by Zane Grey
CHAPTER 10.
SUCCESS AND FAILURE
At last the marvel in the north dimmed, the obscure gray shade lifted,the hope in the south brightened, and the mercury climbed reluctantly,with a tyrant's hate to relinquish power.
Spring weather at twenty-five below zero! On April 12th a small band ofIndians made their appearance. Of the Dog tribe were they, an offcastof the Great Slaves, according to Rea, and as motley, starring andstarved as the Yellow Knives. But they were friendly, which presupposedignorance of the white hunters, and Rea persuaded the strongest braveto accompany them as guide northward after musk-oxen.
On April 16th, having given the Indians several caribou carcasses, andassuring them that the cabin was protected by white spirits, Rea andJones, each with sled and train of dogs, started out after their guide,who was similarly equipped, over the glistening snow toward the north.They made sixty miles the first day, and pitched their Indian tepee onthe shores of Artillery Lake. Traveling northeast, they covered itswhite waste of one hundred miles in two days. Then a day due north,over rolling, monotonously snowy plain; devoid of rock, tree or shrub,brought them into a country of the strangest, queerest little sprucetrees, very slender, and none of them over fifteen feet in height. Aprimeval forest of saplings.
"Ditchen Nechila," said the guide.
"Land of Sticks Little," translated Rea.
An occasional reindeer was seen and numerous foxes and hares trottedoff into the woods, evincing more curiosity than fear. All were silverwhite, even the reindeer, at a distance, taking the hue of the north.Once a beautiful creature, unblemished as the snow it trod, ran up aridge and stood watching the hunters. It resembled a monster dog, onlyit was inexpressibly more wild looking.
"Ho! Ho! there you are!" cried Rea, reaching for his Winchester. "Polarwolf! Them's the white devils we'll have hell with."
As if the wolf understood, he lifted his white, sharp head and uttereda bark or howl that was like nothing so much as a haunting, unearthlymourn. The animal then merged into the white, as if he were really aspirit of the world whence his cry seemed to come.
In this ancient forest of youthful appearing trees, the hunters cutfirewood to the full carrying capacity of the sleds. For five days theIndian guide drove his dogs over the smooth crust, and on the sixthday, about noon, halting in a hollow, he pointed to tracks in the snowand called out: "Ageter! Ageter! Ageter!"
The hunters saw sharply defined hoof-marks, not unlike the tracks ofreindeer, except that they were longer. The tepee was set up on thespot and the dogs unharnessed.
The Indian led the way with the dogs, and Rea and Jones followed,slipping over the hard crust without sinking in and traveling swiftly.Soon the guide, pointing, again let out the cry: "Ageter!" at the samemoment loosing the dogs.
Some few hundred yards down the hollow, a number of large blackanimals, not unlike the shaggy, humpy buffalo, lumbered over the snow.Jones echoed Rea's yell, and broke into a run, easily distancing thepuffing giant.
The musk-oxen squared round to the dogs, and were soon surrounded bythe yelping pack. Jones came up to find six old bulls uttering gruntsof rage and shaking ram-like horns at their tormentors. Notwithstandingthat for Jones this was the cumulation of years of desire, the crowningmoment, the climax and fruition of long-harbored dreams, he haltedbefore the tame and helpless beasts, with joy not unmixed with pain.
"It will be murder!" he exclaimed. "It's like shooting down sheep."
Rea came crashing up behind him and yelled, "Get busy. We need freshmeat, an' I want the skins."
The bulls succumbed to well-directed shots, and the Indian and Reahurried back to camp with the dogs to fetch the sleds, while Jonesexamined with warm interest the animals he had wanted to see all hislife. He found the largest bull approached within a third of the sizeof a buffalo. He was of a brownish-black color and very like a large,woolly ram. His head was broad, with sharp, small ears; the horns hadwide and flattened bases and lay flat on the head, to run down back ofthe eyes, then curve forward to a sharp point. Like the bison, the muskox had short, heavy limbs, covered with very long hair, and small, hardhoofs with hairy tufts inside the curve of bone, which probably servedas pads or checks to hold the hoof firm on ice. His legs seemed out ofproportion to his body.
Two musk-oxen were loaded on a sled and hauled to camp in one trip.Skinning them was but short work for such expert hands. All the choicecuts of meat were saved. No time was lost in broiling a steak, whichthey found sweet and juicy, with a flavor of musk that was disagreeable.
