As they passed between the pillared rocks the Indians broke cover, hurling their copper-tipped harpoons as they ran."As they passed between the pillared rocks the Indians broke cover, hurling their copper-tipped harpoons as they ran."
Without a moment's hesitation, the boy, who had outdistanced Waseche, dashed after him and with a "flying tackle" tripped the fleeing man, so that both rolled over and over upon the rime-covered ice of the river. And Waseche Bill, bursting upon the scene, saw, approaching silently and swiftly among the rocks and scrubof the river's edge, shadowy, fur-clad forms. The White Indians were guarding well the egress from the creek of the frozen steam.
Hastening to the two struggling figures, Waseche jerked them to their feet, and before the surprised O'Brien knew what was happening, he was being unceremoniously hustled into the narrow valley from which he had just emerged—and none too soon, for as they passed between the pillared rocks, the Indians broke cover and rushed boldly upon them, hurling their copper-tipped harpoons as they ran.
FIGHTING THE NORTH
"Wheheveh was yo' aimin' fo' to go to?" interrogated Waseche, when they were once more safely seated about the fireplace in the room at the end of the old mine tunnel.
"Sure, ut's th' map!" answered O'Brien, in a tone of the deepest dejection.
"The map! What about it?"
"Ut's in me other pants!" wailed the Irishman. "Back in th'igloo!"
"Theigloo! Theigloo—back there?"
"That same," nodded O'Brien, shamefacedly dropping his glance before the wrathful glare of Waseche's eyes. "Ye see, ut's loike this: two years ago, Oi bruk away fr' th' haythins an' made th' Ignatook. Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese wuz here thin, an' Oi shtayed wid um f'r a month,until wan day Oi wuz fishin' in th' river, an' they shwooped down an' caught me befoor Oi c'd git back into th' valley. Afther that they watched me clost, an' befoor Oi c'd git away ag'in Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese wuz gone. 'Twuz thin Oi found his map, pegged to a caribou haunch on top av th' pile yondher, an' Oi shtayed here an' wor-rked till Oi'd all th' gold Oi c'd pack, an' thin Oi shtar-rted f'r th' Kandik. They caught me, av coorse, bekaze th' heft av thim cans, along wid phwat grub Oi wuz dhraggin' on th' sled, wuz more thin a wan man load. They're sooperstitious about th' creek, an' th' gold, too, an' they slung th' cans back into th' valley.
"That's two toimes Oi got away, an' since that they ain't watched me so clost, f'r they've lur-rned that widout dogs, Oi can't make ut to th' outside—an' Be Jabbers! nointeen toimes since, Oi've been dhrug back, but Oi always kep' th' map f'r fear that sometoime Oi'd git to use ut—an' now, phwin we've got th' chanst, Oi've gone an' murdhered us all be layvin' ut behint—an'all on account av th' dance an' th'potlatch, be rayson av which Oi wint an' changed me britches!"
The man's grief was so genuine, and his dejection so deep that the wrathful gleam faded from Waseche Bill's eyes, and Connie moved nearer and placed his hand upon the Irishman's shoulder.
"Never mind, O'Brien. You didn't mean to leave the map—we know that—don't we, Waseche?"
"Sho', he didn't," answered the man, gloomily. "But that don't help thecaseany. How we-all ah goin' to get out of heah, now, is mo'n I know——"
"Me nayther," assented O'Brien. "Av Oi'd shtayed in Kildare, Oi w'dn't be here now. We bether go back an' settle down wid th' Injuns—av we c'n make friends wid um ag'in, befoor they har-rpoon us—f'r Oi'll niver see Flor-ridy, now!"
Connie leaped to his feet and stood before the two men, who looked into the narrowing grey eyes that flashed in the flickering flare of the blubber lamp.
"You make me tired!" cried Connie. "Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around.""You make me tired!" cried Connie. "Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around."
"You make metired!" cried the boy, "both of you—with your talk of not getting out of the Lillimuit; and of going back to the Indians! Why, they'd eat up our dogs, and then wecouldn'tget out! What's got into you, Waseche? Buck up! Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around!
"Carlson came in by the Tatonduk—and he went out by the Kandik—his first trip, when he showed the nuggets he brought back. Who made Carlson's map? He was a sourdough—but he has nothing onus! He found his own way out—and so will we! If we miss the Kandik, we'll find a pass of our own—or a river—or a creek! We're not afraid of the Lillimuit. It hasn't got us yet! And it isn't going to! We've got the dogs, and we've got the grub—and we've got the nerve to back them. We'll hike to the outside on our own trail—and we'll turn around and come back after the gold!
"But, if we don't make it—and have to die out there in the White Country—when they find us, they'll knowmendied! We'll be, anyway,oneday's mushing ahead of our last camp fire!"
Waseche leaped to the boy's side and grasped the small, doubled fist.
"They sho'will, kid!" he cried. "They sho'will! But they ain't a goin' to find us bushed! I wisht yo' daddy c'd of heahd yo' then—He wassomeman, Sam Mo'gan was, an' he'd sho' be proudful of his boy!
"I'm plumb 'shamed, pahdneh, fo' to gloomed up on yo' that-a-way—ain't we, O'Brien?"
