CHAPTER XVANOTHER MISHAPAs it drew still nearer to twilight, the boys grew more and more uneasy about Case, until at last Ike got out the rifle and fired four shots in quick succession, the distress signal they had agreed upon, but there was no response.“I’m going to go ashore and look for him,” Clay announced. “Turn on the prow light and signal with the rifle every half hour. I cannot understand what trouble Case has got into—but he has sure got into trouble of some kind.”“I’ll go with you.” Ike offered eagerly, but Clay shook his head decidedly. “No, I am much taller and can travel faster than you. Besides, some one had ought to stay by the boat and keep watch. This is a strange country to us and we don’t know what danger may be around us, and then it needs some one to look after Alex. He is pretty weak yet.”“I’ll stay then, Clay,” said Ike willingly.“Good, so long,” said Clay, as he plunged into the group of cottonwoods.Ike got out his automatic and paroled the deck back and forth with a delicious sense of his responsibility as defender of theRamblerand her sick crew of one. Occasionally he relaxed his vigilance long enough to dart down into the cabin to see if the meal was keeping warm and also to take a look at Alex, who was snoring peacefully in his bunk. As the minutes went on, however, his anxiety over his comrades, more than overcame the novelty of his position. Not a sound came from the cottonwood thicket. The only noise that came to his ears was the soft murmur of the flowing river as it lapped the stones of the shore. At the end of the half hour, he brought out the rifle and fired the four quick shots. He was delighted to hear in return the sharp crack of Clay’s automatic. It sounded not far away, but it was long before a rustling arose from the cottonwood trees and Clay emerged into the dim twilight bearing a limp body in his arms. “Come on and give me some help here,” he cried, as soon as he spied the boat, but Ike was already hastening to his assistance. “Is he dead?” inquired Ike in an awed whisper as he gathered up the dangling legs.“I don’t know,” said Clay, wearily. “It is dark in the cottonwoods so I could not see, but his heart was beating all right when I found him. I stumbled over him by accident or else I would not have found him until morning. I found him lying all in a heap at the foot of a big cottonwood. I don’t know what happened to him. Let’s get him down into the cabin where we can see what’s the matter with him.”Between them they managed to get him on deck and down into the cabin’s bright light.“I’ll hold him while you get a blanket and spread it out on the floor,” Clay said. “He’s dripping with blood so it would ruin his bunk to put him in it. Now put some water on to heat and then come back and help me get his clothes off. I guess we will have to cut them off him.”Together the two worked away at Case’s clothing, removing it bit by bit, being careful not to cut into skin or flesh. Each piece they removed was stained with blood. When the last piece had been cut away Clay arose and got the now hot water. “Get the medicine chest, Ike, while I wash off some of this blood,” he directed.When the dried blood was washed away, the boys stood appalled at the sight that met their eyes. From head to feet Case’s body was a mass of cuts and bruises. Clay looked puzzled. “His heart action is good, and all his wounds, though there are a multitude of them, are not deep. If he has not been injured internally, I believe he will pull through. I think that lump on the head there is what has made him unconscious. Well, let’s get to work and fix him up as best we can.”For a full hour the two boys labored over their wounded companion. First cleansing the wounds with warm water made antiseptic by the addition of a little carbolic acid, they applied a healing salve, and bound clean bandages to the parts until the unfortunate lad’s body looked like a checker-board. Along towards the last, Case began to show signs of returning consciousness and as they lifted him into his bunk he opened his eyes.“I knew you fellows would come and find me,” he murmured weakly. “That, I guess, was the last thing I thought of before I hit that cottonwood tree.”“Who hurt you?” inquired Clay eagerly.Case tried to grin but groaned at the effort.“It was Teddy Bear,” he said faintly. “As soon as we got amongst the cottonwoods, he bolted. I, like a fool, wrapped the end of the rope around my waist three or four times and tried to check him, but the first jerk threw me down, and away he went dragging me over logs and roots and bumping me up against the trees. I saw that big cottonwood tree coming and tried to throw myself one side, but couldn’t do it. I felt a smash on the head and that’s the last I remember.”“Teddy must have pulled loose after you hit the tree,” Clay mused. “Feel any pain inside of you. Case?”“No, but I feel mighty weak, loss of blood, I guess. If you’ll fix me up a bowl of broth, I’ll drink it and see if I can’t sleep off this weak feeling.”Hot water was already on the stove and the addition of a full jar of beef extract quickly made a bowl of strong broth. Soon after he swallowed it, Case was sound asleep. His first deep breathing was the signal for the two boys to partake of their own supper, which had suffered greatly through neglect. Little was said as they ate, only Ike remarked.“I don’t think Case is bad off. See how soundly he is sleeping. Those wounds don’t seem to hurt him a bit.”“They will by tomorrow,” Clay prophesied, grimly. “Every inch of his body will be filled with aches and pains. Flesh wounds do not hurt much at first. If we keep on at this rate we’ll soon all be disabled,” he added gloomily. “Only one day out from Nome and two laid up beside Captain Joe. We will not go far at this rate.”But Ike’s spirits had risen with the assurance of Case’s being in no immediate danger. “Oh, Alex, he will be all right,” he declared, as Alex’s loud snores filled the cabin. “Case, take longer maybe, but his blood is strong and clean an’ he’ll be all right in no time. Captain Joe, I am not so sure about, you understand, but I think maybe he die.”“He certainly will if you do not quit stuffing food into him every half hour. When an animal or man is in Joe’s condition, the less you give them to eat the better until their wounds are mending. Captain Joe would stand more chance of getting well if he only had a bowl of broth with a few crackers broken up in it, three or four times a day, but we had better be getting into our bunks for we have to get an early start in the morning. If you’ll wash up the dishes, I’ll overhaul Captain Joe’s wounds again, and then turn in.”Much to his surprise, Clay found Captain Joe’s cuts in much better condition than he had expected. “It must be that long soaking in the cold salt water has drawn a good deal of the fever out of them,” he said. “It looks to me as though the old fellow was going to get well.”It was with the cheering thought that both their companions were in no danger of death that they fell into a sound sleep, exhausted by the eventful day they had been through.So soundly they slept that they did not hear Case awaken just after midnight and groan to himself softly as he waited through the dreary hours for daylight to come and his chums to awake.It was Ike who was the first to awake, and by the unwritten law of the cruise, he it was to whom the lot fell of cooking breakfast. He lay quiet for a minute, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, then slipped softly out of his bunk so as not to awaken his companions. He stopped at Case’s bunk with joyful greeting to find him conscious, if in pain.Case tried to smile at the little Jew’s joyous greeting, but it was all he could do to stifle a groan.“I’ll fix you up a cup of coffee and some broth, good broth, right away,” Ike said. “They no stop the hurt you understand. They just make you more strong to fight the hurts.” He was as good as his word and was back in a few minutes with the coffee and broth prepared over the electric stove while breakfast was cooking over the other one. It was not long before he was able to call “Grub’s ready,” which brought Clay and Alex tumbling from their bunks, Alex apparently none the worse from his experience of the day before. They both greeted Case with joy, but while the mystified Alex was learning what had happened to put his chum in such a condition, Clay slipped out to the point and looked up and down the river. Far down toward the mouth of the Yukon he saw a thin streamer of smoke and he grinned with satisfaction.“We’ve got plenty of time to linger over our breakfast,” he announced gleefully. “That steamer is eleven or twelve miles down the river yet. Come on all, let’s eat.”Over the meal Case’s accident was discussed. Alex was worst hurt of all, for Teddy Bear had been his dearest pet.“I think if he comes back before we go we had ought to shoot him,” Ike declared, savagely.“No, don’t hurt him,” growled Case from his bunk. “He didn’t mean to hurt me, I am sure. He was just wild for a run on shore.”“I am the one to blame for this,” said Clay, regretfully. “I saw Ted’s trouble coming days ago. I ought to have insisted on leaving him at Nome. We were bound to lose him sooner or later, but I never thought he would do so much damage in his leave taking.”“How did you know that Teddy was going to run away?” demanded Alex, scornfully. “Bears don’t think out loud and, if they did, I fancy it would take you some time to pick up their lingo.”“Alex,” said Clay, thoughtfully. “Did you ever stop to think how good it seems when we get back to Chicago from one of our long trips? Everything looks fine and fresh to us. The shop windows are wonderful, the noise and bustle thrill one and even the smell of the asphalt is pleasant.”“And there are the movies and the shows and all the excitement going on all the time,” murmured Alex, half regretfully.“Well, that was what was the matter with Teddy,” Clay continued. “He was born in the Northland and its lure is one of the strongest instincts in him. As soon as we touched St. Michael’s he began to get uneasy. The trees and the smell of the earth was in his nostrils, and the whole lure of the Northland, handed down from a long line of savage ancestors, was stirring deep down within him and he had to go. He just had to go.”