The two partners stared open-mouthed at the apparition. T he face was white!"The two partners stared open-mouthed at the apparition.The face was white!"
"It's Injuns!" he announced. "Nine or ten of 'em, an' they headed nawth!" And, even as he spoke, a grotesquely feathered, beaver-toppedhead appeared above a frost-coated rock, almost at his elbow, and the two partners stared open-mouthed at the apparition.The face was white!
O'BRIEN
Surprise held Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill spellbound as they stood ankle-deep in the glittering frost spicules that carpeted the surface of the ice-locked river, and gazed speechless into the face that stared at them over the top of the rime-crusted rock.
The spell broke. From behind other rocks appeared other faces surmounted by odd beaver-skin caps, edged with the feathers of the blue, and snow goose, and of the great white Arctic owl. The partners glanced from one to the other of these strange, silent faces that regarded them through wide-set, in-slanting eyes. The faces were white—or rather, through the winter's accumulation of grease and blubber soot, they showed a light brownish yellow that, in comparisonwith the faces of other Indians, would easily pass for white. And they were so nearly alike that a stranger would have been at his wits' end to have distinguished one from another—all except the first one, the man whose face appeared so suddenly almost at Waseche Bill's side. He was taller than the others, his nose longer and thinner, and his whole lower face was concealed behind a luxurious growth of flaming red whiskers, while through the soot and grease his skin showed ruddy, rather than yellow, and his small, deep-set eyes were of a peculiar greenish hue.
"Japs an' Irish!" exclaimed Waseche Bill. "Carlson was right—even to his frozen fohest an' white Injuns!"
He addressed the company with a comprehensive wave of his arm:
"Good evenin', gents. How they comin'?"
His words were greeted with stony-faced stares as meaningless and void of expression as the stare of a frozen fish. Waseche tried again:
"It's a right smaht spell o' weatheh we're havin',ain't it? An' how's all the folks? Don't all talk to onct, now, till I get through welcomin' yo' into me an' the kid's midst—oah else tellin' yo' how glad we-all ah to find ouhselves amongst yo'—owin' to who's givin' the pahty." He glanced from face to face, but, as before, all were stolid as graven images. Suddenly he turned upon the bewhiskered one of the green eyes:
"Hey, yo' red chinchilly! Cain't yo' talk none? An' cain't yo' yelleh perils, heah, ondehstand no language? I cain't talk no laundry, myself, but besides American, I'm some fluent in Chinook, Metlakat', Tlinkit, an' Athapascan. As fo' yo', yo' look to me like the Tipperary section of a Patrick's Day parade! Come on, now—loosen up! If yo' an' Injun, so'm I—only I've done moulted my feathehs, an' washed my face since the Fo'th of July!"
Directly addressed, the man stepped from behind his rock, and the lid of the left green eye dropped in a decided wink. The others immediately followed, crowding close about the newcomers. Squat, full-bodied men, they were, fur-clad from top to toe, and all armed with short, copper-tipped harpoons which they leaned upon as they stared. Waseche grinned into their wide, flat faces, as he of the red whiskers elbowed to the fore and spoke in a singsong voice with a decided Hibernian accent:
"Which me name's O'Brien," he began, "an' ut's both sorry an' glad Oi am to see ye. But, phwere's th' shtampede?" He glanced anxiously up the river.
"What stampede?" asked Waseche, in surprise.
"Phy, th' shtampede! Th' shtampede to th' Ignatook, th' creek yondher—th' creek that biles."
"Sea'ch me! Me an' the kid's all theah is—an' yo' wouldn't hahdly call us a stampede."
"But, Car-rlson! An' th' breed, Pete Mateese! Didn't they nayther wan git t'rough? Ilse, how'd ye come to be follyin' th' back thrail?" The man's anxiety increased, and he waited impatiently for an answer.
"No. Carlson didn't get through. We comeonto his last camp about ten days back. He died huntin' the Tatonduk divide. But, how come yo'-all to be heah? Who's yo' friends? An' wheah's ouh outfit?"
"Hivin hilp th' bunch av us!" wailed the Irishman. "No shtampede, afther all—an' we'll all be dead befoor we live to git out av this!" The man gazed far out into the gathering gloom, wringing his hands and muttering to himself. Suddenly his eyes lighted, and he questioned the two eagerly:
"D'yez know about Flor-ridy?" he asked, "phwere they say a man kin be war-rum? An' how man-ny quar-rts av nuggits w'd ut take f'r th' car-r-fare, an' to buy, me'be ut's a bit av a tobaccy shtor-re on th' sunny soide av th' shtrate, wid a bit av a gar-rdin behint, an' a pig in his pin in th' yar-rud?
"An', shpykin' av tobaccy, hav' yez a bit to shpare? Ut's niver a shmoke Oi've had in goin' on six year—an' kin ye lind me th' loan av a match?"
Waseche tossed the man his tobacco and eyed him sharply as he lighted the short, black cutty pipe that he produced from a pocket of his thick caribou-hide shirt.
"They've took th' outfit to th' village," O'Brien said. "But, about Flor-ridy, now——"
"We'll talk that oveh lateh. Let's be mushin', I don't want them sleds too fah in th' lead."
"Sur-re, they'll not be far-r. 'Tis ondly ar-round th' bind av th' r-river." He spoke a few harsh, guttural syllables to one of the fur-clad men, who wore across his shoulders the skin of a beautiful black fox.