"We ar-re, that!" shouted the Irishman, with a new light in his eyes. "Ye're a gr-rand lad, wid a hear-rt, in ye're ribs, that's th' heart av a foightin' man. F'r all ye're small soize, ye're th' gamest wan av th' three av us. An' uts Pathrick O'Brien'll folly ye to th' top av' th' narth pole, av ye say th' wor-rd."
A week was spent in exploring the valley of the Ignatook and in prospect panning at different points along the mysterious boiling creek whose hot, black gravel showed an unbelievably rich pay streak.
O'Brien improved rapidly from day to day. The despairing, furtive look faded from his eyes, which glowed with a new hope and a new-borndetermination to do a man's part in the accomplishment of a purpose. His wild dash for the river showed the utter futility of attempting to recover Carlson's map, for the loss of which he blamed himself bitterly. Nevertheless, the words of the boy put new heart into the lonely man, who ceased mumbling and muttering of Florida, and threw himself with a will into the work in hand.
The high rock-cliffs that flanked the valley of the Ignatook curved toward the west in two solid walls, unbroken except at a point two miles above the old mine, where a narrow ravine led in a long, winding slope to the level of the surrounding plateau.
It was by way of this ravine, O'Brien assured them, Carlson had taken his departure; and that this fact was known to the White Indians was clearly demonstrated when, each day they saw silent fur-clad figures silhouetted against the clearcut skyline. There was something ominous and forbidding in the attitude of the silent sentinelsof the frozen wastes who thus guarded the exits from the valley of the creek-of-the-steam. Time and again Connie glanced from the immutable watchers to the blackened bones upon the gravel at his feet. These were men, once; had they really drunk the poison water? Or, had they been held prisoners until they starved, by the human vultures that gloated in their lonely perches high among the rim-rocks?
"If you couldn't outguess 'em, why didn't you rush 'em?" he asked one day, addressing a sightless, grinning skull. And behind him, O'Brien laughed.
"They won't foind our-rn here, will they, b'y?"
"You bet they won't!" exclaimed Connie, and shook a small fist at a solitary, motionless figure on the brink of the high rock wall.
To the westward of the mouth of the ravine the walls drew close together, so that the hot black waters of the creek completely filled the narrow gorge and effectively blocked any further ascent of the valley.
"I don't like to huht no one, needless," said Waseche Bill, as they sat about the fireplace one evening discussing plans for escape; "but we-all got to get out of heah—an' we ahgoin'to get out too—an' if it comes right down to a matteh ofthem, oahus, why it's theah own fault if they get huht."
"Yis," agreed O'Brien, "Oi shpose ye're roight. But, somehow—ye see—they divoided grub wid me phwin they wuz hungr-ry."
"I know, O'Brien, but that don't give 'em no right to hold us heah, an' to stahve us an' steal ouh dawgs, neitheh. We need them dawgs to get back with—an' we ah goin' to keep 'em. We-all cain't stay heah no longeh—much. 'Cause, outside of the meat an' fish, we ah runnin' pow'ful shoht of grub. An', besides, the days is gettin' longeh mighty fast, an' the trail ahead of us is a long trail—even if we have good luck, an' if the snow softs up on us we cain't haul no load, an' when it melts we cain't cross no rivehs, an' if we get to the mountains yondeh, we won't have noice-trail to get out on. No, seh! We got to get out of heah—an' we got to gonow—an' if anyone tries fo' to stop us, why somethin's goin' to happen—that's all."
"They's wan way—an' ondly wan, that we c'n me'be give um th' shlip," said O'Brien. "'Tain't no use thryin' ut in th' dar-rk, f'r th' rayvine is narrow an' they've a foire at th' head uv ut. We'll be travellin 'heavy, an' we can't git t'rough um wid a whoop an' hurrah, loike we done in th' village—but we moight shlip by in th' shnow."
"In the snow?" asked Connie. "What do you mean?"
"Sur-re, they's a star-rm brewin'—th' soigns is roight, an' th' fale av ut's in th' air. Wan day, or two, an' she'll br-reak, beloike, on th' tur-rn av th' moon. Phwin she thickens up, th' Injuns'll hit f'r th'igloosas fasht as their legs'll carry thim, an' not a nose'll they shtick outsoide till ut quits shnowin'. F'r they've a fear in their hear-rts f'r th' star-rm, an' they've no shtummick f'r to be ketched out in ut——"
"Them, an' me—both!" interrupted Waseche Bill.
"Ahroo! Now, come on! Ut's f'r their own good we're doin' ut. Oi know th' fur-rst fifteen er me'be ut's twinty moiles av th' thrail to th' Kandik. We'll wor-rk ut loike this: They know they's a star-rm comin'—Oi seen a little knot av um on th' edge av th' clift a jabberin' an' p'intin' into th' Narth. We'll let um see us fetchin' wood into th' moine, loike we wuz gittin' ridy to hole up f'r th' star-rm. Th' sleds we'll load jist insoide th' mouth av th' tunnel, an' phwin they hit f'r th' village we'll har-rness th' dogs an' shlip up th' rayvine, an' out achrost th' bench. They's a bit av a mountain out yondher, me'be ut's tin moiles, an' on th' soide av ut we c'n camp snug in th' scr-rub, till th' shnow quits. Our tr-racks'll be burried, an' ut'll be a couple av days befoor they foind out we're gone, an' be th' toime they've picked up our thrail, we'll be out av their raych—f'r they'll venture not far-r to th' west, havin' fear-r av phwat lies beyant."
