling, had, even in his excitement -and anxiety, taken note of an astonishing fact. He was in a cave. There -was no lamp. Not an oil lamp, not an electric torch was to be found; and -yet the place was illumined. And outside it was still night. - -"It's the walls," he told himself. "They are all alight. - -"D'Arcy! D'Arcy Arden!" He put out a trembling hand to shake his -companion into wakefulness. "D'Arcy! Wake up! We are surrounded by walls -of light!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - THE BLACK CUBE - - -"There! That's the place!" - -D'Arcy Arden pointed away over a well-marked track to the distant shores -of a small lake. On the shore of the lake grew a few scrub trees, -poplars, willows and spruce. Nestling among these was a cabin. From the -chimney a thin coil of smoke rose skyward. - -"Yes." Johnny Thompson pulled him back. "And there's the gray plane. They -must be there. We must be careful, or they will see us." - -Creeping back to a spot where a low ridge shut out their view of the -lake, they gathered in a circle for a council of war. War it was to be, -too. Sandy MacDonald had decreed that two hours before. - -"They have forfeited their right to freedom, those wild aviators have, -whoever they may be!" he had declared stoutly. "They have taken gas from -stations when no emergency existed and have not reported it. They have -robbed trappers of their supplies. They have kidnapped two of you and -carried you away into a desolate land where, for all we know, they meant -to let you starve. Why? Let them tell us. - -"Our duty its plain. We must, if we can, capture them, bring them to -justice and return the plane to its owner if it has been stolen, which I -doubt not." - -So, fired by the veteran's words, they had prepared to march upon those -intruders in a silent land. - -They were four: Johnny Thompson, D'Arcy Arden, Sandy MacDonald and the -Hunchback Bowman. Three were armed with bows and arrows. These bows, as -you have seen, were capable of killing a bear. Sandy was prepared, if -need be, to do yeoman service with an axe. - -You may wonder how it came about that they were together here, so close -to the hiding place of the ones they sought. It is all quite simple. -Without tarrying to discover the origin of the strange illumination in -the mysterious cave of the hunchback, Johnny had set about the task of -removing his fetters and those of D'Arcy. This, with the aid of the -hunchback's extraordinary strength, he was successful in doing. - -Finding himself once more on his feet, he had crept from the cave, -harnessed his dogs and hitched them with those of the hunchback to the -sled. - -After seeing that they were all well armed with stout bows, he headed the -double dog team back over the trail of the night before. - -They would, he explained, follow this trail until they found themselves -approaching the small lake on which the mystery plane had alighted. They -would then circle the lake until they came upon the hunchback's trail -leading to the camp. It was this last trail that old Ginger and the aged -prospector would follow if, as he firmly believed, the old leader had -escaped and Sandy MacDonald was on his way to the rescue. - -"And if we are too late, if MacDonald has gone before us and been -captured, we will storm their place and rescue him if it costs a life!" -Johnny had said with fierce determination. - -The hunchback, though he spoke scarcely a word of English, appeared to -understand, for he grinned, showing all his white teeth, and brandished -his bow in a threatening manner. - -For once they had met with good fortune. They had not been camped half an -hour on the trail made by the hunchback on the night of the rescue when -Sandy MacDonald appeared at the top of a ridge. Then it was that the aged -Scotchman completely lost control of his team. Old Ginger was in the -lead. Once he sighted his young master, he led the team in a stampede -that ended only when he leaped up to kiss Johnny's cheek, a kiss of which -Johnny had no cause to be ashamed. - -So now here they were, gathered in a narrow run, planning an attack. - -"We might wait until night," suggested Johnny. - -"And in the meantime they'd be away in the plane, like as not," objected -the sturdy Scotchman. "Looks like the Lord had delivered them into our -hands. We must take them." - -"But they may be desperate characters!" - -"Beyond doubt they are. We must take them by surprise. We'll do it this -way." Sandy MacDonald's old eyes shone with fresh fire. "You three that -are armed, you'll creep up through the brush and take your position ready -to cover the door. Then I'll drive up with the dog team as any trapper -might do. I'll get them out into the open, without arms. You will cover -their escape. And so we'll win a bloodless battle." - -"Sounds all right," said