"'Tis a foine language, ain't ut? An' to think Oi've hur-rd no other f'r six years past!"
"What do yo' call it?" asked Waseche, as they followed in the wake of the natives, who had started northward at the Irishman's words.
"Call ut! How sh'uld Oi know? Oi c'd be ar-rested in an-ny town in Oirland f'r phwat Oi've called ut! But, Oi've got used to ut, now—same as th' raw fish, an' blubber. How man-nycans av nuggits did ye say? Wan quar-rt tomatty cans, wid a rid label, haypin' full—an' is ut raylly hot in Flor-ridy, or ondly middlin' war-rum, loike Kildare in th' summer?"
"Florida's hot," ventured Connie. "I learned about it in school. And there's oranges, and alligators that eat you when you go in swimming."
"Shwimmin'! Sur-re, Oi ain't bin shwimmin' in, Oi don't know phwin. Phy, Oi ain't seen mehidein six years!"
They proceeded a short distance, with O'Brien muttering and chuckling in the rear, and upon rounding a sharp bend, came in sight of the village, a group of some fifteen or twenty snowigloos, situated upon a plateau or terrace overlooking the river. In front of anigloosomewhat larger than the others, stood the dog-teams with their loaded sleds surrounded by a crowd of figures that differed in no single particular from the dozen or so who mushed along in advance. Old Boris, Mutt, and Slasher, the three unharnessed dogs that had accompanied Connie and Wasecheto the top of the high plateau from which they had obtained the view of the creek of the steam and the white forest, now trotted close to the heels of the boy.
"I don't quite like the looks of things, kid," whispered Waseche, as they approached the trail that slanted upward to the village. "O'Brien's touched a little in his uppeh stohy, but he may be smaht enough in some things. He ain't wild-eyed, an' me'be he'll be all right now. I reckon he's jest be'n thinkin' of them wahm countries till he's a bit off. We got to keep ouh eyes peeled an' get out of this heah fix the best way we can. Me'be the Irishman'll help, an' me'be he'll hindeh. These heah Jap-faced Injuns don't appeah to be much hostyle, an' we betteh lay low an' get the hang of things fo' a couple of days befo' we go makin' any break."
"We'll takehimwith us," said Connie. "Just think of a white man living up here for six years!"
"We sho' will!" agreed Waseche. "I hope them heathens ain't cleaned out Carlson's camp.Raw fish an' blubber don't sound good to me—theah's some things a man don'twantto get use' to. Heah we ah; we got to hold ouh nehve, an' keep ouh eyes open."
"How man-ny cans av nuggits did ye say?" interrupted O'Brien, as he overtook them at the rise of the trail. "They're heavy."
"Why, they're all men!" exclaimed Connie, as they reached the spot where the entire village stood grouped about the sleds.
"Indade, an' they ain't!" refuted O'Brien. "They's fifty-seven av um all towld, incloodin' mesilf, an' th' half av us is wimmin—ondly ye can't tell th' difference nayther in looks nor-r dhress. An' a homlier-r, mor-re ill-favour-red crew niver wuz let be born, bein', near-r as Oi kin figger, half Injun, half Eskimo, an' half Chinee—an' they'll ate an-nything they kin chaw!"
At the approach of the white men, the Indians drew back, forming a wide circle about the dog-teams. Into this circle stepped a very old man, who leaned heavily upon the shaft of his harpoonand blinked his watery, red-rimmed eyes. From the corners of his mouth long tufts of white hair grew downward until they extended below the angle of his jaw. These tufts, stiff with grease, gleamed whitely like the ivory tusks of a walrus. With a palsied arm he motioned to O'Brien, who stepped before him and spoke rapidly for several moments in the guttural jargon he had used on the river. The old man answered and, as he talked, his tongue clicked oddly against his teeth, which were worn to the level of his gums.
"What ails grandpa?" asked Waseche, when the old man had finished. "Was he sayin' somethin,' oah jest exehcisin' his mouth?"
"Sur-re, that's Metlutak, the owld chayfe; he's give over his job mostly to Annunduk, yondher, wid th' black fox shawl, but on mathers av impoortance th' owld wan has his say."
"I didn't get the drift of his ahgument—I neveh leahnt no blue jay."
"He says," began O'Brien, with a broad grin, "he says ye're welcome into the thribe. He'llset th' young min buildin' anigloo, an' he's glad ye've got so man-ny dogs f'r 'tis two moons befoor th' caribou move, an' th' fresh mayte will tasht good afther a winther av fish an' blubber."
With a palsied arm he motioned to O'Brien, who stepped before him."With a palsied arm he motioned to O'Brien, who stepped before him."
"Meat!" exclaimed Connie, with flashing eyes. "Does he think he's going to eat those dogs?"
"Ye don't see no dogs in th' village, do yez? An' nayther they ain't bin excipt th' six they shtole off Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese—an' they was into th' bilin' pot befoor they quit kickin'."
"Well, you can tell him he don't get any of these dogs to eat! And if any one lays a hand on a dog, I'll—I'll knock his block off!"
"Now, hold on, son," cautioned Waseche Bill, with his hand upon the boy's shoulder. "We got to kind of take it easy. This heah ain't no time fo' an uprisin' of the whites—the odds ain't right." He turned to the Irishman:
"O'Brien, yo' want to get out of this heah country, don't yo'?"