O'Brien finished, and Waseche turned to Connie:
"What do yo' say, son?" he asked. "Shall we try it? It ain't a goin' to be no snap, out theah on the white bench with the snow an' th' roahin' wind. It's a funny thing—this heah takin' a long chanst jes' to keep a gang of Injuns from hahmin' us so we won't hahm them."
"They divoided their grub," repeated O'Brien, with an appealing glance at the boy.
"And, forthat, we'll take a chance!" answered Connie. "We're game."
Breakfast over, the following morning, the three busied themselves in cutting firewood and carrying it into the tunnel. Indians appeared here and there among the rim-rocks and, after watching for a time, departed in the direction of the village. By noon, the weather had thickened perceptibly. A thin grey haze filled the atmosphere through which the weak rays of the Arctic sun filtered feebly. There was no wind, and the air lost its invigorating crispness and clung heavily about them like a wet garment. No more Indiansappeared upon the edges of the cliffs and Waseche Bill ventured upon a scouting expedition up the narrow ravine, while Connie and O'Brien remained behind to pack the sleds and carry an occasional armful of firewood for the benefit of any lingering observer.
The boy insisted upon loading Carlson's sled, carefully fitting the collars to the necks of his own three dogs, which had been hardly a half-dozen times in the harness since their memorable dash through the hills when Connie beat out the Ten Bow stampede.
Waseche returned reporting a clear trail, and all fell to harnessing the dogs.
"Whateveh yo' doin' withthatsled?" asked Waseche, in surprise.
"I'm going to take it along," answered Connie. "You can't ever tell what will happen, and old Boris and Mutt and Slasher may as well be working as running loose."
Waseche grinned:
"Go ahead if yo' want to. Them ol' dawgsmout get somewhehs with it, an' if they don't, yo' c'n cut yo' trace-lines an' tu'n 'em loose."
"Is that so!" flared the boy. "If there's any cutting loose to be done, you can do it yourself!Thissled goes to Ten Bow! And, what's more, there isn't a lead dog in the world that can touch old Boris—and you know it! And if big Mutt couldn't out-pull any two of your dogs, he'd be ashamed to waggle his tail! And Slasher could lick your whole team—and Mac's, too! And I wouldn't trade a flea off any one of my dogs for your whole string of mangymalamutes—so there!"
Waseche chuckled with delight as he winked at O'Brien:
"If yo' eveh want to staht somethin' right quick," he laughed, "jest yo' go ahead an' belittle th' kid's dawgs." And then he dodged swiftly as one of the boy's heavy mittens sailed past his head and slapped smartly against the wall.
O'Brien's two cans of gold were removed from the "safe" and placed, together with thesleeping-bags, robes and blankets, upon Connie's sled. The stone was adroitly wedged into place and arranged so naturally that no marauding visitor could possibly have guessed that the innocent-appearing rock concealed a treasure of upwards of one hundred thousand dollars' worth of pure gold. The caribou venison and fish, together with what remained of the outfit, had already been securely lashed to the larger sleds and, with a last look of farewell, the little cavalcade moved from the tunnel-mouth and headed for the ravine.
All trace of the sun was obliterated, and for the first time since the big blizzard, the Arctic sky was overcast with clouds.
Waseche Bill took the lead with McDougall's big ten-team, Connie followed with his own three dogs, while O'Brien, with Waseche's team, brought up the rear. The sleds slipped smoothly over the dry frost spicules, and the eyes of the three adventurers eagerly sought the edges of the high cliffs for signs of the White Indians.But no living, moving thing was visible, and, save for the occasional creak of runners, the white, frozen world was a world of silence.
A half-hour later themalamutesheaded up the ravine and humped to the pull of the long ascent. Rapidly, the weather thickened, and when, at last, they gained the bench, it was to gaze out upon an eerie, flat, white world of fore-shortened horizon. The sleds were halted while the three took their bearings. O'Brien pointed unhesitatingly toward the opaque west, and Waseche swung McDougall's leaders.
"Mush yo'! Mush yo'!" he yelled. "Hooray fo' Alaska!"
"An' Flor-ridy, too!" yelled O'Brien, and then a puff of wind—chill wind, that felt strangely clammy and damp in the intense cold, came out of the North. The long, serpentine bank of frozen fog that marked the course of the Ignatook, shuddered and writhed and eddied, while ragged patches of frozen rack detached themselves and flew swiftly southward. The air was filled with a dullroar, and a scattering of steel-like pellets hissed earthward. A loud cry pierced the roar of the approaching storm, and before them stood a solitary White Indian, immovable as a statue, with one arm pointing into the North. For a long moment he stood and then, in a whirl of flying spume, disappeared in the direction of the village.
"Come on, boys!" cried Connie, and his voice sounded far and thin. "Dig in! 'Cause we're right nowfighting the North!"
THE SNOW TRAIL
The situation faced by Connie Morgan, Waseche Bill, and O'Brien when they headed westward across the snow-ridden bench of the Lillimuit, was anything but encouraging. Before them, they knew, lay Alaska. But how many unmapped miles, and what barriers of frozen desert and insurmountable mountains interposed, they did not know; nor did they know the location of the Kandik, the river by which Carlson had returned to the land of men. For Carlson's trail map lay hidden in the pocket of O'Brien's discarded trousers in aniglooin the village of the White Indians, and upon their own worth must the three win—or die.
