“They must have seen us,” panted Roy as he and Norman advanced.
“No wonder they let a moose almost stick his nose in camp,” was Norman’s comment. “The men seem to be as old as Methuselah.”
There was nothing dramatic in the arrival of the boys, for the Indians spoke no English and gave not the least sign of gratitude when the quarters of the moose were thrown on the ground. Both the women sank on their knees and one of them eagerly bit into the raw flesh. After vainly attempting to talk to the men, Norman pointed to a knife in the belt of one of them and then at the freezing flesh on the ground.
While the boys watched them, this aged and emaciated Chipewyan also dropped on his knees and hastily cut off four strips of flesh. Without any attempt at cooking these the starving group attacked them voraciously in their raw condition. After a few moments, the boys took the other quarter and, motioning toward the other cabins, started toward them. They decided, if they found no younger men, to take the two old men back to the monoplane and deliver to them their other provisions.
Having reached the first cabin, the boys at once discovered that Chandler had not overstated the camp condition. Neither in this filthy structure, nor in any but one of the otherhalf dozen did they find anyone but women and children. In each cabin there was heat in plenty, but signs of food were wholly missing. In each place the air was foul, and half-clad children made the situation pitiable. In one fortunate cabin, the children were chewing shreds of skin.
Still unable to find anyone who could speak English, the boys continued their work of rescue by cutting off a generous piece of moose and then continuing their investigation. Having reached the last cabin, which differed in no respect from the others, Norman and Roy came across a surprise that was a shock to them. Swinging open the door, without warning, they entered a chill interior that was reeking with new odors. A small fire burned in one corner and before it, on a pallet of worn and greasy blankets, lay the distorted figure of a man. He was the sole occupant of the almost dark room.
While the boys hesitated, choking with the rancid and stifling odors about them, they saw the figure turn its head with an effort. Then they saw that it was a man of about middle age, who was almost completely paralyzed. He could move neither his legs nor his body, but with the use of his elbows, he was just able to turn the upper part of his body.
He did not resent the intrusion but he did not give the young men the least sign of welcome. In his left hand rested a charred stick. With this he was able to reach the little fire at his side, in front of which was piled a heap of small sticks and branches—his firewood.
The fireplace and chimney, which was also inside the cabin, were made of clay and occupied the corner of the uninviting apartment. Near the fire stood a smoke-begrimed frying pan in which there was a piece of black meat of some kind. On the dirty clay hearth was a tin basin, in which were a few ounces of soiled looking meal or flour.
“The man’s paralyzed,” remarked Norman in an undertone. “But at that he seems better off than the rest.”
“He ain’t starvin’, at least,” answered Roy. “But we’d better give him his share of moose.”
He spoke to the man and was surprised to receive a grin in return. It meant that the invalid did not understand. But the moment they offered the meat to the almost-helpless man, they were glad to see that he had the full use of his arms and fingers. Reaching for a knife that lay under him, he began to cut off pieces of fat with celerity. These he ate without cooking.
The close cabin was so crowded with articles of various kinds that the boys could not resist an examination before they took their leave.
“Somebody’s been livin’ here besides this man,” exclaimed Roy at once. He pointed to the opposite corner of the cabin where there were indications that some one had had a bunk. Then in the other end of the room they found the cause of the heavy odors. Hanging from the rafters were several dozen skins, stretched tightly on trappers’ boards, and in various states of curing. There was also a collection of steel traps, a dog sled and a jumbled mass of dog harness.
Curing skins was not exactly a novelty to either of the boys but they knew a valuable skin from an ordinary one and they could not resist the temptation to look for a possible silver fox. They soon decided that the trapper who might have collected these furs was one of no great experience. Roy pointed to the skins, then made signs to the Indian as if to ask if the skins belonged to him. The man grinned in silence and punched up his little fire. Roy was examining one of the stretched hides when he suddenly called to Norman and pointed to a name written with indelible pencil near the bottom of the board.
“Well, what do you think of that?” exclaimed the astonished Norman.
The two boys were looking at the scrawl which was plainly “E. O. Chandler.”
“There you are!” exclaimed Roy. “Here’s where our friend made his headquarters. No wonder he knew that the Indians were starving.”