“Bosh,” Alex said. “You’re weak in your comparisons. Aren’t we dead sick of Chicago early in the spring and eager to be off on another trip? Besides, Teddy is an educated bear with a taste for sugar that he will not soon forget. I’ll bet you we will see him again.”“I hope not,” Clay said, arising. “Well, I guess we had better be getting under way. That old water wagon must be within three or four miles from here now. Ike, will you wash the dishes and tidy up the cabin? I hate to ask you to do it so often, but with Case laid up, I’ll have to have Alex do the steering.”“That’s all right, Clay,” Ike replied cheerfully. “I can run a news stand all right, you understand, but I can’t run a motor boat yet, so why should I not make myself useful at something else? I didn’t come as a passenger. I came as one of the crew.”TheRamblerwas backed slowly out of the little cove into the open river.About two miles down the river the river steamboat was making slow progress against the current.Alex headed out for the channel, theRamblerambling lazily along under third speed. As soon as Alex reached the channel, he headed up stream so that the steamboat’s bow was headed directly for theRambler’s stern.Clay came forward to hold a conference with the wheelsman. “I am going to keep slowed down until we are within a couple of hundred yards of her, then swing around in a broad curve and come alongside, but be careful to keep far enough away, we don’t want any smash-up.”He walked back to the motor, wishing he had Case, cool, cautious reliable Case, who was always alert to run no more risks than could be avoided. Alex was a skillful wheelsman but daring and reckless at times.The big steamboat came up on them slowly but surely. When she was within about 200 yards of theRambler, Alex twirled the wheel over and theRamblerswung around in a graceful curve, while Clay bent to his motor, shoved the timer up a few more notches and turned on a little more oil and air. A great yelling from the steamboat drew his attention away from the motor. Most of the passengers were on their feet waving their arms excitedly, while an officer on the upper deck was cursing volubly in the most approved Yukon style, for theRamblerwas driving down on the steamer as if bound to cut her in two. Unmindful of the curses of the officer, Alex held on until it seemed that only a miracle could save the tinyRamblerfrom being smashed to pieces against her big sister. Alex jammed the wheel hard up and theRambler, spinning around like a top, ranged alongside of the big boat, their sides almost touching. A swift glance upward showed him that he had hit where he had aimed for; on the deck above sat the Yukon Kid and close beside him was a wonderfully pretty girl.The danger over, Clay was busy at the motor closing the timer down until theRamblerwas running even with the steamer.Ike had come out of the cabin and stood looking up at the Kid with a delightful grin on his face.“Hallo, Ikey,” greeted the Kid, in good-natured banter. “Have you decided to set up that secondhand store in Nome yet?”“No. Mr. Kid,” replied Ike politely. “It wouldn’t pay. There’s got to be more nice ladies come there first. It takes the ladies to make the men dress up fine. My, Mr. Kid,” he added innocently, “you sure are fixed up fine today.”The Kid’s face grew red to the roots of his hair, while on the girl’s face a smile struggled for mastery over a blush.Alex, up at the wheel, felt a thrill of joy for the quickness of the witty retort. “Ike’s sure my partner for this trip,” he promised himself.CHAPTER XVIESQUIMAUX“Hallo,” shouted Clay from the motor. “Good morning to you.”“Same to you,” called down the Kid. “Say, that little tub of yours makes better time than I thought she would. I thought we passed you during the night. By the way. I’ve got something for you fellows. I’ll lower it down to you on a string.”“Come down yourself,” Clay invited. “Just fasten a rope to the rail and shin down. I want to ask you a lot of questions and I can’t hear you well above the din of the motor, and the thrashing of the paddle wheels.”The Kid hesitated. “I’m afraid you can’t get me back alongside again,” he shouted, “and I’ve got to be there with the mail on time.”“We’ll get you aboard all right,” Clay promised. “That is, if you are not afraid. It’s a little risky for a tenderfoot.”No live young man could stand such a taunt to his courage before a pretty girl, and the Kid surrendered. “All right,” he called down. “I’ll see the captain and see if he’ll promise to slow up a bit if we get too far behind.” He looked around at the crowd on deck and finally beckoned to an old sour-dough to take his chair. The old-timer obeyed, although he nevertheless seemed in his nervousness, to experience great trouble in disposing of his hands and feet.Clay smiled at the Kid’s maneuvers. Evidently he was taking no chances.Alex, up forward, secure in the fact that he could not be reached, was taking an impish delight in bantering the officer who had cursed so fluently. “Say, you snapping turtle of a log rider,” he hailed. “What do you mean by using such language when a real sure enough boat comes alongside your old mud scow? Afraid we were going to smash your old hulk to pieces? Where did you learn that sort of language, anyway? I’ll bet you used to raise mules down in Missouri.”“I did handle mules for a while,” said the other with evident pride of his accomplishment. “That helped some. Then I mushed dog teams up here on the Yukon trail for four years and that sure taught me a lot. The rest is mostly Spanish I picked up here and there.”“Why, you can’t swear at all,” scoffed Alex.“You’re only an amateur. You just repeat words you have heard others use. You had ought to coin your words, have them nice and fresh and new all the time.”“That’s a hard thing to do,” said the officer, gloomily.“Pshaw, it’s easy,” Alex declared. “Just buy an automobile and run it yourself for six months and you’ll be a different man.”The roar of laughter from the crowd above was as incense to Alex’s soul.“The lad’s right,” said a serious-minded little man. “I used to own one in the States and I would hate to say half the things I used to think when I used to have to lay on my back under the car in maybe six inches of mud, wrastling away with a monkey wrench.”Just then the Kid slid nimbly down a rope to theRambler’sdeck. Clay shouted to Alex to steer off from the steamer and as soon as he saw the order was obeyed, he moved the timer ahead at full speed and theRamblershot away from her big, clumsy sister.“Good-bye,” shouted Alex to the officer. “We hate to leave you but we got tired of staying in one place all the time. We’ll see you at Dawson if you’re lucky enough to get up there before the river freezes over.” But the officer was standing speechless, his mouth agape at theRambler’swonderful burst of speed.As for the Yukon Kid, he slipped down on the deck and grabbed the funnel with both hands as though afraid the boat would slip out from under him. Gradually the startled look died out of his eyes to be replaced by a glint of humor. “This is one on me, boys,” he acknowledged. “It’s more than one, it’s a full baker’s dozen,” he grinned. “Just think of my begging the captain to slow up until I got safe back aboard. And me being so sure that we must have passed you during the night. I never dreamed a boat so small could run so fast, but I must go back on the steamer. I’ve got the mail locked up in my cabin, but I am supposed to guard it all the time.”“Was that some mail you was guarding so close up there, Mr. Kid?” asked Ike, innocently.The Kid ignored the question though he blushed deeply. “I’ve got something to give you that may be some use to you. I’ve got a copy of it at Nome so you needn’t hesitate about taking it. It’s pretty well thumbed and torn, but I guess you can make it out all right.” He unrolled a stiff paper and spread it out on the deck. It was a complete map of the Yukon. “I made it and it’s true to a hair,” said the Kid with pride. “Take it and keep it. It can be trusted where the government charts can’t. I’ve marked in red ink where the best Indian villages are.”Clay thanked him and bent over the chart thoughtfully. “Look’s like clear water for a couple of hundred miles up.” The Kid nodded. “Pretty smooth sailing until we get to the Upper Yukon. Then it’s rapids after rapids, and some of them pretty fierce.”“I see an Indian village marked down about 110 miles above here,” Clay remarked. “I believe we will run ahead and camp there tonight. We haven’t seen a native village yet.”“This one is rather small. Most of its inhabitants died of famine last winter, and all the able bodied men and squaws are off on the long hunt now. You’ll likely find only old men and old women there now. Well, I’ll have a look at Friend Case and then I’ll have to get back aboard. I’ve been gone too long already.”“Getting afraid your old-timer cannot hold down that chair?” smiled Clay with freedom of their quickly born liking for each other.“Oh, Olson will keep that seat reserved all right,” said the Kid confidently. “He’s gun shy on women folks. What I am afraid of is that some chekako may try to take it away from him. If that happens there will sure be some blood spilled on deck, an’ I don’t reckon she’s used to sights like that. Don’t get me wrong. It’s no case of spoons or anything like it. She’s just an innocent girl with an old father and mother, and the poor innocents have got an idea that they are going to make a fortune by opening up a restaurant in Dawson. Think of it, boys. Those three poor innocents trying to stack up such a game in Dawson of all places on earth. They have brought in no supplies either, and even flour will be nearly worth its weight in gold dust before the winter is over. The chekakos are pouring in faster than the supplies. That’s what makes me want to get back to the steamer quick. There is a crowd of greenhorns on board and some of them think they are mashers. If any of them try to get gay there will sure be something doing. Well, I’ll just run down and see the invalid while you run me back to the steamer.”Case, suffering intently in his bunk, greeted the Kid with delight. His firm, friendly hand shake seemed to lessen his intense pains.The air of strength, energy and power radiating from the Kid seemed to enthuse his own battered body with new strength. The Kid sat down on the edge of the bunk and with a touch as tender as a woman’s, examined the deeper wounds. “You’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time,” he declared, cheerfully. The wounds are beginning to heal already. That’s the reason they hurt so. I’ll see you again tomorrow maybe. I’ve got to go now. Good-bye, keep as quiet as you can and don’t fret.”Case, soothed and strangely comforted by the mighty magnetism of the man, snuggled down in his bunk and dropped off to sleep.