There was no turning back now. No returning to the Ignatook to face starvation and the meltingof the snow, for the solitary Indian who witnessed their departure had dashed to the village, bearing the information to his tribe.
If O'Brien were right in his conjecture that the Indians would not venture into the open in a storm, there would, in all probability, be several days in which to escape, for Arctic storms are rarely of short duration. This seeming advantage, however, was offset by the fact that, at best, the storm would seriously impede their own progress, and at worst—well, if the worst happened, it would make no smallest particle of difference whether the White Indians picked up their trail soon, or late.
After the first fierce rush had passed, the storm lulled and settled into a steady drive of wind-hurled pellets that cut the thick air in long, stinging slants. The dry, shot-like particles burned and bit at the faces of the three, and danced and whirled merrily across the hard surface of the snow to drift deep against obstructions. The dogs were in fine condition, well fed, and thoroughly rested during the days of inactivity, and they strung out to the pull with a will. The trail was fast. The hard crust of the old snow gave excellent footing and the three heavily loaded sleds slipped smoothly and steadily in the wake of Waseche Bill, who piloted the expedition at a long, swinging trot, with Connie and O'Brien running beside their respective sleds.
It was well past noon when the start was made, and the thick gloom of a starless night settled upon the storm-swept bench as the little cavalcade reached O'Brien's "bit av a mountain," and swung into the shelter of the thicket upon its lee side. The dogs were unharnessed and fed, a fire lighted, and a snug camp sprang into existence under the deft movements of the experiencedtillicums.
"'Tis a foine shtar-rt we've made," said O'Brien, as he poured melted suet over the caribou steak upon his tin plate, "but they'll be lookin' f'r us here, f'r they've dhrug me out av th' scrub on this hill a full dozen av toimes."
"We'll hit the trail at daylight," answered Waseche Bill.
"Ut slues to th' Narth a bit from here. Oi've thr-ravelled th' nixt tin moile or so, but beyant that Oi've niver be'n able to git."
All night the hard, dry snow fell, and all night the wind swept out of the North with a low, monotonous roar. By the light of the flaring fire they breakfasted, and at the first hint of dawn again took the trail. A dreary scene confronted the little party that pulled heavily out of the sheltered thicket. All about them was the whirling, driving whiteness, and beneath their feet the loose, dry snow shifted and they sank ankle deep into the yielding mass. The sleds pulled hard, so that the dogs clawed for footing, and the snowshoes were placed conveniently upon the top of the packs, for soon the rackets would be necessary in the fast deepening snow.
O'Brien insisted that the trail "slued to the Narth a bit," and as there was nothing for it but to follow the Irishman's vague direction,Waseche changed the course, a proceeding that added materially to the discomfort of the journey, as it forced them to travel more nearly into the teeth of the wind. At noon a halt was made for luncheon and a brief rest in the shelter of the close-drawn sleds. During the last hour the character of the storm had changed and the wind whipped upon them in veering gusts that struck furiously from every point of the compass at once. The snow, too, changed, and the hard, dry pellets gave place to a fine, powdery snow-dust that filled the eyes and nostrils and worked uncomfortably beneath the clothing. Snow-shoes were fastened on, and with lowered heads and muffled faces the three headed again into the unknown.
With the coming of darkness, they camped at the fork of a frozen river where a sparse growth of stunted willow gave promise of firewood and scant shelter. They were in a new world, now—a world, trackless and unknown, for during the afternoon they had passed beyond O'Brien's farthest venture and the Irishman was as ignorant of whatlay before them as were Connie and Waseche Bill, who knew only that they were in the midst of a trackless void of seething snow, with the White Indians behind them and Alaska before—and all about them, death, grim and silent, and gaunt—death that stalked close, ready on the instant to take its toll, as it had taken its toll from other men who had braved the Lillimuit and never again returned.
"She's areg'lahblizzahd, now," remarked Waseche, as he lighted his pipe with a brand from the camp-fire. "Any otheh time, we'd lay by an' wait fo' it to weah down—but, we dastn't stop."
"The Indians will never pick up our trail when this storm quits," ventured Connie.
"No—'ceptin' they're wise that we-all tuck out this-away, havin' followed O'Brien almost this fah befo'."
"Aye—her-re, or her-re abouts," assented the Irishman, "we nade an-nyways wan mor-re day av thrailin' before we hole up, an' me'be be that toime th' star-rm will be wor-re out."
On the morning of the third day they again started in the dull grey of the dawn. Waseche, with lowered head, bored through the white smother that surrounded them like a wall of frozen fog. The dogs, still in good heart, humped bravely to the pull, and Connie and O'Brien, with hands clutching the tail-ropes of the sleds, followed blindly. On and on they plodded, halting at intervals only long enough to consult the compass, for with nothing to sight by, they held their course by the aid of the needle alone.