There was a light tapping on the floor and the paralyzed and speechless Indian pointed toward the corner of the room where there were signs of a bunk. In the gloom the boys went to this place. But they noticed nothing in particular until the prostrate Indian again lifted his stick upward. And then, shoved in a crevice between the logs, they saw a soiled and crumpled envelope. Taking it to the window, they read plainly enough the address—“E. O. Chandler, Fort McMurray.” There was no postmark but in the upper left hand corner was this printing—“Hill Howell, Contractor, Centralia, Kansas.”
“It’s one of the envelopes that Colonel Howell has down in camp,” exclaimed Roy.
“Yes,” answered Norman slowly, “and I’ll bet you it’s a message that either Ewen or Miller wrote to Chandler after he left us.”
“Do you think we ought to read it?” asked Roy, his fingers grasping the greasy envelope as if itching to extract the enclosure.
“I reckon it’s none of our business,” answered Norman, as if with some regret, “but I’ll bet it concerns Colonel Howell and I believe we ought to take it to him.”
Roy turned toward the Indian and made signs of putting the letter in his pocket. If this meant anything to the helpless man, he gave no sign other than the same peculiar grin. Roy put the envelope in his pocket and, making signs of farewell, the two boys left the cabin.
CHAPTER XVA LETTER GOES WRONG
The conditions that the young aviators had just encountered had not sharpened their appetites. But again in the fresh air, they decided to use speed and complete their mission and, incidentally, to have a little tea and some bannock at the airship.
At two of the cabins where they had seen the strongest women, they stopped and made signs for the squaws to follow them. At the tepee in the edge of the woods they found the two old men and the two women huddled around a fire on the inside of the tepee, with every sign of having gorged themselves upon the food given them. In the kettle outside, chunks of the moose were stewing under a now brisk fire. This entire party was also enlisted and Norman and Roy made their way back to the snow basin in the woods. Without delay they passed out all the supplies to the Indians who had accompanied them, showed them the remainderof the moose and made signs that these should be distributed equally among all. With every expression of pleasure, but none of gratitude, the six Indians took instant departure.
“It’s three o’clock,” announced Norman, when this had been done. “Now for a little camp fire out here in the snow, some tea and a piece of bannock, and we’ll make a record trip back home.”
Unaware of the disastrous discovery they were soon to make the two boys took a leisurely rest.
“It’s the only time I miss a pipe,” remarked Roy as he sat behind a snow bank with his feet toward the cheery blaze.
“Well, if ever I begin,” said Norman in turn, “I’ll never try to manipulate any of this plug smokin’ stuff. I’ll go to the States for a mixture of some kind and not try to shave down the brick of hydraulic-pressed tobacco that the half-breeds use.”
After a long loaf before the fire the boys made preparations to return.
“Looks a little like the blizzard day,” remarked Roy, “and it’s certainly getting some colder. I hope the wind won’t come up. If it does, I hope it comes out of the north.”
While he spoke, the two boys took hold of the frame of the monoplane to pull it out onto the smooth snow and head it south. The airship had been resting upon what seemed to be a little ridge. Pulling the chassis from this rise in the snow, they were both astounded to find the body of the car shift to one side and sink into the snow.
Both sprang to that side of the car and Norman, running his hand along the wooden landing ski, gasped with astonishment when he found the long runner broken sharply in the middle.
“That’s fine!” he shouted. “This runner’s out of business!”
Roy ran to the rear where the car had stopped and found underneath the snow a rocky ledge.
“She hit this!” he exclaimed. “Can’t we tie her up?”
Norman was plainly in doubt but they cleared away the surrounding snow and found that, instead of a single break, a section of the runner had been shattered. Two jagged ends of wood extended into the soft snow.
“If you’ll find any way to fix them,” exclaimed Norman, “maybe we can get a start. But it looks to me as if we’d have to make a new runner.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Roy, beating his numbing hands together. “We can fix ’er.”
The two boys made this attempt and, as often as they thought they had patched up the shattered ski and mounted into the car in attempts to make a start, the patched strip of wood would part and the chassis would lunge again into the snow.
After a half hour of attempts of this kind, Roy recalled the dog sled in the distant hut of the paralyzed Indian and, in desperation, after four o’clock, for it was now getting desperately cold, he secured Norman’s consent to a trip back to the Indian’s cabin and the securing of at least a part of the sled to patch up their machine.