"Sur-re, an' Oi do!" eagerly exclaimed the man. "But, ut's six years Oi've throied ut, an' nar-ry a wanst hav' Oi done ut. Av ye kin make ut, Oi'm wid yez—but, av we don't save th' dogs, we'll niver do ut. They're good thrailers, th' punkin faced ejits, an' they've br-rung me back twinty-wan toimes, be th' clock. Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese had dogs, an' they got away."
"We-all can make it! Don't yo' worry none. I be'n in tight fixes befo'. Jest yo' listen to me, an' stall the ol' boy off fo' a day oah two. That'll give us a chanst to make medicine." O'Brien turned to the old walrus-faced shaman and there followed a half-hour of lively conversation, at the end of which the man reported to Waseche:
"They're gr-reat hands f'r to hav' dances, ut's par-rt av their haythen religion—that is, they call um dances, an' ut shtar-rts in that way—but ut woinds up loike a Donnybrook fair. 'Tis gr-rand fun—wid har-rpoon shafts cr-rackin' down on heads loike quarther-staves; f'r barrin' pick handles, wan av thim har-rpoons is th' besht club, nixt to a black thor-rn shelala, f'r a foight amongst frinds, an-ny day in th' wake.
"Oi towld um th' dogs wuz skin-poor fr-rom th' long thrail, an' not fit f'r to ate, but a couple av days wid plinty av fish in their bellies, would fat um up loike a young seal.
"'We'll have a bigpotlatch,' says he. 'We've more fish thin we nayde. Feed up th' dogs,' says he, 'an' in two shlapes, we'll hav' th' biggestpotlatchin th' histhry av th' thribe. We'll dance all night, f'r Oi'm gittin' owld,' says he, 'an' ut may be me lasht.' Oi hope so, thinks Oi, but Oi don't say so. An-nyhow, we kin resht airy f'r a couple av days an' th' dogs'll be safe an' well fed. 'Twud be all a man's loife wuz wor-rth to har-rm wan till th' owld man gives th' wor-rd. Ye said ut wuz raylly hot in Flor-ridy, b'y? Hot enough, d'ye think, that a felly c'd set ar-round in his shir'rt shlaves, an' shmoke a bit av an avenin'?"
O'Brien offered to share hisigloowith Connie and Waseche Bill, but they declined with thanks after one look into the smoky interior that fairly reeked with the stench of rancid blubber and raw skin bedding.
Hardly had the dogs been unharnessed before four Indians appeared with huge armfuls of frozen fish, and while the gauntmalamutesgnawedravenously at the food, the whole village looked on, men and women licking their chops in anticipation of the comingpotlatch, pointing out the choicest of the dogs, and gesticulating and jabbering over the division of the spoils.
The light shelter tent, robes, and sleeping bags were removed from the sleds, and O'Brien offered to help.
"Set ut up clost ag'in' th'igloo," he said, "an' Oi'll tunnel a hole t'rough th' soide, an' tonight we kin lay an' plot loike Fenians, an' th' ar-risthocracy here'll think we're sound ashlape dhreamin' avmalamutemulligan, an' dog's liver fried in ile."
The tent was quickly set up and Connie was about to loosen the lashings of the grub pack.
"How much grub hav' ye got?" asked the Irishman.
"We got a right smaht of grub, except fo' th' dawgs," answered Waseche.
"Don't uncover ut, thin," warned O'Brien. "Jist tilt yer tarp a bit an' pull out enough f'r th' suppher. They won't bother-r th' outfitnone—th' owld man towld um to lave hands off an' they'd divide the whole shebang afther th' dance."
"Yo' don't say," drawled Waseche. "Grandpa's a generous heahted ol' pahty, ain't he! D'yo' reckon we-all w'd be in on th' divvy, oah do we jest furnish the outfit?"
O'Brien grinned:
"Ye'd fare same as th' rist," he said. "Sharre an' shar-re aloike is th' rule here. Sur-re, they're socialists—ondly they don't know ut."
"Yo' say they won't let yo' get away from heah? What do they want of yo'—an' what do they want of us? Afteh they've et the dawgs an' divided the outfit, looks like they'd be glad to get rid of us."
O'Brien filled his pipe and noisily blew great clouds of smoke into the air:
"'Tis a thing Oi've niver found out. Six years Oi've bin hilt pr-risoner. They've thrayted me same as theirsilves. Oi do no mor-re wor-rk thin an-ny man av thim, an' av they're gluttedwid grub so'm Oi, an' av they're hungr-ry, Oi'm hungr-ry, too. Near-r as Oi kin make out Oi'm jist a kapesake—loike ye're grandfayther's swor-rd, or a canary."
"How did Carlson an' Pete Mateese get away?"
"Sur-re, they niver wuz caught! They got to the Ignatook; that's phwat these haythen call th' creek av th' bilin' wather—an' they fear-r ut. Niver a man av thim will go into ut's valley. They say ut's divil-ha'nted. Th' wather's black an' bilin'—an' ut stinks. Ut's pizen, too; av ye dhrink ut ye'll die. They's a pile av bones, an' man-ny a skull ar-round th' owld copper mine. 'Twuz wan av thim Oi shlipped into th' rock cairn, back yondher, hopin' to warn th' fur-rst av th' shtampede to wait f'r th' rist, phwin th' Injuns robbed th'cache.