Johnny. "But here's hoping nothing goes wrong!" - -Their method of attack agreed upon, there remained but to put it into -effect. - -Testing their bows, then nocking their arrows, the young archers, -together with the hunchback, crept forward. Over one ridge they climbed, -down a narrow gully, over a second ridge where for a second, quite -breathless, they feared detection, then down the ridge followed by a -break for cover in the bushes. - -"We--we made it," D'Arcy puffed in a whisper. - -"Yes, we did," Johnny agreed. "But the worst is yet to come. Look to your -bow. Set your arrow squarely. If you must shoot, shoot to kill. More than -one honest person's life depends upon it." - -They crept through the bushes to a point where they might command a view -of the doorway to the cabin and the open space before it. Then, sinking -down in the snow behind the black bulk of a spruce tree, they awaited the -zero hour. - -Johnny drew his watch from his pocket. A minute ticked itself into -eternity, then another and yet another. - -"Sandy does not come," Johnny whispered. "What's keeping him?" - -A chill gripped his heart. What if their valiant old leader had been -ambushed and captured! - -"We'd save him!" was his stout resolve. "We--" - -He broke off. A chill, creeping up from his very toes, left him rooted to -the spot. He had caught a sound of movement in the brush behind him. -There could be no mistaking that. - -"Sandy has been ambushed and captured. Now it is our turn. Will they -fight?" Fresh courage flooded his being as, gripping his bow, he whirled -about. - -The next instant he all but dropped in his tracks. Framed in the green -that was the spruce boughs, he beheld a face, the face of Drew Lane! - -Starting back like one who sees a ghost, he stood there, rigid as marble. - -The face smiled. He knew that smile. It was Drew Lane's smile. No ghost -this, but a living being. - -"Drew Lane, as I live!" - -"Right the first time." - -"And--and you did not fall from the parachute?" - -Drew did not answer. - -"Am I in time?" - -"For the fight?" - -"The fight." - -"Just in time. We--" Once again Johnny broke off. Had he caught the drone -of an airplane motor? - -He had. There was no questioning that. It grew louder. - -"Are they gone?" he asked himself. "They can't be." One look around the -tree assured him that the gray plane still rested on the ice by the -cabin. - -"A second plane." His head whirled. Was there more than one mystery -plane? A whole fleet of them perhaps? - -"Or--" Hope rose high. "Or is this Curlie Carson coming to our rescue?" - -Together the four of them stood at attention. - -From his hiding place, not far from the cabin, Sandy MacDonald, too, had -heard the drone of the plane. Truth was, his keen old ears had detected -it first. This is why he had delayed appearing. He was, however, in a -quandary. Like Johnny, he was in the dark regarding the person who flew -this second plane. Was he a friend? Or foe? He could not know. And not -knowing, he felt that their coup might be postponed. But his young -comrades? Would they have the patience to wait? He could not tell. In the -end, he decided to trust to their patience. - -Johnny's watch ticked away another minute. The second plane loomed larger -and larger in the distance. - -Suddenly from out the log cabin sprang two large, black-bearded men. One -carried a curious package on his head. It seemed a dark leather case, a -perfect cube some eighteen inches in diameter. - -Having hurriedly placed this in the cabin of the plane, they leaped for -the cockpit to set the motor in motion. - -"Stop them!" Johnny sprang to his feet. "They are off!" - -He was too late. The plane began to glide across the ice. Moving slowly -at first, it gained in momentum. - -At the same time the other plane was speeding toward them. Johnny was -sure now that he made out the blue and yellow of Curlie Carson's plane. - -"So near!" he groaned. "And we lost them!" - -He came out into the open. His companions followed him. Sandy MacDonald -came up. Together they watched the gray plane rise from the ice and soar -northward. - -The other plane changed its course. It was to pass some distance from -them. - -"If that's Curlie's plane," said Johnny, "he is not alone. His tank is -well loaded with gas. He will chase them until they are ready to cry for -quarter." - -It _was_ Curlie. And every guess Johnny had made was a good one. - -Arrived at Resolution with the disabled trapper, Curlie had told his -story to Sergeant Jock Gordon of the Royal Mounted Police. Jock had gone -into action. He had summoned his assistant and ordered him to prepare to -accompany him at once into the wilds. - -"We must follow the scent before it is cold." he said to Curlie. "As an -officer of the law, I have power to commandeer your plane. That's what -I'm doing