Suddenly Connie's sled stopped so abruptly that the boy tripped and sprawled at full length beside its canvas-covered pack, while behind him, Waseche's leaders, in charge of O'Brien, swerved sharply to avoid the savage fangs of Slasher—for the wolf-dog knew his kind—he knew that, once down, a man ismeat, and the moment the boy fell helpless into the snow, the great, gaunt brute surged back in the traces, jerking old Boris and Mutt with him, and stood guard over the prostrate form of his master, where he growleddefiance into the faces of the dogs of the following team. Scrambling hastily to his feet, Connie was joined by O'Brien and together they stumbled forward where McDougall's big ten-team had piled up in a growling, snapping tangle upon the very brink of a perpendicular precipice. For the leaders had leaped back from the edge so suddenly that they fouled the swing dogs which, with tooth and nail, and throaty growl, were protesting against the indignity.
"Where's Waseche!" The voice of the boy cut high and thin above the roar of the storm-choked wind, and O'Brien ceased abruptly his endeavour to straighten out the fightingmalamutes. He stumbled hastily to the boy's side, but Waseche was no place to be seen, and upon the verge of the chasm, the overhanging snow-rim was gouged deep and fresh with a man-made scar.
The dogs were forgotten, and for a long moment the two stood peering over the edge, striving to penetrate the writhing whirl of snow-powderthat filled the yawning abyss—but the opaque mass gave no hint of the depth or extent of the chasm. Again and again they shouted, but their voices were drowned in the bellow of the wind, and to their ears was borne no faintest answering call.
To Connie Morgan it seemed, at last, he had come to the end of the trail. A strange numbness overcame him that dulled his senses and paralyzed his brain. His mind groped uncertainly.... Waseche was gone! He had fallen over the edge of the cliff and was lying at the bottom—and they would find him there—the men who were to come—and himself and O'Brien they would find at the top—and the dogs were all tangled—and it would be better, now, to sleep. No—they must push on—they were on the trail.... Where were they going? Oh, yes, to Alaska—back to Ten Bow, and the cabin, and the claim! But they couldn't go on.... This was theend.... They had come to the place where the world breaks off—and Waseche had fallen over the edge.
The boy gazed stupidly into the milky, eddying chaos. It looked soft, down there—like feathers, or the meringue on pie. It is a good place to fall, he thought, this place where the world stops—you could fall, and fall, and fall, and you wouldn't have to light—and it would be fun. The Lillimuit was a funny place, anyway—"the country where men don't come back from," Joe had said, that night—back there in the hotel at Eagle. Carlson didn't come back——
"Why, Carlson's dead!" he cried so sharply that, at his side, O'Brien started.
"Sur-re, b'y, he's dead—but—" The man's voice aroused him as from a dream. His brain cleared, and suddenly he realized that Waseche Bill was lost—was even then lying wounded—probably dead, at the bottom of the cliff. With a low, choking sob, the boy whirled on O'Brien, who jumped at the sharp word of command:
"Get the ropes! Quick! While I unharness the dogs!" The Irishman sprang to the rear sled where two forty-foot coils ofbabicheline layready for just such an emergency, while Connie sprang among McDougall's tangledmalamutes, slashing right and left with his coiled whiplash. At the sudden attack the dogs ceased fighting and cowered whimpering while the boy slipped their collars, and by the time O'Brien returned with the lines, Connie was ready for the next move.
"Work the sled closer—crossways!Crossways—so she'll hold!" he cried, as he knotted the lines securely together and made an end fast about his body.
"Brace against the sled, now, and lower away!"
"Phwat ye goin' to do?" asked the man, eyeing the line.
"Do!I'm going after Waseche, of course——"
"But, ye don't know how daype ut is—an' th' rope moight bre'k!"
"What difference doesthatmake?" cried the boy. "If the rope won't reach—we'll make it reach! We'll splice on the harness, and the blankets, and the tarps, and the robes, and whatever else we can lay our hands on—and if it don't reach then, we'll kill the dogs! I'll get my pardner out of there if I have to kill every dog in the outfit and use their hides. And if the rope breaks—I'll be where Waseche is, anyway!"
Without waiting for a reply, Connie slipped softly over the edge."Without waiting for a reply, Connie slipped softly over the edge."
Without waiting for a reply, the boy seated himself in the snow and slipped softly over the edge. Slowly he descended into the riot of whirling snow, while above him, O'Brien, with heels braced against the runners of the heavy sled, carefully paid out the line. Down, down, he went, scraping and bumping against the wall. It seemed to the impatient boy as though each moment he must reach the end of his rope—surely,he had descended eighty feet! But on he went, down, down, down—and then, when the suspense was becoming almost unbearable, his feet touched bottom, and he stood upright upon the snow. And, above, O'Brien felt the line go slack, and heaved a great sigh of relief as he glanced at the scant six feet of rope that remained.
Jagged rock-slivers protruded from the snow, here and there, at the base of the cliff, and Connie shuddered as he gazed about him. Suddenly he cried out, and plunged to the end of his line, for there, close beside a huge block of stone, he made out a dark blur on the white surface of the snow—it was the back of a furparka!
The next instant, the boy was kneeling beside the inert form of Waseche Bill. Frantically he pulled and hauled at the man until at length he succeeded in turning him upon his back, and then it was he noticed the leg doubled curiously beneath him. Very gently Connie laid hold of the foot and drew it into position beside the other, and as the leg straightened out he could feelthe grating rasp of bone on bone—the leg was broken!
His first thought was to arouse the unconscious man, but instead he began swiftly to remove the rope from about his own body and fasten it firmly under Waseche's armpits.