“He’ll be all right if you take good care of him and fever does not set in,” said the Kid as he came to deck. “But have one of you down with him all the time so as to keep him entertained and to wait on him. Just a simple little thing like his getting up to get a drink of water for himself might prove fatal to him in his present condition. At the best though, it will be a long long time before he will be completely well.”“I should have stayed right by him,” Ike exclaimed with contrition. “I go right down now to him.” He paused on the steps to add shyly, “I got so interested to see if that mail was still well guarded that I forgot. It’s all right, Mr. Kid.”A playful kick from the Kid sent him tumbling down the balance of the stairs.As they swept alongside the steamer, Clay noted with a grin that Olson was still holding down the chair, a heavy long-barreled revolver resting across his knees, while two of the detestable breed of mashers stood a ways off eyeing the coveted chair with glances in which desire and temerity were equally blended. Whatever of womanly shyness Olson had ever possessed must have melted away, for his wrinkled face was smiling and with evident enjoyment. “Yes, he was admitting, reluctantly, “It does get a wee bit cold up here now and then, say around December, but Lord, man, what a country she is.”The Kid grabbed the swinging rope and clambered up it like a monkey.Olson gave up his seat with evident reluctance.“Say, Kid,” he whispered. “She’s gold, pure gold, right down to bed rock.”“I knew it,” replied the Kid, briefly. “Go and tell those two fresh young chekakos I want to see them in half an hour in my cabin on important business. I’m going to spank them both like their mothers used to do, only more so.”Olson departed well pleased with his errand and sought out the two offenders, taking great pleasure in impressing upon them the dire evil that always followed disobedience to the Yukon Kid’s commands.Later on he listened gleefully at a locked door from the other side of which came the sound of steady smacks laid on with a heavy hand. The heavy smacking was broken occasionally by subdued sobs.While this little scene was being enacted, theRamblerwas miles away, headed for the Indian village. Once clear of the steamer, Clay shut down the hatch cover over the motor and joined Alex in the bow. “Let me take the wheel for a while,” he offered kindly. “Take a rest while you can, you’ll want to look over the village when we get there. You haven’t got back your full strength yet. You look all played out. That motor will run itself now.”Alex meekly surrendered the wheel. “I do feel slim,” he confessed. “I guess I’ll stretch out and rest for a little while. But here comes Ike with some dinner for us. I guess I’ll tuck some of that inside me first.”Ike stood beaming upon them while the two boys ate the dinner he had so thoughtfully prepared. As soon as they had finished he bore the empty dishes below while Alex stretched out on a seat and was soon asleep.As theRamblerdashed through the water. Clay frequently consulted the chart and compared it with the passing shores. It was accurate as the Kid had stated. Near the middle of the afternoon, he sighted the tall cliff just beyond which the Kid had said lay the little Indian village. He awakened Alex, and turning the wheel over to him, went back to the motor. As they passed the cliff they come into sight of the village, a miserable collection of anthill-like huts. As they eased theRamblerto shore, their noses were greeted by a multitude of odors blended into one malodorous whole—the usual odor of an Esquimaux village. “You and Alex can go ashore and look around,” Clay said. “I’ll stay and look out for Case. I’ve got a hunch that there’s fish lurking in this little cove and I’m going to have a try for them. Taste good for a change, wouldn’t it?”The village lay back a ways from the river on a high bank and this the boys scrambled up, to find themselves in the middle of the settlement. It was almost deserted, only a few old men and old women crouched in the warm sunshine in front of their wretched buildings. Only a very few children played solemnly in the sun and they looked wan and haggard. None of the faces looked attractive. They were broad, flat and stupid.Ike, with true trader’s instinct, had brought a pack with him and a glint of interest shone in the eyes of the old men. It might contain tobacco of which they had none in many weary moons. The one who seemed in authority, approached Alex. “How,” he said.“How yourself?” replied Alex. “Who is your chief?”“I am a great man amongst my people,” said the native. “I am Shaman, the medicine man. I protect my people from sickness and guard them from the evil spirits of the Yukon.”“Guess you got the wrong hunch last winter or else the Yukon spirit’s out-wrestled you,” said Alex lightly, as he glanced around at the empty huts. “Say, who’s that chap with a face like an Indian’s?”The Shaman glanced at the still impassive face that Alex pointed out.“Him Nichols, the story teller. He is a great man in the tribe. He keeps the people contented in the long winter’s darkness by telling them wondrous tales about when the Northland was always green and the sun shone every day warm, and game was plenty in the land. Not like now when the cold pierces to the marrow and hunger gnaws always at the empty belly.”Alex was not taken much by the Shaman’s looks, so leaving him to the tender mercies of Ike, who was undoing his pack, he strolled on through the little village, thrusting his little freckled face in here and there and noting everything with keen eyes.There was little to be seen, however, and he soon returned to Ike, who was exultant over his bargain, conducted on both sides by many words and protests of being robbed. It ended by Ike becoming possessed of a silver fox skin worth many dollars—while the Shaman, smiling broadly over getting the best of the white man, was now the possessor of a one dollar watch, two plugs of tobacco, a ten cent looking glass, and a pair of green goggles.CHAPTER XVIIABE“Come on, Ike,” said Alex. “Let’s go back to the boat. There won’t be anything worth seeing and I’m getting sick of this smelly place. Better fun to go down and fish with Clay.“All right,” agreed Ike, willingly. “I got the only good fur in camp, so I guess we don’t need to stay. Understand me, though, that Shaman is a thief and a robber. We got a bargain all fixed up once and then he backed out and wants one more plug of tobacco. My, but he is a rascal.”“You poor fellow,” said Alex in mock pity. “I don’t believe you made over 1000 per cent on that deal.”Ike grinned joyously. “There is some little profit,” he admitted. “Enough to help pay the expenses. I wish we could find more Shamans with pretty fox skins.”“He has got something prettier than a fur skin,” exclaimed Alex, as they paused by the Shaman’s igloo. “Say, did you ever see anything like that team of dogs?”Inexperienced as they were with the toilers of the North, the two lads recognized that these dogs were no common breed of huskies like those they had seen at Nome. They were bigger and lacked much of the wolf-like features of the usual husky, nor was there the usual husky’s bearing of white fangs at their approach. They were lean and gaunt, as scantily-fed Indian dogs always are, but there was strength and endurance written on their broad chest and lithe muscles. Even their coats of thick, black, glossy hair did not resemble a husky’s in the least. They were stretched out in a line basking in the sun. One, apparently the leader, for he was by far the biggest and most powerful of the lot, attracted Alex strangely. The large, noble head and big eloquent eyes seemed strongly familiar to the boy. He approached the magnificent animal cautiously and held out his hand warily, ready to snatch it back if he was greeted by the silent snap of the wolf-bred dog. Instead, he was met by a wag of the bushy tail and the dog reached out and smelt of the extended hand. A second smell, and Alex felt the soft, warm caress of a licking tongue. The boy stooped and patted the dog’s head and the dog responded with a short, joyous bark and lifted up his eyes, eloquent with love and reverence. Alex was now examining him closely. “Ike,” he cried. “He’s Newfoundland, clear bred Newfoundland.”“Well,” said Ike, indifferently. “What of that? He’s just a dog, ain’t he?”“But just think of it,” Alex cried, angered by his friend’s lack of interest. “A dog from God’s country up in these desolate wastes.” A recollection of a dog of whom he had read, in “The Call of the Wild,” swept into his memory. “Buck,” he called softly, “Buck.” The animal with one magnificent leap covered the space between them, while the rest of the pack crowded around him, wagging their tails and looking at him with curious eyes.The Shaman seeing his interest in the dogs, approached him to be greeted by a volley of questions by Alex.