now. How soon can we be off?" - -"We'll be ready in an hour." - -"Absolutely," Jerry echoed. - -So here they were hot on the tail of the gray plane which had spread -consternation through the North. - -The chase was not a long one. While Johnny Thompson and his companions -listened and watched, they heard the motor of the mystery plane cough and -rattle, then lapse into an appalling silence. Instantly the heavy plane -went into a tailspin and plunged earthward. - -From an altitude of some two thousand feet, it fell faster and faster. -Johnny closed his eyes, but could not shut out the mental vision of that -which must happen. This was a little world of rocky ridges. There could -be but one outcome to such a landing. - -In silence they watched the pursuing plane circle back, then slow down -for a landing. In silence still, they gripped the hands of Curlie and -Jerry as they alighted from the plane. - -The look on Curlie's face as his eyes fell upon the close knit features -and sturdy form of the young detective, Drew Lane, was a wonderful thing -to see. - -"By all the signs that any man can know," he said slowly, "you should be -dead. With my own eyes I saw you pass into a cloud. You were dropping -earthward in a parachute. I saw the parachute flutter out of the cloud. -You were gone. A fall of two thousand feet in such a spot must kill any -mortal man; yet here you are! I--I am glad! But how does one do it?" He -stared hard at the detective. - -"Simple enough." Drew gave forth a low laugh. "When one knows how, -there's really nothing to it. Been done several times. Two parachutes, -that's the answer. When you release one, you open the other. The second -one takes you safely to earth. - -"It seems, however," he spoke slowly, "that it got me nothing, that -trick. Thought I'd be able to slip up on them and take them -single-handed. - -"Trouble was I didn't know the land. Got myself lost right at the start. -Had a mighty tough time of it, I have. Lost all trace of them. This is -the first I've seen of them for days. And now I find them only to see -them crack up. - -"Well," he added philosophically, "that's the end of the 'Gray Streak.' -Not a chance that they came down alive. Only thing that's left is to -search the wreckage for clues, then give them an aviator's funeral, light -a match and touch off their gas. What say we go?" - -Eight hours later, gathered about the fire in the cabin that had but a -few hours before been the base of strange outlaws, they were preparing to -go through with an unusual ceremony--the opening of the black cube, which -had been thrown from the wrecked plane and, strangely enough, had -received not the slightest injury. - -"Heavy!" said Jock Gordon, lifting it to the table. "Wonder what's in it. -We'll see." - -The next instant as one man they started back. They were met by a blaze -of such varied light as they had never before beheld. They were looking -upon a crown, the crown of a one-time powerful ruler. And not a jewel was -missing. - -"The crown of the Tzar of Russia, as I live!" exclaimed Sandy MacDonald. - -"Do--do you think so?" Jock asked. - -"Can't be a doubt of it. I've seen it pictured many times, even in -colors. The radicals got it, when the Revolution came. And now, here it -is!" - -"Why?" It was Johnny who asked. He asked for all. He may as well have -asked for the whole world. The question will perhaps never be answered. -The two men who might have answered it were dead. Their funeral pyre had -but a few hours before loomed toward the sky. A thousand questions might -be asked about this strange pair, but none answered. The priceless crown -alone remained. And that, since it had been smuggled into the country, -must be turned over to the Canadian Government. - -"Do you know, Sandy," Johnny said as they sat by the fire an hour later, -"I slept in the strangest place last night. It was a cave; perhaps you -might only call it a rocky cavern." - -"What's strange about that?" Sandy rumbled sleepily. - -"It was all alight and yet there was no lamp. And it was night." - -"Light?" Sandy sprang to his feet. - -"The walls appeared to be phosphorescent." - -"And was it warm, too?" The old man's tone was eager. - -"Yes. I believe it was." - -"Man!" cried Sandy, seizing his hand and gripping it till it hurt. -"You've made the find of a lifetime!" - -"A--a find?" - -"Those walls are radio-active. It's pitchblende, full of radium. It gives -off light and heat. And man! How rich it must be! It's such a find as the -world has never known!" - -Could this be true? Johnny's head whirled. Had God in His strange ways of -providence led him over a mysterious route to the goal he sought? - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - JOY COMETH - - -For a few hours, each wrapped in his feather robe, they slept on the -floor before the