"If I wake him up now, it will hurt like thunder when O'Brien hauls him up," he muttered, as he gave the three quick jerks to the line that had been the agreed signal to "haul away." The next moment the rope went taut, and slowly, very slowly, the inanimate form lifted and swung clear of the snow.
O'Brien was a big man—and a strong one. But for the next few minutes he had his work cut out.
"He's found um!" he panted, as he paused to rest, with the rope wrapped tightly about his arm. "Sur-re, th' b'y's niver as heavy as that—an', be jabbers! Oi belayve th' two av thim's cumin' up to wanst."
At length Waseche's body wedged against the edge of the cliff and O'Brien, making the line fastto the heavy sled, dragged the unconscious form clear, and weighting the line with an ice ax, lowered it into the chasm. Five minutes later the boy scrambled over the rim, and dropped to his knees beside the inert form in the snow.
"Get up the shelter tarp—quick!" he ordered, as he scraped the loose snow from a wide space near the sled and, rummaging in his pack, produced a quantity of grease-soaked moss and a bundle of dry firewood.
"His leg's broken, and we've got to set it," he explained, as a tiny flame flared in the shelter of the wide tarpaulin, and he proceeded to remove the man'smuklukand heavy socks.
"Ye'll fr-reeze his leg!" exclaimed O'Brien, in alarm.
"Can't help it—we've got to take a chance. He'll die, or be crippled for life if we don't set it—so here goes!"
The foot was badly swollen, and midway between the ankle and the knee was a great bluish-green bruise where the leg had struck the rockat the foot of the cliff. The blow had broken both bones, and the overlapping ends made an unsightly bunch upon the side of the leg. Deftly and skilfully the boy's fingers explored the hurt.
"We've got to pull 'em by and snap 'em into place," he explained. "I know how—we set Newt Boyer's legs, in Ten Bow, when a log rolled on him."
Again they made the line fast beneath the man's shoulders, and bound him firmly to the loaded sled. O'Brien seized hold of the foot and, bracing himself in the snow, pulled for all he was worth, while Connie pressed against the bone ends with his palms.
"Pull!Pull—can't you!" urged the boy. "Only a quarter of an inch more and they'll click—and the job will be done!" But O'Brien was pulling, and although he strained and tugged to the very limit of his strength, the ends still overlapped. Suddenly the boy leaped to his feet.
"Swing those dogs in here!" he cried, pointingto Waseche's team that remained still harnessed. "A little farther! Woah! That'll do—now, wait!" Swiftly he stooped, and with a few quick turns, bound the injured foot tightly to the back of the sled.
"Now, pull up—easy, at first—don't jerk! That's right!" he cried, as the leg stretched taut, "now, make 'empull!"
Again the boy dropped to his knees and worked rapidly with his fingers, while under O'Brien's urging Waseche'smalamuteshumped and clawed as they pulled. There was a slight click, as the bone-ends snapped into place, and the Irishman heard the delighted voice of the boy:
"Woah! She's set! She's set! Ease off, now, and hand me the splints!"
The splints, rudely split from pieces of firewood, were applied and held in place by strips torn from the tarp, a blanket was wrapped about the injured member, and the patient made as comfortable as possible beside the fire in the lee of the shelter tarp. But it was an hour later beforeWaseche Bill opened his eyes and gazed inquiringly about him.
"What happened?" he asked, as a sharp pain caused him to stare in surprise toward his blanket-swathed leg.
"Sur-re, ye walked over th' edge av a clift, an' lit on th' rocks, a mather av siventy feet below—an' th' b'y, here, wuz over an' afther yez befoor ye lit. Yer leg's bruk squar-re in two, but th' lad set ut loike an-ny docther c'd done—an' bether thin most."
"O'Brien helped!" interrupted Connie.
"Aye, a bit. An' so did the dogs. But, th' b'y—he wuz th' captain. Ye sh'd o' seed um shlip over th' edge on th' ind av his thread av a loine, into th' whirlin' scather av shnow, when ye c'd see nayther bottom nor soides. 'Oi'm a-goin afther Waseche!' he says—An' he done so."
"O'Brien pulled you up," said the boy, as Waseche leaned over and grasped the small hand in his own big one. He spoke no word, but in the pressure of the mighty hand-grasp the boy read the man-sign oftillicums.
ALASKA!
They camped for the remainder of the day.
"'Tain't no use grumblin' on ouh luck," remarked the philosophical Waseche. "We got to camp right heah till the stawm weahs out. Chances is, we'll have the Injuns onto us in a day oah so; but we cain't go bluste'catin' no mo' wheah we cain't see. Anyhow, they ain't no use borrowin' trouble—theh's a right smaht of it a-comin' to a man without him huntin' none. So fah, we're all to the good. The big Nawth's fightin' to hold her secrets, but she ain't handed us no knockout—yet."
During the night the storm ceased, and with the first hint of dawn the outfit was made ready for the trail. Robes were spread upon Connie's light sled, and Waseche Bill placed in his sleeping bag and bound securely upon the robes with many turns ofbabiche. The bundles of firewood, and O'Brien's cans of gold were transferred to the other sleds, and in the dull grey of the long morning twilight the outfit pulled southward over the bench, paralleling the edge of the ravine into which Waseche had fallen. Progress was slow. The fresh snow rolled up and clogged the free running of the sleds, so that both Connie and O'Brien mushed ahead of the dogs, breaking out the trail with their rackets. Hour after hour they mushed, seeking to cross the great fissure that gaped wide and deep between them and the distant mountains that loomed white and grand against the western skyline—the mountains that separated them from Alaska, and through whose fastnesses they must find a trail.