The winter days were now growing short and when Roy hurried away into the gray woods night was fast coming on. Nor did he find an easy task before him. In the end it was necessary to pay the paralytic twenty-five dollars before he could secure possession of the sled. As he made his way back to his waiting companion, he had to stick to the trails that they had previously made, for in the woods darkness had already come.
At the airship camp he found Norman hadput in his waiting time in collecting a pile of fallen timber. It was now so cold that this served a double purpose—they needed the warmth and it served to illuminate the vicinity.
The benumbed Roy also found tea ready and, better yet, a generous piece of moose meat frying in the edge of the fire. These, with some broken bannock heated in the fat of the meat, gave the boys a welcome supper. Then, piling new wood on the fire, they began again the task of repairing the chassis. Here they were handicapped by the darkness, as they were afraid to get the monoplane and its reservoirs of gasoline too near the blazing camp fire.
Finally they solved this difficulty by starting the engine and using one of their adjustable light bulbs, which they hung over the side of the car. Yet the cold had become so intense, although it was a dry Arctic cold, that the work went forward only by stages, the boys being forced to stop and warm their hands from time to time at the camp fire.
When the new moon showed through the dark border of spruce trees and the brilliant northern stars pierced the black sky, the young aviators were ready for another trial. It was eight o’clock. This time they packed the snow for ahundred yards in front of the chassis of the car, and then, arranging their few blankets in the cockpit and refreshing themselves with some newly-made hot tea, exhausted and nervous, they climbed aboard. Putting on all their power and holding their runners steadily to the packed snow, they again started theGitchie Manitou.
While the runners were yet gliding over the evenly-packed snow drifts, there came an ominous jar on the side of the repaired ski and Norman instantly threw the planes upward. It was a chance for, if the car settled again, the new runner would probably give away. In its gathering momentum, the airship drifted snowward again while both boys gulped. Then as if guiding itself, it sprang upward once more.
“It’s all right!” shouted Roy, “but we had a close call. If we have to come down again we’ll never get up.”
“When we land again,” added Norman, his mouth dry, “it’ll be in the gas camp.”
In a few minutes the airship was over the Athabasca River again, which was now vaporless and white beneath them.
“It’s cold, all right,” was Roy’s comment at this moment. “I think there’s ice on the river.”
In spite of the increasing coldness, theGitchie Manitoumade its way without trouble toward the distant camp. There was no wind and, although the boys computed the temperature outside at not less than twenty below zero, the interior of the little cockpit soon became cozy enough. The heating appliances had been connected with the dynamo and Norman at times even complained of the heat. After the first hour of flight, both boys began looking for the flare of the gas well. When this at last came in sight, the car was headed directly for it. At that time both boys agreed that the river beneath was covered with ice from shore to shore.
“Anyway,” said Norman, as the gas well came into full view, “looks as if Paul didn’t succeed in capping the gusher to-day.”
To warn their friends of their arrival, the boys threw on their searchlight, and the arrival back of the aerodrome was unmarked, except by the vociferous welcome accorded by the alarmed occupants of the camp.
Another supper was awaiting the relief expedition and for some time all were busy with the cause of the delay and the details of the condition of the Indian encampment. Unquestionablythere would have to be another visit to the camp to ascertain at least the result of the hunting expedition.
Strangely enough, before the matter of Chandler’s letter was reached, the discussion reached the work on the gas well that day. When Roy suddenly recalled the episode of the discovery in the paralyzed Indian’s cabin he started to produce the letter, but hesitated because both Ewen and Miller were present. In his discussion with Norman on the way back, it had been decided that the letter had probably been written by one or the other of these men and that its appearance might cause embarrassment. Both Ewen and Miller had been very curious about the settlement at Pointe aux Tremble, but they had asked no questions that connected Chandler with the place.
When the hour grew late and Colonel Howell proposed retiring to the bunk room where the iron stove was red hot, since neither Ewen nor Miller gave signs of turning in, Roy put off the matter of the letter until later. When the three boys sought their bunks, Ewen and Miller still lingered in the big room, and Colonel Howell was asleep.
“Time enough in the morning,” suggested Norman.