"Av we kin git to th' Ignatook wid th' dogs, we're safe. Oi've hid there a dozen toimes, but Oi niver c'd make th' outside f'r lack av dogs. They's sixteen hunder' pounds av caribou mate in th' tunnel, an' sixty percers av fish.
"They've an eye on us, an' Oi'm fear-red they'll misthrust we're plottin'. Wait till tonight, an' Oi'll go now an' make up a fairy shtor-ry that'll satisfy th' owld chayfe about our long palaver-r."
O'Brien started toward the old shaman, but turned and retraced his steps:
"How man-ny quar-rts av nuggits did ye say?" he asked, as a far-away look crept into his eyes. Waseche Bill answered softly:
"I don't rightly know what nuggets is fetchin' a quaht. But, offhand, I'd say a quaht oah two w'd be a plenty to take yo' clean around the wohld."
THE ESCAPE FROM THE WHITE INDIANS
The man, O'Brien, despite the fact that he spent half his time mooning and muttering to himself about quarts of gold and the delights of a torrid clime, proved himself no mean strategist, and his intimate knowledge of the lay of the land and the habits and language of the natives, was invaluable in formulating the plan of escape.
Far into the night the three lay, Connie and Waseche Bill in their sleeping bags under the little shelter tent pitched close against the rounded side of theigloo, and O'Brien lying inside theiglooupon his vile-smelling bed of skins with his face to the hole he had bored low in the snow wall.
Their only hope in getting out of the Lillimuit lay in saving the dogs, and it was decided that this could be accomplished only by a quick dash forthe Ignatook, which joined the larger river a quarter of a mile to the northward.
On the sleds remained about five hundred pounds of caribou venison, besides a small quantity of tea, coffee, bacon, and flour.
"Ut's loike this," concluded O'Brien, when the situation had been carefully reviewed from every slant and angle, "Oi'll go to owld Metlutak, tomorry, an' Oi'll say: 'Chayfe,' Oi'll say, 'thim dogs is a plinty soight ribbier thin phwat Oi thought they wuz. We can't git no fat onto um insoide av a wake or tin days but we kin hav' th'potlatchjist th' same—ondly we'll hav'two potlatchsinstead av th' wan. They is foive hunder' pounds av caribou mate on th' sleds an' we'll hav' th' cariboupotlatchfur-rust, an' th' dogpotlatchlather, phwin they've bin give a chanst to lay on some fat.'
"Th' owld b'y won't loike th' caribou so much as th' dog but Oi'll pint out to um that av we use th' caribou fur-rust th' dogs can't shlip along in th' noight an' ate it up on us, whoilst av we killth' dogs an' lave th' caribou, ye can't tell phwat w'd happin."
"But the dogs couldn't eat the meat if they were dead!" objected Connie.
"Whisht lad! Th' chayfe don't know no 'rithmetic. Twopotlatchesis bether thin wan, an' beyant that he ain't goin' to study.
"We'll wor-rk ut loike this: they's about tin pound av mate apiece—no gr-reat glut—but enough to kape um busy afther th' dance. Th' dance'll begin phwin th' sun jist edges yondher peaks, an' wanst they git het to the wor-rk, 'twill kape up till mid-noight. We'll dhrag th' mate over, an' Bill, here, he'll shtand ridy wid his axe to cut ut in chunks, an' Oi'll toss ut to wan an' another so they'll all git a piece. They'll ghrab ut an' dhrive their har-rpoons into ut so they kin howld ut over th' foir-re an' thaw ut out. They'll ate ut raw off th' ind av th' har-rpoons—'tis a gr-rand soight!
"Now, her-re's phwere th' b'y comes in: as soon as Bill shtar-rts choppin' mate, ye must shlipover here an' har-rness th' dogs f'r all ye're worth. Ye must finish befoor th' mate's all doled out. Hav' th' loight grub an' th' robes an' shlapin' bags on th' sleds, but lave th' tint shtand. Lave th' roifles in th' pack; they've niver kilt me, an' Oi won't see har-rm come to thim—but av Oi c'd git a good cr-rack at wan or two wid me fisht, 'tw'd aise th' mimry av thim, twinty-wan toimes they've dhrug me back over th' tundra.
"Wanst their har-rpoons gits dhrove into th' fr-rozen mate, they'll niver git um out till they're thawed out. They'll be too heavy to run wid, an' be th' toime they kin fr-ree thim, we'll be safe on th' Ignatook, phwere they wudn't come afther us av they doied fur-rst.
"We kin take our own toime gittin' to th' outsoide. They's plinty av grub in th' tunnel—an' plinty av gold, too—all put away in tomatty cans; an' they're heavy—foorty pound apiece they weigh, av they weigh an ounce—an' that's wan rayson they've tur-med me back thim twinty-wan toimes.
"How far-r did ye say ut wuz to Flor-ridy, afther ye cr-ross th' muskeg?"
"I reckon it's quite a spell, O'Brien," answered Waseche. "But yo' c'n bet yo' last blue one, me an' th' kid'll see yo' git theah—an' don't yo' fo'get it!"
Darkness—not the black darkness of the States, but the long twilight of the early Arctic night—descended upon the Lillimuit. Upon the narrow plateau overlooking the unnamed river, squat fur-clad figures emerged from the tunnel-like entrances of theigloosand, harpoon in hand, moved slowly through the gloom toward a circular level of hard-packed snow immediately in front of the house of the chief, where other figures were busily heaping brushwood and frozen pieces of drift upon a fire that smoked and smouldered in the centre of the area.