"Now, Rea, for the calves," exclaimed Jones, "And then we're homewardbound."
"I hate to tell this redskin," replied Rea. "He'll be like the others.But it ain't likely he'd desert us here. He's far from his base, withnothin' but thet old musket." Rea then commanded the attention of thebrave, and began to mangle the Great Slave and Yellow Knife languages.Of this mixture Jones knew but few words. "Ageter nechila," which Reakept repeating, he knew, however, meant "musk-oxen little."
The guide stared, suddenly appeared to get Rea's meaning, thenvigorously shook his head and gazed at Jones in fear and horror.Following this came an action as singular as inexplicable. Slowlyrising, he faced the north, lifted his hand, and remained statuesque inhis immobility. Then he began deliberately packing his blankets andtraps on his sled, which had not been unhitched from the train of dogs.
"Jackoway ditchen hula," he said, and pointed south.
"Jackoway ditchen hula," echoed Rea. "The damned Indian says 'wifesticks none.' He's goin' to quit us. What do you think of thet? Hiswife's out of wood. Jackoway out of wood, an' here we are two days fromthe Arctic Ocean. Jones, the damned heathen don't go back!"
The trapper coolly cocked his rifle. The savage, who plainly saw andunderstood the action, never flinched. He turned his breast to Rea, andthere was nothing in his demeanor to suggest his relation to a craventribe.
"Good heavens, Rea, don't kill him!" exclaimed Jones, knocking up theleveled rifle.
"Why not, I'd like to know?" demanded Rea, as if he were consideringthe fate of a threatening beast. "I reckon it'd be a bad thing for usto let him go."
"Let him go," said Jones. "We are here on the ground. We have dogs andmeat. We'll get our calves and reach the lake as soon as he does, andwe might get there before."
"Mebbe we will," growled Rea.
No vacillation attended the Indian's mood. From friendly guide, he hadsuddenly been transformed into a dark, sullen savage. He refused themusk-ox meat offered by Jones, and he pointed south and looked at thewhite hunters as if he asked them to go with him. Both men shook theirheads in answer. The savage struck his breast a sounding blow and withhis index finger pointed at the white of the north, he shouteddramatically: "Naza! Naza! Naza!"
He then leaped upon his sled, lashed his dogs into a run, and withoutlooking back disappeared over a ridge.
The musk-ox hunters sat long silent. Finally Rea shook his shaggy locksand roared. "Ho! Ho! Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood!Jackoway out of wood!"
On the day following the desertion, Jones found tracks to the north ofthe camp, making a broad trail in which were numerous little imprintsthat sent him flying back to get Rea and the dogs. Muskoxen in greatnumbers had passed in the night, and Jones and Rea had not trailed theherd a mile before they had it in sight. When the dogs burst into fullcry, the musk-oxen climbed a high knoll and squared about to givebattle.
"Calves! Calves! Calves!" cried Jones.
"Hold back! Hold back! Thet's a big herd, an' they'll show fight."
As good fortune would have it, the herd split up into several sections,and one part, hard pressed by the dogs, ran down the knoll, to becornered under the lee of a bank. The hunters, seeing this smallnumber, hurried upon them to find three cows and five badly frightenedlittle calves backed against the bank of snow, with small red eyesfastened on the barking, snapping dogs.
To a man of Jones's experience and skill, the capturing of the calveswas a ridiculously eas
y piece of work. The cows tossed their heads,watched the dogs, and forgot their young. The first cast of the lassosettled over the neck of a little fellow. Jones hauled him out over theslippery snow and laughed as he bound the hairy legs. In less time thanhe had taken to capture one buffalo calf, with half the escort, he hadall the little musk-oxen bound fast. Then he signaled this feat bypealing out an Indian yell of victory.
"Buff, we've got 'em," cried Rea; "An' now for the hell of it gettin''em home. I'll fetch the sleds. You might as well down thet best cowfor me. I can use another skin."
Of all Jones's prizes of captured wild beasts--which numbered nearlyevery species common to western North America--he took greatest pridein the little musk-oxen. In truth, so great had been his passion tocapture some of these rare and inaccessible mammals, that he consideredthe day's world the fulfillment of his life's purpose. He was happy.Never had he been so delighted as when, the very evening of theircaptivity, the musk-oxen, evincing no particular fear of him, began todig with sharp hoofs into the snow for moss. And they found moss, andate it, which solved Jones's greatest problem. He had hardly dared tothink how to feed them, and here they were picking sustenance out ofthe frozen snow.