In the morning, however, Colonel Howell and Paul with Ewen and Miller were up and at work before Norman and Roy were astir. The weather had not moderated but Colonel Howell was anxious to bring the work on the gusher to a close. Ewen and Miller attacked the frost hardened ground before breakfast and this work had now reached the point where Paul could help in removing the heavy clods.
When the young aviators joined their friends at breakfast, Ewen and Miller were present again and the letter was not exhibited. Then all hurried out to complete the work of attempting to control the gusher. The regulator and the ordinary apparatus to connect it with the mouth of the pipe, together with the smaller tubes and their valves that were to be attached above the regulator, were all in place. In the end, Colonel Howell proposed, with still smaller pipes, to lead part of the gas into the fireplace and the bunk house stove.
At eleven o’clock the perspiring men in the trench announced this part of the work completed. Then it required only a few minutes to brace a narrow platform about five feet above the bottom of the trench, next to the tube, and all paused for a short rest before making thefinal experiment. At last the men took their places near the roaring gusher and, at Paul’s request, he was given the opportunity to use his well-muscled arms in swinging the sledge, Colonel Howell taking his place on the platform in charge of a long-handled chisel.
The duties of Norman and Roy were to assist the two workmen in manipulating the chain pulley, by which the first tap was to be forced on the open end of the pipe. This of course was pierced with holes, so that the pressure beneath it might not be altogether shut off. This was to be forced down upon the steel drill tube, after which the regulator was to be similarly attached to the threads of the preliminary cap. The situation was hazardous for all. There was danger that the out-rushing gas in the trench below might explode when it rose and came in contact with the roaring blaze above. But it was hoped that the work might be done so quickly that this would not result.
When Ewen had laid out his apparatus about the mouth of the tube with all the care of a surgeon preparing for a hasty operation, and Paul and Colonel Howell had taken their position on the scaffold far below, Ewen suddenly shouted:
“Ready!”
A heavy blow resounded in the narrow pit. Then another, and another, and a new roar broke out below. Dropping their tools, Colonel Howell and Paul fled up their improvised ladder and when they reached the surface they saw the workmen and Norman and Roy, their faces distorted with effort and their clothes almost scorching, bend to the task before them. The escaping gas was still roaring and the flames were leaping sideways.
Norman and Roy were almost flat on the ground, hanging on to the pulley chain. The first cap was in place and, with a long wrench, Ewen was twisting it onto the thread. A new volume of gas was already rolling from the pit, while from the incline opposite the mouth of the new opening, gravel and clods of earth were shooting riverward like the sparks of a Bessemer furnace. Paul threw himself on the ground with the other boys and added his strength to theirs in holding the cap in place. All seemed to forget the possibility of a new explosion.
There was a hoarse shout from Ewen and the boys released the pulley chain while Miller slapped the regulator between the guide rods.As the three young men again threw themselves upon the chain and forced the regulator into place, the crucial moment had arrived. The controlling valve of the regulator was open, of course, and as the rushing gas was again concentrated into one stream, a new fiery jet shot upward. But the lateral streams had been controlled and again Ewen applied the wrench to thread the regulator to the first cap. Once he failed and then the threads caught. With a yell of victory the veteran gas man threw himself against the long wrench again.
“You’ve got ’er!” exclaimed Colonel Howell as he sprang to Ewen’s side and joined him in screwing the regulator into place. Even before he spoke there was a renewed roar in the trench beneath and a new volume of gas poured upward.
“Fill ’er in!” shouted Paul. “The big rocks first.” And then, while the newly confined gas still shot upward through the regulator in a screaming stream of fire, six pairs of hands, including those of the energetic Philip, hurled a collected heap of rocks to the bottom of the trench and around the new opening.
“This ain’t goin’ to stop the flow,” explained Colonel Howell to Norman and Roy, as allpanted in their work, “but it’s Paul’s idea, and I think he’s put it over.”
“Now for the dirt!” shouted Paul, who was leading in the work. With shovels and pieces of board, the excavated material was rapidly dumped into the trench. With each new shovelful of material, the escape of gas from the trench became less and the roar from the open regulator became more deafening. When at last only an odor of gas escaped from the newly packed trench, Paul exclaimed:
“Plenty of water dumped in here ought to make a solid cake of ice around the opening and that ought to fix us till spring anyway.”