At the edge of the circle, Waseche Bill, Connie Morgan, and O'Brien sat upon the haunches of venison and watched the strange men and women take their places about the fire where they ranged themselves in two circles, one within the other,and waited in stolid silence for the appearance of the two chiefs.
Presently they approached, carrying queer shaped drums which consisted of a narrow frame or hoop of split willow about two feet in diameter. Upon these frames were stretched the thin, tough membranes that form the abdominal lining of the seal. A handle of carved walrus ivory was affixed to the hoop with lashings of sealskin. The chiefs carried no harpoons, and as each took his place, the old chief in the inner circle, and the young chief in the outer, they raised their drums and struck sharply upon the edges of the rims with their short ivory drumsticks. The sound produced was a resonant, rather musical note, and at the signal the circles moved, the inner from right to left, the outer from left to right. Slowly, at first, they moved to the measured beat of the drums. The scene was weird and impressive, with the strange, silent people circling in the firelight whose red flare now and then illumined their flat grease-glistening faces. The drumsbeat faster and between the beats could be heard the husk of themukluksas they scraped upon the hard surface of the snow.
Gloom deepened into darkness and still they danced. Suddenly out of the north flashed a broad band of light—mystic illusive light writhing and twisting—now bright—now dim. Rose flashed into amethyst and vivid scarlet into purple and pale yellow colouring the whole white world with its reflected light.
Instantly the scene changed. Faster and faster beat the drums; faster and faster circled the dancers, and suddenly from every throat burst the strange words of a weird, unearthly chant:
"Kioya ke, Kioya ke,A, yaña, yaña, ya,Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi!>Tudlimana, tudlimana,A, yaña, yaña, ya,Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi!Kalutaña, Kalutaña,A, yaña, yaña, ya,Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi!"
"Kioya ke, Kioya ke,A, yaña, yaña, ya,Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi!>
Tudlimana, tudlimana,A, yaña, yaña, ya,Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi!
Kalutaña, Kalutaña,A, yaña, yaña, ya,Hwi, hwi, hwi, hwi!"
Eerie and impressive the sight, and eerie the rise and fall of the chant with which the children of the frozen wastes greet the Aurora—the flashing, hissing warning of the great Tuaña, the bad man, who lies dead at the end of the earth.
The words ceased, the drums struck into a measured, monotonous, pom, pom, pom, and the dancers continued to circle about the fire. A man separated himself from the others and, stepping into the fire-lit circle, began to chant of his deeds of valour in the hunt, of his endurance on the trail, and his fortitude in accident and famine. As he chanted he danced, swaying and contorting his body, and then, either his tale was told, or he became weary and dropped back into the circle and gave place to another. Hour after hour the white men watched the strange incantations, moving about at intervals to keep warm. The endurance of the natives was a source of wonder to Connie and Waseche Bill. They had been continuously at it for nine hours, and it wasmidnight when O'Brien reached swiftly over and touched Connie upon the shoulder.
"Look aloive, now, b'y! The owld chayfe is th-radin' his dhrum f'r a har-rpoon, an 'tis th' sign f'r th'potlatch!"
Sure enough! With amazing suddenness the circles broke up and the dancers made a concerted rush for the caribou meat. Connie slipped unnoticed into the shadows and ran for the sleds, while Waseche Bill swung his ax and O'Brien distributed the chunks to the crowding Indians.
As soon as one received his portion he placed it upon the snow and drove his harpoon in past the barbs to prevent its being jerked off in the wild scramble for a place at the fire. As O'Brien had said, the orgy that started as a religious ceremony was winding up like a Donnybrook fair, for the natives fought and pummelled each other with spear and fist in their efforts to thaw out their meat.
At the end of half an hour all were served and not a shred remained that was not firmly transfixed upon the point of a harpoon. Most of theIndians still fought by the fire, but some of the more fortunate had retreated to a distance and were gnawing and tearing at the raw chunks, using the harpoons in the manner of a huge fork.
"Now's our chanst!" whispered O'Brien; and with an eye upon those who were eating, they dodged swiftly behind the chief'sigloo.
When Connie reached the shelter tent he fell immediately to work harnessing the dogs which he roused from their snug beds in a huge snowdrift. At first his fingers trembled with excitement so that he fumbled clumsily at the straps, but he soon regained his nerve and, one after another, themalamuteswere fastened into their proper places. He slipped the collar on to McDougall's gaunt leader and waited, tense with anxiety, listening and peering into the darkness for sound or sight of his two companions.
After what seemed hours of suspense, he saw them approaching at a run, and sprang to his place, his fingers gripping tightly the handle of his dog whip.
At the same instant, the boy became aware that the scene at the fireside had changed. In the uncertain light of the flaring flames he had been able to make out an indistinct blur of fighting figures accompanied by a jumble of growls and short, animal-like yelps, as the natives pushed and pummelled each other for a place by the coveted fire. As the figures of Waseche and O'Brien drew closer, the yelps and growls gave place to loud cries, the fighting ceased, and in the dim light Connie made out other running figures, and still others standing upon their chunks of meat and wrenching frantically to free their harpoons.
The next instant Waseche Bill leaped to his dogs and O'Brien threw himself upon Connie's waiting sled.