“Yes,” he admitted. “They were his dogs.” “Would he sell? Perhaps, but the price must be large for they were the best dogs on the Yukon. Yes. they were the best dogs in all Alaska. They could go faster and further than any other dogs in the country. Yes, he knew where they came from but the big one, the leader, was no doubt a gift of the good spirits sent to him, the Shaman, for his great goodness and virtue. He, the big dog, had come into their camp one stormy night in the blackness of winter and had made it his home. He, the Shaman, had with his own hands, harnessed him with the other sled dogs, but, at first, there had been trouble. The new dog was a born leader. One by one he had fought and whipped the other huskies for he had ways of fighting new to the North and he always won. Lastly, he had whipped the leader and become by the law of the North, the leader himself. Later he had mated with a huge husky and there had been five puppies. The strange dog had trained them himself in the ways and laws of the trail. No, they were not bad dogs. Never did they snarl or fight amongst themselves like the huskies. But one thing one must never do. He must never lift a stick to the big dog. One man had done so and like a flash the big dog’s teeth had met in his throat.Buck’s eyes, now mistily wistful, met Alex’s. “Good Lord, Buck, you can almost talk,” Alex said reverently. “I understand what you are trying to say. You got sick of running with the wolves, their ways were not your ways. So you sought out your own kind again. They are not like the white gods you used to serve, though you have served them faithfully. But you want to leave them. Your sensitive nostrils that can catch the faintest odor in the air are sick of the scent of blubber, seal oil, and stinking furs and you want to be gone from it all serving men with white bodies, clean from much washing, big men who will smile at you kindly and like you because you are brave, strong and fearless.” Buck wagged his tail as if to show that he was understood.“Lord,” said Alex, again reverently. “You can do all but talk. Say,” he demanded of the Shaman, “how much do you want for that team, leader and all?”“Nine hundred dollars, said the Shaman firmly.“We can’t buy them,” Alex said sadly. “We haven’t got that much money. Besides, it would be an awful expense to feed them the balance of the summer. I sure would like to own that Buck dog though.”“We get him when we come back,” Ike whispered. “I trade for him and get him cheap. I talk to that robber, now, so he will not sell him ’till we get back.”“We go up the river ‘You Never Know What’ in our steamer that travels by fire,” he explained, with many gestures of his hands. “Before the big cold we come back to trade with our new friends. Our hearts are big and we pay big for everything we buy. The eyes of the Indians have never beheld such wondrous things as we have on board our fire boat. Cloth like fresh gold from the ground, warm like the blue of the sky in summer, and others so rich of color that they dazzle the eye. Of tobacco we will have hundreds of plugs. Of the ice that never melts and shows a man his face like still clear water, we will have great quantities. And of many other things new and strange we will have a plentiful supply. We have a little box filled with spirits that talk or sing or laugh as it’s owner commands.”“All white men are liars,” said the Shaman calmly. “How do I know you have such a wonderful box?”“Come down and see it tonight,” Ike invited.“I will,” accepted the Shaman, “but it will be much better if I come alone. It is bad for the people to know too much about spirits.”“Your dog team is as good as yours already,” whispered Ike as they turned away. “He will hold that team for you if he has to wait all winter, you understand. Once he hears that spirit box he’s going to want it badly.”Alex grinned. “Put me next,” he begged. “I’m not wise to that spirit box stunt.”“Say, you remember that cheap phonograph you boys bought for one of your trips and the heap of old cracked up records too? In Chicago the lot might be worth $5.00, but I doubt it. Here it’s worth a dog team, which costs nine hundred dollars, if you boys let me do the bargaining, you understand,” Ike enlightened him.“Go to it,” exclaimed Alex joyously. “Hello, there’s something going on around that ant-hill over there. Let’s run over and see what the trouble is. Maybe it’s a fight.”The two boys pushed through the little circle in front of the igloo just in time to see a litter carried by old men pass up from the burrow-like entrance. On the litter lay a skeleton-like figure of a young boy. His large, mournful-looking eyes looking out of a face on which the skin was pulled tightly over the bones.“What’s the matter?” Alex demanded of a native, who happened to be Nicholas, the story teller.“He plenty sick,” Nicholas replies. “He die pretty soon.”“But why don’t they leave him in the hut?” Alex persisted.“Esquimaux no stay in house where one has died,” said Nicholas.“What are they going to do with him?” the boy insisted.“Put him in a thicket and stuff moss in his mouth so he make no noise to keep people awake,” said Nicholas calmly. “By and by Luna come and get him spirit.”“What’s Luna?” Alex demanded.“Him the great spirit of the Yukon,” said Nicholas with a shiver. He live down under the ice. Him the greatest spirit of the Yukon.”“What are we going to do about it, Ike?” Alex asked, helplessly. “It’s their law and custom. Has been for hundreds of centuries, I guess, but we can’t let that little fellow die like that. Of course we could pick him up and carry him off but it might mean a fight with these old men and old women and we might kill some of them. It wouldn’t be right to kill a live person for the sake of saving one who is dying. I don’t know what to do.”“I’ll fix it up all right,” said Ike. “Don’t you worry your head none.”“Him got father?” he demanded of Nicholas. “Father him die. Winter famine catch him.” “Mother,” Ike questioned.“She die too—famine.”“Ain’t he got no relations at all?” Ike inquired. An old man, shaky with age, stepped out from the group. “I’m his uncle,” he quavered.“Now we are getting down to business, you understand,” said Ike with satisfaction. “Your nephew no good to you now?” The old man shook his palsied head. “Him dead plenty soon,” he said stolidly.“You no want nephew then?” Ike persisted, and the old man shook his head decidedly.“Then I buy him,” Ike said promptly. “For him I give two plugs of tobacco, of red cloth 20 yards, and of big tallow candles three. Does the uncle accept?” The uncle did with eagerness. It was more than the boy was worth when well. He was little and it would be many seasons before he could become a skillful hunter. Clearly these pale faces, not yet the size of men, were crazy, crazy as wolf-dogs when the moon is full. A fear seized him that this crazy young pale-face, who waved his hands so wildly when he talked, might repent of his bargain and demand all this wealth back. He was starting for his igloo as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, when Ike sternly commanded him to stop. “Take me to where you put the boy,” he said, “and explain to him that hereafter I am his father, mother and uncle, and when I speak he is to obey.”They found the little fellow in the middle of a bunch of willows, a handful of dirty moss stuck in his mouth. He was lying perfectly quiet looking up at the skies with his black, beady eyes. He was only a child, but he knew the laws and custom of his people, many had he seen during the great cold, dragged out to die alone in the deep snow.Alex pulled out the gag of dirty moss and threw it away, while the old man in quavering tones, told him what Ike had directed him to say.The child looked up at Ike with grateful eyes. “All right, fadder, me do what you say.”Ike strove to hide his pity for the sick, deserted little fellow. He bent down and put his arms around the shrunken shoulders. “Put your arms around my neck and hang on as tight as you can,” he commanded sternly. “Here, Alex, grab him around the legs and we will have him down to the boat in no time, you understand.”Clay was still fishing contentedly, a number of large salmon flapping helplessly on the deck around him.“For goodness sakes, what have you there?” he cried as he spied the limp burden.“This is my son,” said Ike, solemnly. “He is sick, very sick. Come help us with him, Clay.”A bunk was hastily made up on the floor, and on this the little Esquimau was placed.“He’s got no fever,” Clay said, after examining the little thermometer he had been holding under the lad’s tongue. The way I size it up is that he starved so long last winter that his stomach rejected the greasy heavy blubber with which they broke their long fast in the spring. I believe that he will come out all right with careful feeding and good care. The first thing to do is to take off those filthy furs he has got on, give him a good bath, and find something clean and warm for him to wear.”“I find him some clothes what gets too small for me, but which I can pin up a little for him,” said Ike. “Say, I think I call him after a good friend of mine, a fellow named Abe. I think Abe a pretty name for him.”When the last of the mangy furs were removed from the little lad, the boys stood back and viewed him pitifully, wondering how the spark of life had managed to keep alight in such a wasted and shrunken skeleton. Abe objected as much as his feeble strength would permit, to the awful bath, but when he was, at last, rubbed clean and dressed in a suit of Ike’s pajamas, he drank a bowl of warm soup greedily and in a few minutes was sound asleep. Alex had been cooking supper while his chums had labored over the lad and they now sat down to a meal of delicious fried salmon, coffee, and mealy potatoes. They had but finished, when the Shaman appeared, slipping in softly like a cat. The boys had had no time to separate the good records from the bad. All they could do was to wind up the wheezy old machine, start it going, and trust to luck, which proved to be in their favor, for the Shaman listened like one entranced, to songs, minstrel jokes and music.
CHAPTER XV
ANOTHER MISHAP
As it drew still nearer to twilight, the boys grew more and more uneasy about Case, until at last Ike got out the rifle and fired four shots in quick succession, the distress signal they had agreed upon, but there was no response.