“The cleverest idea you’ve yet given us!” exclaimed Colonel Howell, as all paused for breath. “Now, go over and finish your job. Turn off the regulator.”
Proudly enough, Paul sprang to the roaring gusher and gave the protected valve wheel a few quick turns. Instantly the flow was shut off and silence followed. The young Austrian had made good.
Many other mechanical details had to be seen to but the great problem had been solved and all were elated. The main work accomplished, Colonel Howell and the young men retiredto the cabin, where, as soon as the excitement over Paul’s victory had somewhat subsided, Roy produced the letter he had found in the cabin of the paralyzed Indian. Colonel Howell, having heard the explanation of the finding of the letter, without any hesitation and evidently without any qualms of conscience, drew out the enclosure. The letter was an illiterate scrawl.
“Mr. Chandler,” it began, “we have decided our answer is this. Mebbe you are right and we three have done all the work here, but Colonel Howell has always been on the square. If you think you are intitled to go to Edmonton and make a claim for this property, we don’t. It’s been a perty hard job, but we been paid for it and don’t think we have no claim fur a title to this claim. Besides, this ain’t no time to try to go to Edmonton and get out papers. If we was goin, we’d wait till the river froze and take a dogsled. When you get your money you can go if you like. Like we promised you, we wont say nothin. So long as Colonel Howell treats us square we’re goin to stick. So no more at present.
Ewen and Miller.”
Ewen and Miller.”
The message was dated August 10th and was evidently a reply to some proposition made by Chandler after he was kicked out of the camp. While Colonel Howell read it, his face was very sober. Then he read it aloud to the boys and tossed it on the table while he lit a new cigar. All sat in silence for some time and then Norman said:
“I guess Chandler must have changed his mind too. He was here yesterday morning.”
“But the river’s frozen now,” suggested Roy quickly. “What does this mean, Colonel Howell?” went on Roy, his curiosity overcoming him.
The colonel took a long draw on his cigar and at last found his old-time smile.
CHAPTER XVIROY CONDUCTS A HUNT
“At first,” he said, “it looked simple enough. So far as this letter is concerned, I’m not bothered. That is, I’m not afraid of Ewen and Miller. But Chandler’s proposition is another matter. It’s plain enough that he wanted our men to join him and go to Edmonton and file papers on this claim. But that isn’t as ridiculous as it appears. You know,” he said, “Mr. Zept asked me if I hadn’t grubstaked these fellows. If they could make it appear that I had, then part of this claim would belong to them. And if they all got together and swore that I had, I don’t know how I could prove that they were working for me on wages. Even if our own men would testify for me that this was my claim, if Chandler should happen to file his papers, this would cloud my title. Besides,” went on the colonel, “Chandler is a naturalized Canadian and you know the mining laws up here are not made to favor the outsider.A foreigner such as I am, when he’s working in these unsurveyed districts, can only stake out his claim, wait for the survey and then buy the property. Chandler would have it all over me if he set up the claim of a native, especially ahead of me.”
“I don’t think he’s gone,” suggested Paul, “for he ate breakfast here yesterday morning.”
“And it’s somewhere between two hundred and fifty and three hundred miles between here and the land office,” exclaimed Norman.
“It would be interesting to know whether he has gone,” answered Colonel Howell.
“Why not ask Miller or Ewen?” broke in Roy. “They might know something about him.”
Colonel Howell shook his head: “They’d better know nothing about the letter,” he answered at last. “It was written a long time ago.”
“You mean they may have changed their minds?” asked Norman.
“I don’t mean that,” answered Colonel Howell, his face again sober, “but they had the matter under consideration once. I don’t suspect them. I’ll just keep my eyes open and say nothing. If they are all right they might get sore and leave me.”
“Do you mind,” asked Roy, “if I go out and do a little investigating? Chandler may be over to Fort McMurray.”
The colonel thought a moment and then answered:
“That won’t do any harm. All of you might go hunting this afternoon over in that direction—if it isn’t too cold.”
Eagerly enough the boys accepted the suggestion. Protected by their heavy clothing and carrying the camera and their skin-protected rifles, they found the trip to the settlement only exhilarating. At Fort McMurray the temperature, which was twenty-two below zero, did not give much trouble so long as the wind did not blow. To those whom they met, the boys talked of being on their way to the hills for moose. But later they determined not to venture upon the highlands, deciding to make a detour in the timber on their way back for a possible deer.