The belated sun peeped over the rim of the flat snow tundra behind them, and all three turned to view the welcome sight. Suddenly, O'Brien, with a sharp cry, pointed toward some tiny moving objects far to the eastward:
"The Injuns," he cried. "That haythen, Lemlak—th' wan that seen us layve th' Ignatook—he's put um on our thr-rail—an' ut's back we go, av they don't har-rpoon us—as sur-re's me name's Pathrick O'Brien!"
"It's back wedon'tgo! And you can bet your bottom dollar on that!" cried Connie, as he glanced with flashing eyes toward the two high-power rifles lashed side by side against the rail of McDougall's sled. "Look! There's the end of the ravine! We can head west now, and hit for the mountains!"
"Sur-re, they'll ketch up to us, befoor we git foive moile—we've got to bre'k thr-rail, an' they'll folly along in ut."
They were drawing nearer to the white expanse that Connie had pointed out as the end of the ravine.
"Ut ain't th' ind! Ut's a shnow bridge!" exclaimed O'Brien, and the others saw, extending from side to side of the chasm, gleaming white in the slanting rays of the sun, an enormous snow arch.
Recklessly O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span of snow while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly"Recklessly O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span of snow while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly."
Without waiting for a line, O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span, while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly. The great massof snow that bridged the chasm looked as solid as the rock of Gibraltar, but the partners heaved a sigh of relief as the man reached the opposite side in safety and turned to retrace his steps. Connie's team, drawing the injured man, crossed first and was quickly followed by the two more heavily loaded sleds.
"Now, let's hit for the mountains!" cried the boy, "we've got miles and miles on them yet."
"Hold on, son. We got lots of time, now. 'Spose yo' jes' bust open one of them theah bundles of wood an' staht us a little camp-fiah."
"A camp-fire!" exclaimed the boy, "why, it isn't time to camp! And, besides——"
"Neveh yo' mind about that. Jes' do as I said, an' then swing that theah pack of mine around heah an' prop me up agin' it beside the fiah. Afteh that, I want yo' an' O'Brien to take Mac's dawgs an' yo'n an' wo'k yo' way to the top of yondeh hill an' see if yo' c'n find out how fah this heah ravine runs—get busy, now."
The boy obeyed without question and soonhe and the Irishman were headed for the hill a quarter of a mile up the ravine.
"I wonder what he's up to?" speculated the boy, with puckered brow. "You don't suppose it's his leg—fever, or something, that's made him kind of—of queer?"
"No, no, lad. Oi don't know phwat's on his moind—but min loike him—they mostly knows phwat they're doin'—er they wouldn't be doin' ut."
From the top of the hill they saw that, as far as the eye could reach, the ravine cut the tundra in an unbroken line.
"They ain't no other cr-rossin'," said O'Brien, so they retraced their steps to the bridge, where they could see Waseche bending close over the tiny fire.
"Why, he's frying some meat!" exclaimed Connie, "and we just had breakfast!" They were close now, and Waseche removed a frying pan from the flame and poked gingerly at its contents with a piece of brushwood. Apparently satisfied, he placed it beside him upon the snow.Connie glanced into the pan where, instead of a caribou steak, the boy saw three yellow sticks of dynamite.
"Why, you told me——!"
"Yes, kid, I done tol' yo' long ago, neveh to thaw out no giant in a pan—an' I meant it! Mos'ly, yo' c'n do it—if yo' careful—but, sometimes she jes' nachelly lets go, without no provocation, an' then—well, yo' rec'lect how we-all wiped po' Gus Meekin offen the bushes an' rocks, a half a mile from wheah his fiah was."
"But, you——"
"Hold on, son. This heah was a pahtic'lah case. I figgehed it all out—an' took a chanct. That's why I sent yo' an' O'Brien oveh onto the hill, so's if she let go they'd still be some of us left. Soon as I seen the bridge I rec'lected how I had a dozen sticks of giant in my outfit, an' a box of caps, an' some fuse—wait, now, till I set the caps, an' then yo' c'n touch off the shot. We'll use two sticks fust, an' save the otheh to finish off with, if we need it." As he talkedWaseche Bill punched holes in the soft yellow cylinders and affixed the caps and fuse for a ten-minute shot. Connie and O'Brien placed the injured man again upon the sled and made ready for a quick getaway.
"Lay 'em side by side right in the middle, an' coveh 'em with a couple handfuls of snow," advised Waseche, "an' then we'll pull out on the flat a space an' watch the fun. When them Injuns gets to the ravine it sho' will botheh 'em to figgeh how we-all got acrost."
A few minutes later they halted the outfit well out of harm's way and watched breathlessly for the explosion. The mining of the bridge had taken time and, in the distance, beyond the ravine, the White Indians were rapidly gaining. A few of the stronger and more fleet were well within rifle shot, when suddenly, with a dull roar and a blur of flying snow, the giant let go. The eyes of the three were fixed upon the bridge—or rather upon the place where the bridge had been—for all that remained was a cloud of powderysnow dust and a thinning haze of light grey smoke. The snow dust settled, the smoke drifted away and dissolved into the cold, clear air, and between the watchers and the White Indians the unbridged ravine yawned wide, and deep, and impassable.