“I’m going to go ashore and look for him,” Clay announced. “Turn on the prow light and signal with the rifle every half hour. I cannot understand what trouble Case has got into—but he has sure got into trouble of some kind.”
“I’ll go with you.” Ike offered eagerly, but Clay shook his head decidedly. “No, I am much taller and can travel faster than you. Besides, some one had ought to stay by the boat and keep watch. This is a strange country to us and we don’t know what danger may be around us, and then it needs some one to look after Alex. He is pretty weak yet.”
“I’ll stay then, Clay,” said Ike willingly.
“Good, so long,” said Clay, as he plunged into the group of cottonwoods.
Ike got out his automatic and paroled the deck back and forth with a delicious sense of his responsibility as defender of theRamblerand her sick crew of one. Occasionally he relaxed his vigilance long enough to dart down into the cabin to see if the meal was keeping warm and also to take a look at Alex, who was snoring peacefully in his bunk. As the minutes went on, however, his anxiety over his comrades, more than overcame the novelty of his position. Not a sound came from the cottonwood thicket. The only noise that came to his ears was the soft murmur of the flowing river as it lapped the stones of the shore. At the end of the half hour, he brought out the rifle and fired the four quick shots. He was delighted to hear in return the sharp crack of Clay’s automatic. It sounded not far away, but it was long before a rustling arose from the cottonwood trees and Clay emerged into the dim twilight bearing a limp body in his arms. “Come on and give me some help here,” he cried, as soon as he spied the boat, but Ike was already hastening to his assistance. “Is he dead?” inquired Ike in an awed whisper as he gathered up the dangling legs.
“I don’t know,” said Clay, wearily. “It is dark in the cottonwoods so I could not see, but his heart was beating all right when I found him. I stumbled over him by accident or else I would not have found him until morning. I found him lying all in a heap at the foot of a big cottonwood. I don’t know what happened to him. Let’s get him down into the cabin where we can see what’s the matter with him.”
Between them they managed to get him on deck and down into the cabin’s bright light.
“I’ll hold him while you get a blanket and spread it out on the floor,” Clay said. “He’s dripping with blood so it would ruin his bunk to put him in it. Now put some water on to heat and then come back and help me get his clothes off. I guess we will have to cut them off him.”
Together the two worked away at Case’s clothing, removing it bit by bit, being careful not to cut into skin or flesh. Each piece they removed was stained with blood. When the last piece had been cut away Clay arose and got the now hot water. “Get the medicine chest, Ike, while I wash off some of this blood,” he directed.
When the dried blood was washed away, the boys stood appalled at the sight that met their eyes. From head to feet Case’s body was a mass of cuts and bruises. Clay looked puzzled. “His heart action is good, and all his wounds, though there are a multitude of them, are not deep. If he has not been injured internally, I believe he will pull through. I think that lump on the head there is what has made him unconscious. Well, let’s get to work and fix him up as best we can.”
For a full hour the two boys labored over their wounded companion. First cleansing the wounds with warm water made antiseptic by the addition of a little carbolic acid, they applied a healing salve, and bound clean bandages to the parts until the unfortunate lad’s body looked like a checker-board. Along towards the last, Case began to show signs of returning consciousness and as they lifted him into his bunk he opened his eyes.
“I knew you fellows would come and find me,” he murmured weakly. “That, I guess, was the last thing I thought of before I hit that cottonwood tree.”
“Who hurt you?” inquired Clay eagerly.
Case tried to grin but groaned at the effort.
“It was Teddy Bear,” he said faintly. “As soon as we got amongst the cottonwoods, he bolted. I, like a fool, wrapped the end of the rope around my waist three or four times and tried to check him, but the first jerk threw me down, and away he went dragging me over logs and roots and bumping me up against the trees. I saw that big cottonwood tree coming and tried to throw myself one side, but couldn’t do it. I felt a smash on the head and that’s the last I remember.”
“Teddy must have pulled loose after you hit the tree,” Clay mused. “Feel any pain inside of you. Case?”
“No, but I feel mighty weak, loss of blood, I guess. If you’ll fix me up a bowl of broth, I’ll drink it and see if I can’t sleep off this weak feeling.”
Hot water was already on the stove and the addition of a full jar of beef extract quickly made a bowl of strong broth. Soon after he swallowed it, Case was sound asleep. His first deep breathing was the signal for the two boys to partake of their own supper, which had suffered greatly through neglect. Little was said as they ate, only Ike remarked.
“I don’t think Case is bad off. See how soundly he is sleeping. Those wounds don’t seem to hurt him a bit.”
“They will by tomorrow,” Clay prophesied, grimly. “Every inch of his body will be filled with aches and pains. Flesh wounds do not hurt much at first. If we keep on at this rate we’ll soon all be disabled,” he added gloomily. “Only one day out from Nome and two laid up beside Captain Joe. We will not go far at this rate.”
But Ike’s spirits had risen with the assurance of Case’s being in no immediate danger. “Oh, Alex, he will be all right,” he declared, as Alex’s loud snores filled the cabin. “Case, take longer maybe, but his blood is strong and clean an’ he’ll be all right in no time. Captain Joe, I am not so sure about, you understand, but I think maybe he die.”
“He certainly will if you do not quit stuffing food into him every half hour. When an animal or man is in Joe’s condition, the less you give them to eat the better until their wounds are mending. Captain Joe would stand more chance of getting well if he only had a bowl of broth with a few crackers broken up in it, three or four times a day, but we had better be getting into our bunks for we have to get an early start in the morning. If you’ll wash up the dishes, I’ll overhaul Captain Joe’s wounds again, and then turn in.”
Much to his surprise, Clay found Captain Joe’s cuts in much better condition than he had expected. “It must be that long soaking in the cold salt water has drawn a good deal of the fever out of them,” he said. “It looks to me as though the old fellow was going to get well.”
It was with the cheering thought that both their companions were in no danger of death that they fell into a sound sleep, exhausted by the eventful day they had been through.
So soundly they slept that they did not hear Case awaken just after midnight and groan to himself softly as he waited through the dreary hours for daylight to come and his chums to awake.
It was Ike who was the first to awake, and by the unwritten law of the cruise, he it was to whom the lot fell of cooking breakfast. He lay quiet for a minute, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, then slipped softly out of his bunk so as not to awaken his companions. He stopped at Case’s bunk with joyful greeting to find him conscious, if in pain.
Case tried to smile at the little Jew’s joyous greeting, but it was all he could do to stifle a groan.
“I’ll fix you up a cup of coffee and some broth, good broth, right away,” Ike said. “They no stop the hurt you understand. They just make you more strong to fight the hurts.” He was as good as his word and was back in a few minutes with the coffee and broth prepared over the electric stove while breakfast was cooking over the other one. It was not long before he was able to call “Grub’s ready,” which brought Clay and Alex tumbling from their bunks, Alex apparently none the worse from his experience of the day before. They both greeted Case with joy, but while the mystified Alex was learning what had happened to put his chum in such a condition, Clay slipped out to the point and looked up and down the river. Far down toward the mouth of the Yukon he saw a thin streamer of smoke and he grinned with satisfaction.
“We’ve got plenty of time to linger over our breakfast,” he announced gleefully. “That steamer is eleven or twelve miles down the river yet. Come on all, let’s eat.”
Over the meal Case’s accident was discussed. Alex was worst hurt of all, for Teddy Bear had been his dearest pet.
“I think if he comes back before we go we had ought to shoot him,” Ike declared, savagely.
“No, don’t hurt him,” growled Case from his bunk. “He didn’t mean to hurt me, I am sure. He was just wild for a run on shore.”
“I am the one to blame for this,” said Clay, regretfully. “I saw Ted’s trouble coming days ago. I ought to have insisted on leaving him at Nome. We were bound to lose him sooner or later, but I never thought he would do so much damage in his leave taking.”
“How did you know that Teddy was going to run away?” demanded Alex, scornfully. “Bears don’t think out loud and, if they did, I fancy it would take you some time to pick up their lingo.”
“Alex,” said Clay, thoughtfully. “Did you ever stop to think how good it seems when we get back to Chicago from one of our long trips? Everything looks fine and fresh to us. The shop windows are wonderful, the noise and bustle thrill one and even the smell of the asphalt is pleasant.”
“And there are the movies and the shows and all the excitement going on all the time,” murmured Alex, half regretfully.
“Well, that was what was the matter with Teddy,” Clay continued. “He was born in the Northland and its lure is one of the strongest instincts in him. As soon as we touched St. Michael’s he began to get uneasy. The trees and the smell of the earth was in his nostrils, and the whole lure of the Northland, handed down from a long line of savage ancestors, was stirring deep down within him and he had to go. He just had to go.”