They had no trouble in getting trace of Chandler. In the cabin of a white prospector, where Chandler was well known, they picked up the latest town gossip. This was that Chandler, who yet seemed to have plenty of money, had hired Pete Fosseneuve, a half-breed, only two days before to take him back to his trapping camp at Pointe aux Tremble.
“He’s been working there all fall,” explained their informant, “and Fosseneuve has a team of six fine dogs. He paid Pete a lot of money to take him back to his camp night before last. They ought to be there to-morrow some time.”
This statement allayed the suspicion directed against the dissolute Englishman and the young men made an early return to the camp.
“I’m glad I didn’t say anything to Ewen and Miller,” commented Colonel Howell, when he learned that Chandler had gone still further into the woods. “Now we’ll get to work on our prospecting in earnest.”
When the controlled gas had been piped into the cabin, in spite of the cold weather, Ewen and Miller at once went to work building a new derrick near the best prospect and sledging the boiler and engine to that location. In this work nearly a week went by, the boys finding little to do. The weather seemed settled into a cold spell in which the thermometer ranged at noonday about twenty below.
It was at this time that a long suppressed ambition of Norman and Roy came to the surface. They wanted a real hunting trip. The three young men were natural lovers of the open and curious about animal life in the wilderness.But, so far, none of the younger members of the camp had really had an opportunity to test himself amid the rigors of a northern winter.
Colonel Howell finally consented to their leaving on a hunting expedition that would give them at least one over-night camp in the snow. This was on the condition that Philip should accompany the shooting party and that it should not proceed over a day’s march from camp.
The plan of the hunt was really Roy’s. He prepared the provisions and was accepted as leader of the party.
“It wouldn’t be any trouble to equip ourselves like tenderfeet,” he explained to Colonel Howell, “and to make a featherbed trip of this. But we’re going to travel like trappers.”
The hunt was to be for caribou back over the hills in the direction of the Barren Lands. In the end Colonel Howell agreed that the party might advance two days’ travel into the wilderness but that it must return to camp on the evening of the fourth day.
Less than an hour’s preparation was necessary and when Philip and the three boys left camp one morning, the expedition had little appearance of the usual, heavily laden winter hunters. Each member of the party was onsnowshoes, and behind them they drew a small sled containing their camp equipment. It was hardly more than a packload for a strong Indian but the sled was taken in the hope that it might bring in a return load of fresh meat.
Philip and Norman carried rifles carefully protected in mooseskin cases. Paul carried nothing but his camera and an automatic revolver. Roy took the first turn at the sled. The morning was fair but cold, and the bright sun had no effect upon the snow-laden trees.
When the enthusiastic hunters reached the Fort McMurray settlement just below the camp they left the river and struck inland. Within an hour they had passed through the pines and poplars fringing the river and had reached the summit of a “hog-back” range of hills beyond which there was known to be a little valley running at right angles to the course of the river.
When the four travelers reached the top of the “hog-back” and saw the frozen snow-covered valley before them, like children out for a lark, Philip no less active than the others, they coasted into the valley. Until the sun was high above them they made their way along the frozen creek toward the head of the wide defile. About noon, camp was made, tea was brewedand, partly behind the protection of a little frozen waterfall, bannock and cold meat were added to the hot tea. No time was lost in cooking.
With faces and ears protected by their heavy caps, and with heavy mittens to guard their fingers against frost bite, not one of the party complained of the intense cold.
“It’s all right,” explained Philip, “unless the wind comes up, and if it does we’ll have to go into camp.”
But in the valley no wind arose to make any trouble. The party set forward to reach the head of the valley before time to go into camp. They did this by three o’clock and then, mounting an elevation and passing through a thin fringe of dwarf pines, the boys found themselves on a wind-swept plateau where the snow clung with difficulty.
They had seen plenty of deer, rabbits and small game during the day but had done no shooting. They were after caribou or moose. The first look over the desolate plateau, where not even trees broke the landscape, was far from inviting. As the sun began to go down and little was to be seen other than a few rocky irregularities and a thin covering of snow withdrifts here and there like white islands, camp prospects were not as inviting as they had seemed in the valley behind them.