"Let 'em go, kid!" cried Waseche, and the sharp crack of the dog whips rang on the air to the cries of: "Mush! Hi! Hi! Mush-u! Mush-u!"
Both teams shot away toward the inclined trail of the river. Neck and neck, they ranover the crusted snow, while the three free dogs romped and raced beside them.
While most of the Indians followed directly in the wake of the retreating men, a few of the wiser ones cut straight for the head of the trail down which the outfit must pass. Waseche's eightmalamutes, travelling lighter than Connie's big ten-team, forged to the front and gained the incline at the same moment that three Indians led by Annunduk, the young chief, leaped out upon the trail. The natives, tired by their long exertions at the dance, had thrown away their weighted harpoons and, except for a short club that Annunduk had snatched from acacheframe as he ran, were unarmed.
Waseche dodged a blow from the club and an Indian who tried to throw himself upon the flying sled was hurled from the trail and rolled end over end down the steep hundred-foot slope to the river.
A quarter of a minute later McDougall's bigmalamutesswung into the trail and would havedashed past the spot before the Indians could have collected their senses, had not O'Brien, with Irish impetuosity, leaned far over the side and aimed a mighty blow of his fist at the head of Annunduk. The blow swung wide and O'Brien, losing his balance, pitched headlong into the snow almost at the Indian's feet.
Connie, whose attention was upon the rushing dogs, felt the sled leap forward as the man's weight was removed, and without an instant's hesitation halted the dogs in their tracks and, clutching his dog whip, ran to the assistance of O'Brien, who was clawing and rolling about in the snow in a vain effort to regain his feet.
There was not a second to lose. By the light of the stars the boy saw Annunduk leap forward with club upraised, while the remaining Indian was making ready to spring upon the defenceless man from behind. Connie redoubled his efforts and, just as the chief raised his club for a long shoulder swing at O'Brien's head, the boy's fifteen-foot gut lash sang through the thin air.There was a report like a pistol-shot and, with a loud yell of pain, Annunduk dropped his club and clutched frantically at his face.
The boy's fifteen-foot lash sang through the thin air."The boy's fifteen-foot lash sang through the thin air."
Meanwhile the other Indian had almost reached the Irishman who had scrambled to his hands and knees. Connie leaped backward to get the range of his long whiplash, but before the boy could draw back his arm, the air roared with a long, throaty growl and Slasher, the savage wolf-dog, with back-curled lips and flashing fangs, leaped past and launched himself full at the throat of the Indian. With awful impact, the great tawny brute landed squarely upon the man's chest,carrying him backward into the snow. The next instant the air was filled with frightened shrieks and ferocious, full-mouthed snarls as the wolf-dog tore and wrenched at the heavy skin shirt, while the terrified Indian protected his face with his arms.
The whole incident occupied scarcely a minute, and Connie half-dragged the dazed O'Brien to his feet and hurried him to the sled. With a loud whistle to Slasher, the boy cracked his whip above the ears of the leader and, just as the head of the trail became black with pursuing Indians, themalamutesshot away, with Slasher running beside them, growling fiercely and shaking a great patch of quill-embroidered shirt front which waved from his tight-clamped jaws.
Down on the river, Waseche Bill was in the act of swinging his dogs for a dash over the back trail when the long ten-team rushed out onto the rime-carpeted ice. All danger from pursuit was past, and they jogged the teams slowly northward, while all about them fell the frost spicules in afeathery shimmer of tinsel. Ten minutes later O'Brien pointed out the trail which passed between two enormous rocks and entered the valley of the Ignatook, the creek of the stinking steam, into which the Indians dared not venture. And it was with a grateful sense of security and relief that they headed the dogs for the spot where they were to camp, in the old tunnel of the lost mine of the Ignatook—at the end of the dead man's lonely trail.
O'BRIEN'S CANS OF GOLD
When Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill awoke, the morning after their midnight escape from the village of the strange Indians, they found O'Brien busily engaged in the preparation of breakfast.
The tunnel of the ancient mine, that had been the abode of Carlson and Pete Mateese, was merely a rude entry which followed the slant of an outcropping mass of native copper. The entry was approximately five feet high and six feet wide, and led obliquely into the face of a rock-cliff for a distance of a hundred feet where it widened into a chamber, or room, perhaps twenty feet in diameter and seven or eight feet in height. Three walls of the room were formed by the copper ore which showed plainly the marks ofthe primitive tools of the forgotten miners. The fourth wall was of solid rock—the wall of the fissure that contained the vein of ore. At the angle formed by the roof and the rock wall, a wide crack, or cleavage cleft, slanted sharply upward and outward to a point on the face of the rock-cliff high above the mouth of the tunnel, and thus formed a natural chimney for the rude fireplace that had been built directly beneath it.
The odour of boiling coffee was in the air and by the fireplace squatted O'Brien, prodding tentatively at the caribou steaks that sizzled noisily in the long-handled frying pan. Upon a flat stone that had evidently served for a table, an ancient lamp which consisted of a rudely hammered copper pan containing blubber grease and a bit of moss wicking, flared its smoky illumination.
"Good marnin' to yez," greeted the Irishman, as the two partners slipped from their sleeping bags and drew up close to the fire. "Sure, bhreakfasht'll be riddy in wan minit—an' a good job ut is, to be settin' wanst mor-re amongstChristians, an' aytin' whoite man's grub, inshtead av suckin' a shtrip av blubber, along av th' flat-faced Injuns, yondher."