“Bosh,” Alex said. “You’re weak in your comparisons. Aren’t we dead sick of Chicago early in the spring and eager to be off on another trip? Besides, Teddy is an educated bear with a taste for sugar that he will not soon forget. I’ll bet you we will see him again.”
“I hope not,” Clay said, arising. “Well, I guess we had better be getting under way. That old water wagon must be within three or four miles from here now. Ike, will you wash the dishes and tidy up the cabin? I hate to ask you to do it so often, but with Case laid up, I’ll have to have Alex do the steering.”
“That’s all right, Clay,” Ike replied cheerfully. “I can run a news stand all right, you understand, but I can’t run a motor boat yet, so why should I not make myself useful at something else? I didn’t come as a passenger. I came as one of the crew.”
TheRamblerwas backed slowly out of the little cove into the open river.
About two miles down the river the river steamboat was making slow progress against the current.
Alex headed out for the channel, theRamblerambling lazily along under third speed. As soon as Alex reached the channel, he headed up stream so that the steamboat’s bow was headed directly for theRambler’s stern.
Clay came forward to hold a conference with the wheelsman. “I am going to keep slowed down until we are within a couple of hundred yards of her, then swing around in a broad curve and come alongside, but be careful to keep far enough away, we don’t want any smash-up.”
He walked back to the motor, wishing he had Case, cool, cautious reliable Case, who was always alert to run no more risks than could be avoided. Alex was a skillful wheelsman but daring and reckless at times.
The big steamboat came up on them slowly but surely. When she was within about 200 yards of theRambler, Alex twirled the wheel over and theRamblerswung around in a graceful curve, while Clay bent to his motor, shoved the timer up a few more notches and turned on a little more oil and air. A great yelling from the steamboat drew his attention away from the motor. Most of the passengers were on their feet waving their arms excitedly, while an officer on the upper deck was cursing volubly in the most approved Yukon style, for theRamblerwas driving down on the steamer as if bound to cut her in two. Unmindful of the curses of the officer, Alex held on until it seemed that only a miracle could save the tinyRamblerfrom being smashed to pieces against her big sister. Alex jammed the wheel hard up and theRambler, spinning around like a top, ranged alongside of the big boat, their sides almost touching. A swift glance upward showed him that he had hit where he had aimed for; on the deck above sat the Yukon Kid and close beside him was a wonderfully pretty girl.
The danger over, Clay was busy at the motor closing the timer down until theRamblerwas running even with the steamer.
Ike had come out of the cabin and stood looking up at the Kid with a delightful grin on his face.
“Hallo, Ikey,” greeted the Kid, in good-natured banter. “Have you decided to set up that secondhand store in Nome yet?”
“No. Mr. Kid,” replied Ike politely. “It wouldn’t pay. There’s got to be more nice ladies come there first. It takes the ladies to make the men dress up fine. My, Mr. Kid,” he added innocently, “you sure are fixed up fine today.”
The Kid’s face grew red to the roots of his hair, while on the girl’s face a smile struggled for mastery over a blush.
Alex, up at the wheel, felt a thrill of joy for the quickness of the witty retort. “Ike’s sure my partner for this trip,” he promised himself.
CHAPTER XVI
ESQUIMAUX
“Hallo,” shouted Clay from the motor. “Good morning to you.”
“Same to you,” called down the Kid. “Say, that little tub of yours makes better time than I thought she would. I thought we passed you during the night. By the way. I’ve got something for you fellows. I’ll lower it down to you on a string.”
“Come down yourself,” Clay invited. “Just fasten a rope to the rail and shin down. I want to ask you a lot of questions and I can’t hear you well above the din of the motor, and the thrashing of the paddle wheels.”
The Kid hesitated. “I’m afraid you can’t get me back alongside again,” he shouted, “and I’ve got to be there with the mail on time.”
“We’ll get you aboard all right,” Clay promised. “That is, if you are not afraid. It’s a little risky for a tenderfoot.”
No live young man could stand such a taunt to his courage before a pretty girl, and the Kid surrendered. “All right,” he called down. “I’ll see the captain and see if he’ll promise to slow up a bit if we get too far behind.” He looked around at the crowd on deck and finally beckoned to an old sour-dough to take his chair. The old-timer obeyed, although he nevertheless seemed in his nervousness, to experience great trouble in disposing of his hands and feet.
Clay smiled at the Kid’s maneuvers. Evidently he was taking no chances.
Alex, up forward, secure in the fact that he could not be reached, was taking an impish delight in bantering the officer who had cursed so fluently. “Say, you snapping turtle of a log rider,” he hailed. “What do you mean by using such language when a real sure enough boat comes alongside your old mud scow? Afraid we were going to smash your old hulk to pieces? Where did you learn that sort of language, anyway? I’ll bet you used to raise mules down in Missouri.”
“I did handle mules for a while,” said the other with evident pride of his accomplishment. “That helped some. Then I mushed dog teams up here on the Yukon trail for four years and that sure taught me a lot. The rest is mostly Spanish I picked up here and there.”
“Why, you can’t swear at all,” scoffed Alex.
“You’re only an amateur. You just repeat words you have heard others use. You had ought to coin your words, have them nice and fresh and new all the time.”
“That’s a hard thing to do,” said the officer, gloomily.
“Pshaw, it’s easy,” Alex declared. “Just buy an automobile and run it yourself for six months and you’ll be a different man.”
The roar of laughter from the crowd above was as incense to Alex’s soul.
“The lad’s right,” said a serious-minded little man. “I used to own one in the States and I would hate to say half the things I used to think when I used to have to lay on my back under the car in maybe six inches of mud, wrastling away with a monkey wrench.”
Just then the Kid slid nimbly down a rope to theRambler’sdeck. Clay shouted to Alex to steer off from the steamer and as soon as he saw the order was obeyed, he moved the timer ahead at full speed and theRamblershot away from her big, clumsy sister.
“Good-bye,” shouted Alex to the officer. “We hate to leave you but we got tired of staying in one place all the time. We’ll see you at Dawson if you’re lucky enough to get up there before the river freezes over.” But the officer was standing speechless, his mouth agape at theRambler’swonderful burst of speed.
As for the Yukon Kid, he slipped down on the deck and grabbed the funnel with both hands as though afraid the boat would slip out from under him. Gradually the startled look died out of his eyes to be replaced by a glint of humor. “This is one on me, boys,” he acknowledged. “It’s more than one, it’s a full baker’s dozen,” he grinned. “Just think of my begging the captain to slow up until I got safe back aboard. And me being so sure that we must have passed you during the night. I never dreamed a boat so small could run so fast, but I must go back on the steamer. I’ve got the mail locked up in my cabin, but I am supposed to guard it all the time.”
“Was that some mail you was guarding so close up there, Mr. Kid?” asked Ike, innocently.
The Kid ignored the question though he blushed deeply. “I’ve got something to give you that may be some use to you. I’ve got a copy of it at Nome so you needn’t hesitate about taking it. It’s pretty well thumbed and torn, but I guess you can make it out all right.” He unrolled a stiff paper and spread it out on the deck. It was a complete map of the Yukon. “I made it and it’s true to a hair,” said the Kid with pride. “Take it and keep it. It can be trusted where the government charts can’t. I’ve marked in red ink where the best Indian villages are.”
Clay thanked him and bent over the chart thoughtfully. “Look’s like clear water for a couple of hundred miles up.” The Kid nodded. “Pretty smooth sailing until we get to the Upper Yukon. Then it’s rapids after rapids, and some of them pretty fierce.”
“I see an Indian village marked down about 110 miles above here,” Clay remarked. “I believe we will run ahead and camp there tonight. We haven’t seen a native village yet.”
“This one is rather small. Most of its inhabitants died of famine last winter, and all the able bodied men and squaws are off on the long hunt now. You’ll likely find only old men and old women there now. Well, I’ll have a look at Friend Case and then I’ll have to get back aboard. I’ve been gone too long already.”
“Getting afraid your old-timer cannot hold down that chair?” smiled Clay with freedom of their quickly born liking for each other.
“Oh, Olson will keep that seat reserved all right,” said the Kid confidently. “He’s gun shy on women folks. What I am afraid of is that some chekako may try to take it away from him. If that happens there will sure be some blood spilled on deck, an’ I don’t reckon she’s used to sights like that. Don’t get me wrong. It’s no case of spoons or anything like it. She’s just an innocent girl with an old father and mother, and the poor innocents have got an idea that they are going to make a fortune by opening up a restaurant in Dawson. Think of it, boys. Those three poor innocents trying to stack up such a game in Dawson of all places on earth. They have brought in no supplies either, and even flour will be nearly worth its weight in gold dust before the winter is over. The chekakos are pouring in faster than the supplies. That’s what makes me want to get back to the steamer quick. There is a crowd of greenhorns on board and some of them think they are mashers. If any of them try to get gay there will sure be something doing. Well, I’ll just run down and see the invalid while you run me back to the steamer.”