fire. Then, all too eager for the final curtain on this -little drama of the North, they were away. - -As a representative of the Canadian Government, Jock Gordon took charge -of the black cube and its precious contents. Curlie Carson agreed to -carry him straight to Edmonton. - -Since Drew Lane had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that his mission in -the North, in so far as it concerned the stolen air mail plane, was to be -a fruitless one, he decided to return with Curlie to Edmonton. There he -would make connections with his own pilot and fly home. - -"When I attempted that double parachute stunt," he said to Curlie, "I -told the pilot to fly my Red Racer back to the airport, then keep his -mouth shut. So he's sure to be waiting there." - -"But where do you suppose that air mail plane is?" Johnny Thompson asked. - -"Who can answer that? Perhaps in Cuba, or Mexico or Central America. A -crook with plenty of money can travel far. But in the end we'll get him." - -"We'll take this boy along and drop him off at Fort Chipewyan," said -Curlie, turning to D'Arcy Arden. - -The boy beamed his gratitude. - -A few moments later the motor thundered and they were away. - -When the party had in this manner been reduced to three, Johnny, Sandy -and the hunchback bowman, Sandy exclaimed: - -"Now, son! Lead me to this enchanted cave!" - -An enchanted cave it proved to be. "It's radium! Richest find ever made!" -the prospector exclaimed the moment his eyes rested upon its walls. "Must -be phosphorus and zinc blended with it in a peculiar manner. But it is -rich in radium. I would stake my life on it." - -Just as they were preparing to leave the cave, they caught the sound of -some one shouting. On reaching the exit they found Scott Ramsey waiting -outside. - -"You left no word," he accused Sandy. - -"The dog came with an emergency call. I could but answer," Sandy rumbled. - -"So you're all safe!" Scott seemed relieved. - -"Safe enough. And our young friend here has made a discovery such as is -made only once in a generation." He told of the find in the cavern they -had just left. - -"But look here!" Scott exclaimed when he had finished and they had -rejoiced together. - -He drew a letter from his pocket and read it aloud. It had come in answer -to his enquiry regarding the films he had left in Winnipeg. It explained -that the suite of offices to which the vault belonged had been sublet; -that the vault had been cleared of all obsolete material, and that -through some mistake the films had been sold with waste paper to a junk -man. - -"That means," Johnny's face lighted with a broad smile as he spoke, "that -those people in that other camp bought them from the junk man." - -"As they had a perfect right to do," supplemented Sandy. - -"And that's that!" Johnny did a wild whirl on the hard crusted snow. - -"'Joy cometh in the morning!'" he exclaimed. "For a long time I've been -feeling mean about our plans to hop in and file on land close to those -other prospectors if they made a strike. - -"I've insisted that one of them is a crook. Joyce Mills has stuck to it -that they were the right sort, each and every one. And it seems she's -right. For if they bought the films, who can say they did not have the -right to use them?" - -"Who indeed?" Sandy's face lighted with a smile that was good to see. -"And who wants gold when he may mine radium?" - -"Come on, Ginger!" Johnny set his leader on his feet. "We're going to be -the first to break the glad news to Joyce Mills." - -In this he was not disappointed. And the light that shone from the girl's -eyes as she was told that not one of her three champions had done wrong, -was worth all the weary miles of travel that had led him to her camp. - -Over a huge roast of venison the men of the two camps pledged fellowship, -co-operation and mutual good will. - -If there are those who would know more of the mysterious Moccasin -Telegraph, let them journey to the far Northland and seek such knowledge -there. - -Johnny Thompson soon left Sandy and Scott to develop the radium strike, -which was a rich one in very truth, to wander back to the white lights of -a great city. There once more he came into contact with Drew Lane. - -Together they undertook the unraveling of a mystery such as appears but -once in a lifetime. If you wish to know its nature and to read of the -many brilliant maneuvers that at last led to its solving, you must read -our next book: _The Galloping Ghost_. - - - - - Transcriber's Notes - - ---Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text - is public domain in the country of publication. - ---Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and - dialect unchanged. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Riddle of the Storm, by Roy J. 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