“Come on,” exclaimed Roy, as the party paused on the edge of the heights. “This begins to look like the real thing.”
“Maybe some moose,” was Philip’s rejoinder. “No moose track on de valley below.”
“Hear that?” exclaimed Roy. “Everybody get busy. I reckon we can’t go any farther inland to-night than that heap o’ rock way over there.” He pointed to a barren elevation on the already darkening horizon. “You hunters,” he added, indicating Norman and Philip, “ought to spread out and look for game tracks in the swales to the right and left. But don’t go too far. Work your way in toward those rocks before night. You’ll find us there. Come on, Paul,” he added with unusual enthusiasm, considering that it was rapidly growing colder in the open country, “there’s probably no wood over there. You and I’ll get some here and meet the hunters at the rock pile.”
While Norman and the Indian started out, Roy loosened the axe and drew the sled back into the pine scrub to look for fallen timber. This was a tedious process and it was evenmore of a task to load the firewood onto the sled.
“The tent’ll fix us all right,” explained Roy as he backed against the wind and began to dump his firewood on the snow. “But first we’ve got to make a camp site. Take off your snowshoes.”
Where the wind had been cutting over the tops of the rocks a sort of vacuum had been formed behind the ridge and into this the snow had been piled up to a depth of four or five feet. With a snowshoe, each boy tackled this bank. Soon they had dug a pit in it about ten by ten feet. By throwing the loose snow around the edge of this they created a wall about seven feet high.
“Now I’ll show you a trick I read about,” exclaimed Roy.
From the pine grove on the edge of the plateau he had dragged the slender trunk of a poplar tree about twelve feet long. This he now threw over the opening in the snow, making a sort of a ridge pole, and then with Paul’s assistance unrolled the tent and spread it across. While Paul held the edges of the somewhat awkward canvas in place on top of the snow wall Roy piled snow on the ends of the canvasand just as it was too dark to see more the excavation was thoroughly roofed except in one corner where the irregular canvas did not fit.
“We need that for a chimney opening anyway,” exclaimed Roy.
Before a fire could be started, however, there was the sound of a rifle off to the south, to which Paul responded with a pistol shot. Then the camp makers carried their wood into the snow house and while Paul attended to their scanty food supply and arranged the sleeping bags as rugs on the crisp snow floor, Roy started a fire. The blaze emphasized the darkness without and, realizing that their companions had no signal, the two boys split up a torch with the axe and carried it outside where, while they could keep it alight, it might serve as a beacon.
But this was not necessary. Both the Indian and Norman came in, guided by Paul’s revolver shot. Neither reported signs of game. Both were elated over the house which was already so warm within that the heavy coats and mittens could be discarded.
“I s’pose supper’s all ready,” exclaimed Norman after he had got his numbed limbs warmed.
“No,” answered Roy, “I’ve just been waitingfor you so we could have it all fresh and hot. I’m going to prepare it myself and everything’s going to be in trapper style. It won’t be much but it’s all you need and it’s according to the rules and regulations. I’ve already got my hot water. Now I’ll get the bannocks ready.”
“Didn’t you bring those I made for you?” asked Philip, the camp cook and hunter.
“I prefer to make ’em myself,” answered Roy, “just as the Indians make ’em in the woods.”
Philip smiled and Norman and Paul looked somewhat disappointed but neither made objection.
“Here’s my flour,” explained Roy who had already rolled up his sweater sleeves and produced an old flour bag with a few pounds of flour in the bottom of it. “I mixed the baking powder with the flour before we left camp so as to save time,” he explained.
“Seems to me we’ve got all night,” interrupted Norman. “They don’t do that to save time—you’re mixed. They do that to save carrying the baking powder in a separate package.”
“Anyway,” retorted Roy, “it’s the way real trappers do.”
He had rolled the sides of the sack down to make a kind of receptacle at the bottom of which lay his flour. Then with a piece of wood he pried off the top of the tea kettle and was about to pour some boiling water onto the flour when Philip with a grunt stopped him.
“Non,” exclaimed the Indian. “You spoil him.”
