XXTHE FUR-TRADING STATION
Possibly Perk may have been a little troubled in his mind lest they run up against difficulties when trying to climb out of that tiny valley walled with those titanic mountains massed all around.
His faith in the ability of his comrade to surmount ordinary difficulties and aviation perplexities buoyed him up and he failed to register any outward signs of undue anxiety.
His confidence was well placed for aided by the excellent working of the crate’s slotted wings and his knowledge concerning their control, Jack was enabled to start boring up toward the sky almost as soon as the amphibian quitted the placid bosom of the crystal lake.
A few circles and they had risen so that it was possible to see beyond the peaks by which they were surrounded.
“That’s the boy—beautifully done, I’ll tell the gapin’ world—an’ what a good feelin’ it gives a flyer to know he’s on the wing once more after bein’ knocked down by a dead-stick swattin’ him. Glad now I snapped off them two pictur’s jest when we was leavin’ the lake under us.”
“Same here partner,” chimed in Jack, “for I’ll always have a kindly feeling for that little cup of water set in that hole among the mountains like it might be a precious diamond in a platinum ring.”
“Huh! I’d like to said that same thing, buddy,” Perk told his mate, “on’y it ain’t in my blood to spout poetry you see but a feller c’nfeelit in his heart, mebbe, even when he jest can’t say it.”
“Which is as true as anything can be,” vowed Jack who was well aware of the limitations of his chum and could appreciate his good points, even if in some ways Perk seemed a bit dumb.
They were soon on their course as laid out by the head pilot and making into the north at fair speed. Perk amused himself for some little time in carrying out his accustomed duties, which were numerous and so essential they must not be neglected. Later on Jack, realizing that Perk was no longer moving around with his customary bustle, managed to steal a glance in his direction to discover that the other was snuggled down and seemed to be gazing at something he held in his hand, as though wrestling with a weighty problem.
Jack immediately understood, for the object at which Perk stared so earnestly happened to be the small photograph he had received from the youngster whom he, Perk, had carried across that queer little bridge made of two ironing-boards when the tenement was burning in Salt Lake City.
He would turn it over so as to read the name written in a female hand on the back—“Adrian, at six years,” and then quickly reverse the card as if he hoped to instinctively pronounce the last part of the lad’s name that seemed to elude his memory with such disgusting pertinacity.
But apparently even that idea failed to work, for Jack heard no triumphant whoop break from his companion’s lips as he felt certain would be the case should he hit what he was after. The old saying, all signs fail in dry weather, was applicable in Perk’s case, it seemed. Still, such are the vagaries of the human memory that he was likely to suddenly utter the word he wanted just as he opened his eyes after a nap. It often comes about that way as many persons can testify.
Jack shook his head and grinned, muttering to himself meanwhile:
“Queer how poor old Perk does get so twisted up with names and he’s so dogged about it he never will give in till he gets what he’s after. Always makes me think of that ad. I used to see in the magazines about some kind of toilet soap. A baby in his little tub stretching out a hand to lay hold of a cake of soap and underneath the words: ‘he’ll never be happy till he gets it.’ That’s my pal Perk to a fraction—wish I could give him the high sign but since I never heard the name it’s beyond my ken. But anyway it gives him something to play with, like a baby’s rattle and how he does hang on to it.”
So Perk kept on staring goggle-eyed at that picture, just as if it mattered as much as three cents whether he ever again heard of the boy or his mother, both of whom Jack had somehow made up his mind, were evidently engaged in a search for some missing party who was especially dear to them but whose identity was now, and probably always would be, a complete mystery to the pair who had befriended them on that night of the fire.
“After all,” Perk finally said, and Jack could easily catch every word, thanks to the useful earphone apparatus they had on, “we did have a fine time o’ it—you made the neatest dead-stick landin’ I ever seen put through—we had a glorious supper an’ a nice night in camp as I might say—glimpsed a’ ol’ galliwampus o’ a big bull-moose on the gallop—it’d jest be complete if on’y I had a decent head on me so’s to grab that name—Adrian—Adrian what—shucks?”
Jack did not say a single word lest he start the other to worrying again. It might seem such a trifling matter to any outsider but to Perk it meant that he was growing old—that his memory, never any too good, had taken to going back on him worse than ever.
The further they worked into the north the more uninhabited did the wild region seem to become. Earlier in their flight they were able to occasionally discover an isolated log-cabin marking the lonely home of some venturesome white trapper and when these isolated shelters were still occupied by their owners there would be a column of wood smoke rising above the adjacent timber that made things seem a bit homelike, but for the last hour Perk had not picked up the slightest clue to human existence in all that vast wilderness, though he plied his glasses most industriously in hopes of breaking the spell.
“Must be drawing close to the fur-trading post, I’d reckon, eh partner?” Jack suddenly demanded at which the other nodded vigorously in the affirmative and followed this up by saying emphatically:
“Just what we are ol’ hoss. I’ve seen a number o’ things to tell me it’s close by here—f’r instance, take a peek at them three cones standin’ out there in a triangle off to the west—many a time I’ve sat an’ smoked an’ watched the clouds coverin’ the lowest peak while on a log in front o’ Old Jimmy McGregor’s log cabin store. Jest a trifle more to the east, partner, an’ chances are we’ll be settin’ eyes on Frazer’s Post inside ten minutes at the most.”
That was certainly cheery information for Jack to hear from his companion who was familiar with much of that country from having ridden over the mountain trails when spending several years in the service of the Northwest Mounted Police force.
Perk seemed to be more and more amazed by the fact of their striking the far distant point as though drawn by some magnet, for a minute later he broke loose again.
“There, I ’member that little canyon where the trail runs through—got my first caribou right on that spot—a herd was passin’ an’ I came on the bunch as they turned a corner. What makes me sit up an’ take notice is how we’ve come all the way up here, hundreds an’ hundreds o’ miles, straight as a die an’ inside o’ forty-eight hours, I guess I might call it, when in them days it’d taken me a month anyway to cover the same distance on hossback. They fetches the supplies to the post here by way o’ the river an’ then by carry. Huh! we’re livin’ in a great age, strikes me, partner. Now, get ready to take a look-in at the first fur-tradin’ station you ever did see ’cause it’s jest beyond that little rise with the timber hidin’ the fort. Hot ziggetty dog! I never did think I’d be up here in this country again.”
Jack also felt a little thrill of expectancy as they sped onward for in another minute or so they should be passing directly over the place Perk had pointed out with such assurance. The trip had thus far been as successful as any one could hope for and their success in finding the needle in a haystack, as Perk had once called their mission, was to be considered a feather in the cap of the pilot.
Then all of a sudden he heard Perk give utterance to a loud cry as of dismay, coupled with astonishment.
“Hey! what’s all this mean? Look at that outhouse smoulderin’ like it’s been burned down inside o’ last night! An’ that little bunch o’ fellers standin’ there like they meant to skedaddle at hearin’ us comin’ with sech a racket! Jack, I tell you somethin’s sure happened around these diggin’s! Been some sorter o’ deviltry afoot an’ ten to one that same crazy Hawk’s the guy that’s broke loose! Mebbe now we jest got here in time to break into the game.”