"Rea, will you look at that! Rea, will you look at that!" he keptrepeating. "See, they're hunting, feed."
And the giant, with his rare smile, watched him play with the calves.They were about two and a half feet high, and resembled long-hairedsheep. The ears and horns were undiscernible, and their colorconsiderably lighter than that of the matured beasts.
"No sense of fear of man," said the life-student of animals. "But theyshrink from the dogs."
In packing for the journey south, the captives were strapped on thesleds. This circumstance necessitated a sacrifice of meat and wood,which brought grave, doubtful shakes of Rea's great head.
Days of hastening over the icy snow, with short hours for sleep andrest, passed before the hunters awoke to the consciousness that theywere lost. The meat they had packed had gone to feed themselves and thedogs. Only a few sticks of wood were left.
"Better kill a calf, an' cook meat while we've got little wood left,"suggested Rea.
"Kill one of my calves? I'd starve first!" cried Jones.
The hungry giant said no more.
They headed southwest. All about them glared the grim monotony of thearctics. No rock or bush or tree made a welcome mark upon the hoaryplain Wonderland of frost, white marble desert, infinitude of gleamingsilences!
Snow began to fall, making the dogs flounder, obliterating the sun bywhich they traveled. They camped to wait for clearing weather. Biscuitssoaked in tea made their meal. At dawn Jones crawled out of the tepee.The snow had ceased. But where were the dogs? He yelled in alarm. Thenlittle mounds of white, scattered here and there became animated,heaved, rocked and rose to dogs. Blankets of snow had been theircovering.
Rea had ceased his "Jackoway out of wood," for a reiterated question:"Where are the wolves?"
"Lost," replied Jones in hollow humor.
Near the close of that day, in which they had resumed travel, from thecrest of a ridge they descried a long, low, undulating dark line. Itproved to be the forest of "Little sticks," where, with gratefulassurance of fire and of soon finding their old trail, they made camp.
"We've four biscuits left, an' enough tea for one drink each," saidRea. "I calculate we're two hundred miles from Great Slave Lake. Whereare the wolves?"
At that moment the night wind wafted through the forest a long,haunting mourn. The calves shifted uneasily; the dogs raised sharpnoses to sniff the air, and Rea, settling back against a tree, criedout: "Ho! Ho!" Again the savage sound, a keen wailing note with thehunger of the northland in it, broke the cold silence. "You'll see apack of real wolves in a minute," said Rea. Soon a swift pattering offeet down a forest slope brought him to his feet with a curse to reacha brawny hand for his rifle. White streaks crossed the black of thetree trunks; then indistinct forms, the color of snow, swept up, spreadout and streaked to and fro. Jones thought the great, gaunt, pure whitebeasts the spectral wolves of Rea's fancy, for they were silent, andsilent wolves must belong to dreams only.
"Ho! Ho!" yelled Rea. "There's green-fire eyes for you, Buff. Hellitself ain't nothin' to these white devils. Get the calves in thetepee, an' stand ready to loose the dogs, for we've got to fight."
Raising his rifle he opened fire upon the white foe. A struggling,rustling sound followed the shots. But whether it was the threshingabout of wolves dying in agony, or the fighting of the fortunate onesover those shot, could not be ascertained in the confusion.
Following his example Jones also fired rapidly on the other side of thetepee. The same inarticulate, silently rustling wrestle succeeded thisvolley.
"Wait!" cried Rea. "Be sparin' of cartridges."
The dogs strained at their chains and bravely bayed the wolves. Thehunters heaped logs and brush on the fire, which, blazing up, sent abright light far into the woods. On the outer edge of that circle movedthe white, restless, gliding forms.
"They're more afraid of fire than of us," said Jones.
So it proved. When the fire burned and crackled they kept well in thebackground. The hunters had a long respite from serious anxiety, duringwhich time they collected all the available wood at hand. But atmidnight, when this had been mostly consumed, the wolves grew boldagain.
"Have you any shots left for the 45-90, besides what's in themagazine?" asked Rea.
"Yes, a good handful."
"Well, get busy."
With careful aim Jones emptied the magazine into the gray, gliding,groping mass. The same rustling, shuffling, almost silent strife ensued.
"Rea, there's something uncanny about those brutes. A silent pack ofwolves!"