Case, suffering intently in his bunk, greeted the Kid with delight. His firm, friendly hand shake seemed to lessen his intense pains.
The air of strength, energy and power radiating from the Kid seemed to enthuse his own battered body with new strength. The Kid sat down on the edge of the bunk and with a touch as tender as a woman’s, examined the deeper wounds. “You’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time,” he declared, cheerfully. The wounds are beginning to heal already. That’s the reason they hurt so. I’ll see you again tomorrow maybe. I’ve got to go now. Good-bye, keep as quiet as you can and don’t fret.”
Case, soothed and strangely comforted by the mighty magnetism of the man, snuggled down in his bunk and dropped off to sleep.
“He’ll be all right if you take good care of him and fever does not set in,” said the Kid as he came to deck. “But have one of you down with him all the time so as to keep him entertained and to wait on him. Just a simple little thing like his getting up to get a drink of water for himself might prove fatal to him in his present condition. At the best though, it will be a long long time before he will be completely well.”
“I should have stayed right by him,” Ike exclaimed with contrition. “I go right down now to him.” He paused on the steps to add shyly, “I got so interested to see if that mail was still well guarded that I forgot. It’s all right, Mr. Kid.”
A playful kick from the Kid sent him tumbling down the balance of the stairs.
As they swept alongside the steamer, Clay noted with a grin that Olson was still holding down the chair, a heavy long-barreled revolver resting across his knees, while two of the detestable breed of mashers stood a ways off eyeing the coveted chair with glances in which desire and temerity were equally blended. Whatever of womanly shyness Olson had ever possessed must have melted away, for his wrinkled face was smiling and with evident enjoyment. “Yes, he was admitting, reluctantly, “It does get a wee bit cold up here now and then, say around December, but Lord, man, what a country she is.”
The Kid grabbed the swinging rope and clambered up it like a monkey.
Olson gave up his seat with evident reluctance.
“Say, Kid,” he whispered. “She’s gold, pure gold, right down to bed rock.”
“I knew it,” replied the Kid, briefly. “Go and tell those two fresh young chekakos I want to see them in half an hour in my cabin on important business. I’m going to spank them both like their mothers used to do, only more so.”
Olson departed well pleased with his errand and sought out the two offenders, taking great pleasure in impressing upon them the dire evil that always followed disobedience to the Yukon Kid’s commands.
Later on he listened gleefully at a locked door from the other side of which came the sound of steady smacks laid on with a heavy hand. The heavy smacking was broken occasionally by subdued sobs.
While this little scene was being enacted, theRamblerwas miles away, headed for the Indian village. Once clear of the steamer, Clay shut down the hatch cover over the motor and joined Alex in the bow. “Let me take the wheel for a while,” he offered kindly. “Take a rest while you can, you’ll want to look over the village when we get there. You haven’t got back your full strength yet. You look all played out. That motor will run itself now.”
Alex meekly surrendered the wheel. “I do feel slim,” he confessed. “I guess I’ll stretch out and rest for a little while. But here comes Ike with some dinner for us. I guess I’ll tuck some of that inside me first.”
Ike stood beaming upon them while the two boys ate the dinner he had so thoughtfully prepared. As soon as they had finished he bore the empty dishes below while Alex stretched out on a seat and was soon asleep.
As theRamblerdashed through the water. Clay frequently consulted the chart and compared it with the passing shores. It was accurate as the Kid had stated. Near the middle of the afternoon, he sighted the tall cliff just beyond which the Kid had said lay the little Indian village. He awakened Alex, and turning the wheel over to him, went back to the motor. As they passed the cliff they come into sight of the village, a miserable collection of anthill-like huts. As they eased theRamblerto shore, their noses were greeted by a multitude of odors blended into one malodorous whole—the usual odor of an Esquimaux village. “You and Alex can go ashore and look around,” Clay said. “I’ll stay and look out for Case. I’ve got a hunch that there’s fish lurking in this little cove and I’m going to have a try for them. Taste good for a change, wouldn’t it?”
The village lay back a ways from the river on a high bank and this the boys scrambled up, to find themselves in the middle of the settlement. It was almost deserted, only a few old men and old women crouched in the warm sunshine in front of their wretched buildings. Only a very few children played solemnly in the sun and they looked wan and haggard. None of the faces looked attractive. They were broad, flat and stupid.
Ike, with true trader’s instinct, had brought a pack with him and a glint of interest shone in the eyes of the old men. It might contain tobacco of which they had none in many weary moons. The one who seemed in authority, approached Alex. “How,” he said.
“How yourself?” replied Alex. “Who is your chief?”
“I am a great man amongst my people,” said the native. “I am Shaman, the medicine man. I protect my people from sickness and guard them from the evil spirits of the Yukon.”
“Guess you got the wrong hunch last winter or else the Yukon spirit’s out-wrestled you,” said Alex lightly, as he glanced around at the empty huts. “Say, who’s that chap with a face like an Indian’s?”
The Shaman glanced at the still impassive face that Alex pointed out.
“Him Nichols, the story teller. He is a great man in the tribe. He keeps the people contented in the long winter’s darkness by telling them wondrous tales about when the Northland was always green and the sun shone every day warm, and game was plenty in the land. Not like now when the cold pierces to the marrow and hunger gnaws always at the empty belly.”
Alex was not taken much by the Shaman’s looks, so leaving him to the tender mercies of Ike, who was undoing his pack, he strolled on through the little village, thrusting his little freckled face in here and there and noting everything with keen eyes.
There was little to be seen, however, and he soon returned to Ike, who was exultant over his bargain, conducted on both sides by many words and protests of being robbed. It ended by Ike becoming possessed of a silver fox skin worth many dollars—while the Shaman, smiling broadly over getting the best of the white man, was now the possessor of a one dollar watch, two plugs of tobacco, a ten cent looking glass, and a pair of green goggles.
CHAPTER XVII
ABE
“Come on, Ike,” said Alex. “Let’s go back to the boat. There won’t be anything worth seeing and I’m getting sick of this smelly place. Better fun to go down and fish with Clay.
“All right,” agreed Ike, willingly. “I got the only good fur in camp, so I guess we don’t need to stay. Understand me, though, that Shaman is a thief and a robber. We got a bargain all fixed up once and then he backed out and wants one more plug of tobacco. My, but he is a rascal.”
“You poor fellow,” said Alex in mock pity. “I don’t believe you made over 1000 per cent on that deal.”
Ike grinned joyously. “There is some little profit,” he admitted. “Enough to help pay the expenses. I wish we could find more Shamans with pretty fox skins.”
“He has got something prettier than a fur skin,” exclaimed Alex, as they paused by the Shaman’s igloo. “Say, did you ever see anything like that team of dogs?”
Inexperienced as they were with the toilers of the North, the two lads recognized that these dogs were no common breed of huskies like those they had seen at Nome. They were bigger and lacked much of the wolf-like features of the usual husky, nor was there the usual husky’s bearing of white fangs at their approach. They were lean and gaunt, as scantily-fed Indian dogs always are, but there was strength and endurance written on their broad chest and lithe muscles. Even their coats of thick, black, glossy hair did not resemble a husky’s in the least. They were stretched out in a line basking in the sun. One, apparently the leader, for he was by far the biggest and most powerful of the lot, attracted Alex strangely. The large, noble head and big eloquent eyes seemed strongly familiar to the boy. He approached the magnificent animal cautiously and held out his hand warily, ready to snatch it back if he was greeted by the silent snap of the wolf-bred dog. Instead, he was met by a wag of the bushy tail and the dog reached out and smelt of the extended hand. A second smell, and Alex felt the soft, warm caress of a licking tongue. The boy stooped and patted the dog’s head and the dog responded with a short, joyous bark and lifted up his eyes, eloquent with love and reverence. Alex was now examining him closely. “Ike,” he cried. “He’s Newfoundland, clear bred Newfoundland.”
“Well,” said Ike, indifferently. “What of that? He’s just a dog, ain’t he?”
“But just think of it,” Alex cried, angered by his friend’s lack of interest. “A dog from God’s country up in these desolate wastes.” A recollection of a dog of whom he had read, in “The Call of the Wild,” swept into his memory. “Buck,” he called softly, “Buck.” The animal with one magnificent leap covered the space between them, while the rest of the pack crowded around him, wagging their tails and looking at him with curious eyes.
The Shaman seeing his interest in the dogs, approached him to be greeted by a volley of questions by Alex.