"Whoop-la!" yelled O'Brien, leaping into the air and cracking his heels together. "Come on an' git us, ye phirates!" And as the savages gathered upon the opposite side, the Irishman's laughter rang long and loud across the frozen tundra.
The third day after the blowing up of the bridge found the three adventurers skirting the base of the great white range that towered in an unbroken chain as far as the eye could reach to the northward and to the southward. Vast, and grim, and impassable, the giant masses of rock and ice loomed above them, their naked, blue-white peaks and pinnacles gleaming clean-cut and cold against the cloudless turquoise of the sky.
All day long the three dog teams mushed northward while Connie, and Waseche Bill, and O'Brienanxiously scanned the great barrier for signs of a river or creek that gave promise of leading to a divide. For, though they passed the mouths of dozens of creeks and canyons, none were sufficiently large to tempt exploration.
Waseche Bill's injured leg was much swollen, for the trail was rough and tortuous, and despite the utmost efforts of Connie and O'Brien, the light sled bumped and slued against obstructions in a manner that caused the man excruciating torture, although neither by sign nor sound, did he betray the slightest pain. The Irishman and the boy took turns breaking trail for McDougall's leaders, and working at the gee-pole to ease the light sled over the rough places. Waseche's own dogs followed McDougall's, thus giving a smoother trail to the sled bearing the injured man.
The afternoon was well spent when Connie, who was in the rear, noticed a growing uneasiness among the dogs of Waseche's team. The bigmalamuteswhined and whimpered with a peculiar suppressed eagerness as they eyed the mountainsand, pulling close, tried time and again to pass the lead sled.
"That's funny," thought the boy, as he watched the dogs closely, "I never saw those dogs act like that before—seems like they wanted to lead." Hour after hour the boy mushed at the tail rope, and always he watched the strange behaviour of Waseche Bill's dogs. The sun sank behind the mountains and, at last, O'Brien halted at the edge of a patch of scraggy spruce. The dogs were unharnessed and fed, and after Waseche was made comfortable at the fireside, Connie prepared supper.
Suddenly, all three were startled by the long howl of a sled dog and, turning quickly saw Waseche's huge leader standing with up-pointing muzzle, upon a low hill, some fifty yards distant, and about him stood the seven dogs of his team. Again he howled, and then, as though this were the signal, the whole pack turned tail and dashed into the North.
"Well, of all the doggone, ornery tricks I evehheahed tell of—that takes the cake!" cried Waseche. "Pulled out on us! Jes' plumb pulled out! An' them's good dawgs, too!"
"Where did you get that team?" asked Connie excitedly.
"Picked 'em up off a man in Eagle," answered Waseche. "He aimed to go outside, come spring. He got 'em off a breed, a yeah back."
"Where do you s'pose they've gone?" asked the boy.
"Sea'ch me! I cain't onde'stand it."
"Ut's th' Lillimuit!" croaked O'Brien. "Ut wuz th' same wid Craik an' Greenhow!" The man shuddered and drew closer to the fire. "They's things here that ondly some c'n see! An' phwin they see um—always they head into th' Narth!"
"Sho'! Quit yo' calamatatin', O'Brien! Dawgs has pulled out on folks befo'."
"Thim wans ain't," returned the Irishman, and relapsed into gloomy silence.
With the first sign of dawn the outfit was again on the trail. The bulk of the pack had beenremoved from Waseche's sled and added to the other two, and the sled and harnesscachedin the bush. For several miles Connie, who was travelling in the lead, followed the trail of the stampeded dog-pack, when suddenly he paused where a narrow creek canyon clove the rock-wall of a mountain. The trail led into the gorge, which appeared to be a mere crack in the mighty wall.
"Follow 'em up, son!" called Waseche from his sled. "We need them dawgs."
So the boy swung McDougall's team into the canyon, and his own dogs followed, with O'Brien fast to the tail rope. On and on led the narrow trail—westward, and upward, winding and twisting between its rocky walls—but always westward, and upward. The floor was surprisingly smooth for so narrow a trail, and the outfit made good time, but all three expected that each turn would be the last, and that they would find the runaway dogs huddled against a dead end. Toward midday, the canyon grew lighter, the walls seemed not so high, and the ascent grew steeper.Suddenly, as they rounded a sharp turn, a brilliant patch of sunlight burst upon them, and the next moment they found themselves upon the summit of a long divide.
Never in their lives had any of the three gazed upon so welcome a sight, for there, to the westward, lay an unending chaos of high-flung peaks and narrow valleys, and easily traceable—leading in a broad path of white to the south-westward, was the smooth trail of a river!
"The Kandik!" cried Connie, "andAlaska!"
"H-o-o-r-a-y!" yelled O'Brien, dancing about in the snow, while the tears streamed unheeded from his eyes. "Ut's good-bye Lillimuit, foriver! Av ye wuz pure gold from th' middle av th' wor-rld to th' peak av ye're hoighest hill, Oi w'dn't niver go no closter thin th' furthest away Oi c'd git from ye! A-h-r-o-o! Wid ye're dead min—an' ye're cowld!"