Over Roy’s feeble protest the Indian scooped up snow and deposited it in the boiling water until the fluid was somewhat cooler. Then he passed the kettle to the waiting Roy who began to mix his Indian bread. But had Philip allowed Roy to proceed in his generous application of water, his proposed bannocks would have resulted in flour paste. In the end, because Roy had to get his pork ready, the volunteer cook permitted Philip to finish the fashioning of a bannock as big as the frying pan,—the only cooking utensil that Roy had thought necessary to bring with them.
“Now,” exclaimed Roy, as he deposited a generous piece of salt pork in the frying pan, “I’ll show you how the hungry trapper makes a supper fit for a king.”
As the pork began to sizzle in the pan thosewho were eagerly watching the amateur cook saw the piece separating into thin sections.
“You see, that’s what we trappers always do,” explained Roy rather proudly. “You can’t slice pork when it’s frozen solid. I sliced my pork before we left camp this morning.”
By this time the rashers of pork were swimming about in the hot fat like doughnuts in bubbling lard.
“It certainly smells all right,” exclaimed Paul, as the appetizing odor from the frying meat filled the snow cave. “Hurry up and give us a piece.”
Roy made no reply but busied himself stirring the bits of meat with the point of his knife.
“Is the bread ready?” the cook asked, turning to Philip.
The Indian only pointed to the big ball of dough flattened out like a gigantic pancake and ready for the skillet.
There upon Roy seized the handle of his frying pan, shifted the skillet to one side and, resting it on the snow, began to flip the bits of salt pork onto the snow floor.
“Here, what are you doing?” shouted Norman.
“You don’t eat those scraps,” announcedRoy positively. “The only good in pork is the fat and the fat’s all in the skillet. We trappers give these scraps to the dogs—only we ain’t got any dogs.”
“Well I’ll be a dog all right,” exclaimed Norman and as fast as Roy flipped the brown rashers out with his knife point Norman and Paul grabbed them up.
“There ain’t any need of doin’ that,” snorted Roy. “I tell you there ain’t any good in those things and it’s against all the rules anyhow. You’ll get all the fat you want when our bannock’s done.”
“Well, then, why don’t you start it?” asked Paul. “I suppose it’ll take it an hour to cook. And your fat’s getting cold anyway.”
“That’s where you show your ignorance,” retorted Roy. “I suppose you fellows think I don’t know my business. If I’d put that bannock right into this hot fat it would have fried like a doughnut. I’ve got to get this grease soaked up in my bread. That’s why I’m lettin’ the grease get cool.”
With this he took the flat looking loaf from the Indian’s hands and slipped it into the already nearly full frying pan. But Roy knew his limitations. As he lifted the pan back uponthe coals and the grease began to sizzle and snap he knew that he had exhausted his culinary knowledge.
“Here,” he said to the Indian, “you can watch this while it cooks.”
With a smile the Indian took the handle of the pan, shook it deftly a few times, lifted the edge of the dough with skilled fingers and then settled the pan upon a bed of coals just outside the heart of the fire and, squatted by its side, carefully watched the baking. Meanwhile, Norman and Paul were crunching bacon scraps while Roy was mopping his perspiring brow with the sleeve of his sweater.
“If that’s all we’re going to have,” broke in Norman, “I want to go home.”
But that was all they did have. The conscientious Roy, who had given the subject much consideration, had carefully refrained from bringing any luxuries other than tea and a little sugar. But by the time the bannock was done—and the Indian knew how to cook it—the three boys had become so hungry that the Indian bread was eaten ravenously. Then the party crept into their sleeping bags at an early hour and passed the night without discomfort.
Philip took charge of the camp in the morningand before the boys crept out of their bags he served each of them with a cup of hot tea. When the boys looked outside of their snow tent it seemed hardly dawn and yet it was after eight o’clock. Philip shook his head and announced prospects of bad weather. There was no sun and, although it was no colder than it had been the day before, there was a gloom over all that suggested a storm.
Not one of the boys would have suggested it but the Indian did not hesitate to warn them that they should return to the camp at once.
“I don’t know how I would vote on this question,” said Norman, “if we’d had proper provisions. But I don’t propose to live three more days on theghostof salt pork. And, besides, we’ve got plenty of moose meat in camp. I’m not so keen about going to the Barren Lands as I was.”
This was why late that afternoon Colonel Howell was both surprised and glad to see his young friends trot into camp.