“Yes,” he admitted. “They were his dogs.” “Would he sell? Perhaps, but the price must be large for they were the best dogs on the Yukon. Yes. they were the best dogs in all Alaska. They could go faster and further than any other dogs in the country. Yes, he knew where they came from but the big one, the leader, was no doubt a gift of the good spirits sent to him, the Shaman, for his great goodness and virtue. He, the big dog, had come into their camp one stormy night in the blackness of winter and had made it his home. He, the Shaman, had with his own hands, harnessed him with the other sled dogs, but, at first, there had been trouble. The new dog was a born leader. One by one he had fought and whipped the other huskies for he had ways of fighting new to the North and he always won. Lastly, he had whipped the leader and become by the law of the North, the leader himself. Later he had mated with a huge husky and there had been five puppies. The strange dog had trained them himself in the ways and laws of the trail. No, they were not bad dogs. Never did they snarl or fight amongst themselves like the huskies. But one thing one must never do. He must never lift a stick to the big dog. One man had done so and like a flash the big dog’s teeth had met in his throat.
Buck’s eyes, now mistily wistful, met Alex’s. “Good Lord, Buck, you can almost talk,” Alex said reverently. “I understand what you are trying to say. You got sick of running with the wolves, their ways were not your ways. So you sought out your own kind again. They are not like the white gods you used to serve, though you have served them faithfully. But you want to leave them. Your sensitive nostrils that can catch the faintest odor in the air are sick of the scent of blubber, seal oil, and stinking furs and you want to be gone from it all serving men with white bodies, clean from much washing, big men who will smile at you kindly and like you because you are brave, strong and fearless.” Buck wagged his tail as if to show that he was understood.
“Lord,” said Alex, again reverently. “You can do all but talk. Say,” he demanded of the Shaman, “how much do you want for that team, leader and all?”
“Nine hundred dollars, said the Shaman firmly.
“We can’t buy them,” Alex said sadly. “We haven’t got that much money. Besides, it would be an awful expense to feed them the balance of the summer. I sure would like to own that Buck dog though.”
“We get him when we come back,” Ike whispered. “I trade for him and get him cheap. I talk to that robber, now, so he will not sell him ’till we get back.”
“We go up the river ‘You Never Know What’ in our steamer that travels by fire,” he explained, with many gestures of his hands. “Before the big cold we come back to trade with our new friends. Our hearts are big and we pay big for everything we buy. The eyes of the Indians have never beheld such wondrous things as we have on board our fire boat. Cloth like fresh gold from the ground, warm like the blue of the sky in summer, and others so rich of color that they dazzle the eye. Of tobacco we will have hundreds of plugs. Of the ice that never melts and shows a man his face like still clear water, we will have great quantities. And of many other things new and strange we will have a plentiful supply. We have a little box filled with spirits that talk or sing or laugh as it’s owner commands.”
“All white men are liars,” said the Shaman calmly. “How do I know you have such a wonderful box?”
“Come down and see it tonight,” Ike invited.
“I will,” accepted the Shaman, “but it will be much better if I come alone. It is bad for the people to know too much about spirits.”
“Your dog team is as good as yours already,” whispered Ike as they turned away. “He will hold that team for you if he has to wait all winter, you understand. Once he hears that spirit box he’s going to want it badly.”
Alex grinned. “Put me next,” he begged. “I’m not wise to that spirit box stunt.”
“Say, you remember that cheap phonograph you boys bought for one of your trips and the heap of old cracked up records too? In Chicago the lot might be worth $5.00, but I doubt it. Here it’s worth a dog team, which costs nine hundred dollars, if you boys let me do the bargaining, you understand,” Ike enlightened him.
“Go to it,” exclaimed Alex joyously. “Hello, there’s something going on around that ant-hill over there. Let’s run over and see what the trouble is. Maybe it’s a fight.”
The two boys pushed through the little circle in front of the igloo just in time to see a litter carried by old men pass up from the burrow-like entrance. On the litter lay a skeleton-like figure of a young boy. His large, mournful-looking eyes looking out of a face on which the skin was pulled tightly over the bones.
“What’s the matter?” Alex demanded of a native, who happened to be Nicholas, the story teller.
“He plenty sick,” Nicholas replies. “He die pretty soon.”
“But why don’t they leave him in the hut?” Alex persisted.
“Esquimaux no stay in house where one has died,” said Nicholas.
“What are they going to do with him?” the boy insisted.
“Put him in a thicket and stuff moss in his mouth so he make no noise to keep people awake,” said Nicholas calmly. “By and by Luna come and get him spirit.”
“What’s Luna?” Alex demanded.
“Him the great spirit of the Yukon,” said Nicholas with a shiver. He live down under the ice. Him the greatest spirit of the Yukon.”
“What are we going to do about it, Ike?” Alex asked, helplessly. “It’s their law and custom. Has been for hundreds of centuries, I guess, but we can’t let that little fellow die like that. Of course we could pick him up and carry him off but it might mean a fight with these old men and old women and we might kill some of them. It wouldn’t be right to kill a live person for the sake of saving one who is dying. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll fix it up all right,” said Ike. “Don’t you worry your head none.”
“Him got father?” he demanded of Nicholas. “Father him die. Winter famine catch him.” “Mother,” Ike questioned.
“She die too—famine.”
“Ain’t he got no relations at all?” Ike inquired. An old man, shaky with age, stepped out from the group. “I’m his uncle,” he quavered.
“Now we are getting down to business, you understand,” said Ike with satisfaction. “Your nephew no good to you now?” The old man shook his palsied head. “Him dead plenty soon,” he said stolidly.
“You no want nephew then?” Ike persisted, and the old man shook his head decidedly.
“Then I buy him,” Ike said promptly. “For him I give two plugs of tobacco, of red cloth 20 yards, and of big tallow candles three. Does the uncle accept?” The uncle did with eagerness. It was more than the boy was worth when well. He was little and it would be many seasons before he could become a skillful hunter. Clearly these pale faces, not yet the size of men, were crazy, crazy as wolf-dogs when the moon is full. A fear seized him that this crazy young pale-face, who waved his hands so wildly when he talked, might repent of his bargain and demand all this wealth back. He was starting for his igloo as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, when Ike sternly commanded him to stop. “Take me to where you put the boy,” he said, “and explain to him that hereafter I am his father, mother and uncle, and when I speak he is to obey.”
They found the little fellow in the middle of a bunch of willows, a handful of dirty moss stuck in his mouth. He was lying perfectly quiet looking up at the skies with his black, beady eyes. He was only a child, but he knew the laws and custom of his people, many had he seen during the great cold, dragged out to die alone in the deep snow.
Alex pulled out the gag of dirty moss and threw it away, while the old man in quavering tones, told him what Ike had directed him to say.
The child looked up at Ike with grateful eyes. “All right, fadder, me do what you say.”
Ike strove to hide his pity for the sick, deserted little fellow. He bent down and put his arms around the shrunken shoulders. “Put your arms around my neck and hang on as tight as you can,” he commanded sternly. “Here, Alex, grab him around the legs and we will have him down to the boat in no time, you understand.”
Clay was still fishing contentedly, a number of large salmon flapping helplessly on the deck around him.
“For goodness sakes, what have you there?” he cried as he spied the limp burden.
“This is my son,” said Ike, solemnly. “He is sick, very sick. Come help us with him, Clay.”
A bunk was hastily made up on the floor, and on this the little Esquimau was placed.
“He’s got no fever,” Clay said, after examining the little thermometer he had been holding under the lad’s tongue. The way I size it up is that he starved so long last winter that his stomach rejected the greasy heavy blubber with which they broke their long fast in the spring. I believe that he will come out all right with careful feeding and good care. The first thing to do is to take off those filthy furs he has got on, give him a good bath, and find something clean and warm for him to wear.”
“I find him some clothes what gets too small for me, but which I can pin up a little for him,” said Ike. “Say, I think I call him after a good friend of mine, a fellow named Abe. I think Abe a pretty name for him.”
When the last of the mangy furs were removed from the little lad, the boys stood back and viewed him pitifully, wondering how the spark of life had managed to keep alight in such a wasted and shrunken skeleton. Abe objected as much as his feeble strength would permit, to the awful bath, but when he was, at last, rubbed clean and dressed in a suit of Ike’s pajamas, he drank a bowl of warm soup greedily and in a few minutes was sound asleep. Alex had been cooking supper while his chums had labored over the lad and they now sat down to a meal of delicious fried salmon, coffee, and mealy potatoes. They had but finished, when the Shaman appeared, slipping in softly like a cat. The boys had had no time to separate the good records from the bad. All they could do was to wind up the wheezy old machine, start it going, and trust to luck, which proved to be in their favor, for the Shaman listened like one entranced, to songs, minstrel jokes and music.