Connie laughed:
"Yes, but you nearly spilled the beans when you tumbled off the sled."
"Ahroo! Dar-rlint! Ut's a gr-rand lad ye ar-re! Ye shud av seen um!" he cried, turning to Waseche Bill. "Oi wanted to git jist th' wan swoipe f'r um to remimber me by, but Oi mished um fair an' square, an' over Oi wint loike a frog off a log in a bog. An' jist phwin Annunduk wuz about to presint his soide av th' case wid a bit av a club th' heft av a pick handle, crack! goes th' b'y's whiplash fair in th' face av um, an' phwin th' other goes to jump on me back, Whirra! They's a roar loike th' Zoo tur-rned loose f'r recess, an' th' wolf-dog's a-top av um, fang an' claw! Ye shud av seen ut! 'Twuz a gr-rand soight!"
Waseche smiled proudly as he listened to the Irishman's account of the accident on the trail.
"Yo' say, they won't follow us in heah?" he asked.
"Niver a wan av thim. They think this valley is th' counthry av th' evil spirits. We're safe now—an' hooray, f'r Flor-ridy, an' th' land av sunshine!"
"We-all ain't out of the woods yet. I'm sho' glad to be shet of them Injuns, though. How many times did yo' say they'd brung yo' back?"
"Twinty-wan toimes. But, Oi hadn't no dogs—an' thim two tomatty cans is heavy!"
"Where are the cans?" asked Connie, who had only half believed the Irishman's tale of gold.
"Set by now an' ate, an' Oi'll show ye thim—the two av moine, an' th' twilve av Car-rlson's an' Pete Mateese's."
The meal over, O'Brien loosened a cleverly concealed wedge that held in place a stone which served as a door to a small compartment, about eighteen inches square and three feet deep, that had been chiselled into the copper on a level with the floor.
"'Tis th' safe," he grinned. "Foire proof, an' bhurglar proof, too, av ye don't know th' combynation, fer wid th' little wedge in place, th' more ye pryze on th' rock th' toighter ut shticks."
Pushing the stone aside, the man reached into the interior and, one at a time, removed fourteen tin cans, which he carefully deposited upon the floor. Over the top of each, serving as a cover, and concealing the contents from view, was bound a piece of caribou skin, smoke-dried, with the hair on.
Connie reached for a can, but to his surprise it remained motionless as if nailed to the floor. It seemed incredible to the boy that such great weight could be encompassed within so small a space, and it was only at the expense of considerable effort that he succeeded in raising it to his lap. Cutting the thongs, he removed the cover and there, showing yellow and dull in the guttering flare of the blubber lamp, was gold! O'Brien spread an empty pack-sack and the boy poured the contents of the can upon it, and with hisfingers levelled the golden pyramid. Before him lay nuggets, flat, dark flakes of "float," and bright yellow grains of "dust"—hand-shovelled, and hand-sluiced from the hot, wet sands of the Ignatook. Waseche Bill stared speechless at the row of skin-covered cans, at the pile of yellow metal, and back to the row of cans. For years this man had toiled and mucked among the placers of the gold fields, had sunk deep shafts, and shallow; had tunnelled, and drifted, and sloshed about in ice-cold muddy creek beds, but in all the years of toil and hardship and peril, he had never gazed upon a sight like this. Even Ten Bow, with its rich drift sands, was a barren desert in comparison with this El Dorado of the frozen waste.
"Nine thousan' dollahs a can—mebbe ten," he estimated, in an awed voice. "No wondeh Carlson came back!" He turned to O'Brien:
"How deep was his shafts?"
"Shafts!" exclaimed the Irishman, "sure, they ain't no shafts! Ye dam off a puddle av watherphwer uts shallow an' throw in a chunk av oice to cool ut, an' thin ye wade in an' shovel ut into ye're sluices."
"An' wateh the yeah around!" cried Waseche.
"Aye, an' no dumps to wor-rk out in th' shpring—ye clane up as ye go. Wan shovel is good f'r a can, or a can an' a half a month."
The idea of a man measuring his dust by the forty-pound can, instead of by the ounce, was new, and Waseche Bill laughed—a short, nervous laugh of excitement.
"Come on! Shove them cans back in the hole an' le's go stake ouh claims. Yo' done stoke yo'n, ain't yo', O'Brien?"
"Oi've shtaked nawthin'! Oi jist scooped ut out here an' there, phwere their claims wasn't. Oi want none av this counthry! Oi've had enough av ut as ut is! Oi won't shtay wan minit longer thin Oi've got to—not av Oi c'n shovel out pure gold be th' scoopful! Oi want to be war-rm wanst more, an' live loike a civiloized Christian shud live, wid a pig an' a cow, an' a bit av a gar-rden.
"Ye'll not be thinkin' av shtayin' here?" he asked anxiously.
"No, O'Brien," answered Waseche, "notthistrip. But we ah goin' to stake ouh claims an' then, lateh, why me an' th' kid heah—we ah comin' back!"
"Come back av ye want to," said O'Brien with a shrug. "But luk out ye don't come back wanst too often. Phwere's Car-rlson, an' Pete Mateese? Thim's min that come back! An' wait till ye see th' skulls an' the bones along th' gravel at th' edge av th' wather—thim wuz min, too, wanst—they come back. An' luk atme! Four av us come in be way av Peel River—an' three av us is dead—an' many's th' toime Oi've wisht Oi wuz wan av thim." O'Brien replaced the stone, and the three turned their attention to their surroundings. One side of the room was piled to the ceiling with the caribou venison and fish of which O'Brien had spoken. They also found a sled and a complete set of harness for a six-dog team—Carlson's six dogs that hadfound their way into the boiling pots of the White Indians. Scattered about the stone floor lay numerous curiously shaped stone and copper implements, evidently the mining tools of a primitive race of people, and among these Connie also found ancient weapons of ivory and bone.
Slowly they made their way toward the entrance, pausing now and then to examine the rough walls of the tunnel which had been laboriously driven through the mass of copper ore.
"Wonder who worked this mine?" speculated Connie. "Just think of men working for years and years, I s'pose, to dig outcopper—with all that gold lying free in the gravel."
"Yeh, son, seems queeah to us. But when yo' come to think of it, coppeh's wo'th a heap mo'n gold, when it comes down to usin' it fo' hammehs, an' ha'poons, an' dishes. Gold ain't no real good, nohow—'cept fo' what it'll buy. An' if they ain't no place to spend it, a man mout a heap sight betteh dig out coppeh."
The sun was shining brightly on the snowwhen the three finally stood at the tunnel-mouth and gazed out into the valley of the Ignatook. A light wind carried the steam and frozen fog particles toward the opposite bank, whose high cliffs appeared from time to time as islands in a billowy white sea. Almost at their feet the waters of the creek wound between banks of glittering snow crystals, and above them the great bank of frozen mist eddied and rolled. The stakes Carlson had driven to mark his claim, and that of Pete Mateese, were plainly visible, and upon the black gravel at the water's edge were strewn the weather-darkened bones of many men.
"The copper miners!" cried Connie, pointing toward the grewsome collection. Waseche nodded.
"I reckon so," he answered. "I wondeh what ailed 'em."
"Aye, what!" echoed O'Brien. "What but th' Ignatook—that's shpelt death to iverywan that's come into uts valley. Th' whole Lillimuit's a land av dead min. Av ut ain't th' wan thing, uts another. Phwere's Car-rlson, an' Pete Mateese? Av ye don't dhrink th' pizen wather, ye'll freeze, er shtar-rve, er ye'll go loike Craik an' Greenhow, that come in with me—an' that's th' wor-rst av all. Craik, glum an' sombre, follyin' day an' noight th' thrail av a monster white moose, that no wan ilse c'd iver see, an' that always led into th' Narth. An' Greenhow, yellin' an' laughin' loike foorty fiends, rushin' shtraight into th' mid-noight aurora—an 'nayther come back!
"Ye'd besht moind phwat Oi'm tellin' yez," he croaked, as he sat upon the bank and watched Waseche and Connie stake adjoining claims.
"Ut's th' same in th' ind," he continued, letting his glance rove over the tragic relics of a bygone race. "Some comes f'r copper, an' some f'r gold—an' phwere's th' good av ut? Th' metal is left—but th' bones av th' diggers mark th' thrail f'r th' nixt that comes! An' none goes back!"
"We're going back!" said Connie. "You don't know, maybe Pete Mateese got through."
"Mebbe he did—but ut's mebbier he didn't," despaired the man.
"Now, look a heah, O'Brien," cut in Waseche, "yo' be'n up heah so long yo' plumb doleful an' sad-minded. We-all ah goin' to get out of heah, like the kid done told yo'. Come on along now an' stake out yo' claim 'long side of ou'n. I've mined, it's goin' on fo'teen yeah, now—an' I neveh seen no pay streak like this heah—not even Nome, with her third beach line; the Klondike, with its shallow gravel; oah Ten Bow, with its deep yellah sand. It's no wondeh yo' expected a stampede."
But the Irishman was obdurate and, despite all persuasion, flatly refused to stake a claim.
"Come on, then," said Waseche. "We-all got to locate that map of Carlson's. He said how he mapped the trail to the Kandik."
"Sure, an' he did!" exclaimed O'Brien. "Oi found th' map six months agone. But ivery toime Oi'd thry to folly ut, thim danged haythins ud dhrag me back."
"Where is the map? Le's see it," said Waseche.O'Brien stared from one to the other of his companions, with a foolish, round-eyed stare. Suddenly he leaped to his feet and without a word dashed down the creek in the direction of the river, leaving Waseche and Connie to gaze after him in astonishment.
"Where's he going?" asked the boy.
"Sea'ch me!" exclaimed Waseche; "come on—we got to catch him. Me'be he's took a spell. Po' fellow, I'd hate fo' anything to happen to him now."
O'Brien had obtained a very considerable lead when the others started and, giving no heed to their cries to halt, he lumbered heavily onward. Connie and Waseche ceased to call and, saving their breath, dashed after him as fast as their legs could carry them. The Irishman was in good muscle and wind, thanks to his life in the open, but in neither speed nor endurance was he a match for his pursuers, who were iron-hard from the long snow trail. When O'Brien neared the pass that gave out onto the river, the two partnersredoubled their efforts and, although they gained perceptibly, O'Brien was still ten yards in advance when he plunged between the two upstanding rocks that Connie had named the "gate-posts of the Ignatook."