"Ho! Ho!" rolled the giant's answer through the woods.
For the present the attack appeared to have been effectually checked.The hunters, sparingly adding a little of their fast diminishing pileof fuel to the fire, decided to lie down for much needed rest, but notfor sleep. How long they lay there, cramped by the calves, listeningfor stealthy steps, neither could tell; it might have been moments andit might have been hours. All at once came a rapid rush of patteringfeet, succeeded by a chorus of angry barks, then a terrible comminglingof savage snarls, growls, snaps and yelps.
"Out!" yelled Rea. "They're on the dogs!"
Jones pushed his cocked rifle ahead of him and straightened up outsidethe tepee. A wolf, large as a panther and white as the gleaming snow,sprang at him. Even as he discharged his rifle, right against thebreast of the beast, he saw its dripping jaws, its wicked green eyes,like spurts of fire and felt its hot breath. It fell at his feet andwrithed in the death struggle. Slender bodies of black and white,whirling and tussling together, sent out fiendish uproar. Rea threw ablazing stick of wood among them, which sizzled as it met the furrycoats, and brandishing another he ran into the thick of the fight.Unable to stand the proximity of fire, the wolves bolted and loped offinto the woods.
"What a huge brute!" exclaimed Jones, dragging the one he had shot intothe light. It was a superb animal, thin, supple, strong, with a coat offrosty fur, very long and fine. Rea began at once to skin it, remarkingthat he hoped to find other pelts in the morning.
Though the wolves remained in the vicinity of camp, none ventured near.The dogs moaned and whined; their restlessness increased as dawnapproached, and when the gray light came, Jones founds that some ofthem had been badly lacerated by the fangs of the wolves. Rea huntedfor dead wolves and found not so much as a piece of white fur.
Soon the hunters were speeding southward. Other than a disposition tofight among themselves, the dogs showed no evil effects of the attack.They were lashed to their best speed, for Rea said the white rangers ofthe north would never quit their trail. All day the men listened forthe wild, lonesome, haunting mourn. But it came not.
A wonderful halo of white and gold, that Rea called a sun-dog, hung inthe sky all afternoon, and dazzlingly bright over the dazzling
world ofsnow circled and glowed a mocking sun, brother of the desert mirage,beautiful illusion, smiling cold out of the polar blue.
The first pale evening star twinkled in the east when the hunters madecamp on the shore of Artilery Lake. At dusk the clear, silent airopened to the sound of a long, haunting mourn.
"Ho! Ho!" called Rea. His hoarse, deep voice rang defiance to the foe.
While he built a fire before the tepee, Jones strode up and down,suddenly to whip out his knife and make for the tame little musk-oxen,now digging the snow. Then he wheeled abruptly and held out the bladeto Rea.
"What for?" demanded the giant.
"We've got to eat," said Jones. "And I can't kill one of them. I can't,so you do it."
"Kill one of our calves?" roared Rea. "Not till hell freezes over! Iain't commenced to get hungry. Besides, the wolves are going to eat us,calves and all."
Nothing more was said. They ate their last biscuit. Jones packed thecalves away in the tepee, and turned to the dogs. All day they hadworried him; something was amiss with them, and even as he went amongthem a fierce fight broke out. Jones saw it was unusual, for theattacked dogs showed craven fear, and the attacking ones a howling,savage intensity that surprised him. Then one of the vicious brutesrolled his eyes, frothed at the mouth, shuddered and leaped in hisharness, vented a hoarse howl and fell back shaking and retching.
"My God! Rea!" cried Jones in horror. "Come here! Look! That dog isdying of rabies! Hydrophobia! The white wolves have hydrophobia!"
"If you ain't right!" exclaimed Rea. "I seen a dog die of thet onct,an' he acted like this. An' thet one ain't all. Look, Buff! look atthem green eyes! Didn't I say the white wolves was hell? We'll have tokill every dog we've got."
Jones shot the dog, and soon afterward three more that manifested signsof the disease. It was an awful situation. To kill all the dogs meantsimply to sacrifice his life and Rea's; it meant abandoning hope ofever reaching the cabin. Then to risk being bitten by one of thepoisoned, maddened brutes, to risk the most horrible of agonizingdeaths--that was even worse.
"Rea, we've one chance," cried Jones, with pale face. "Can you hold thedogs, one by one, while muzzle them?"
"Ho! Ho!" replied the giant. Placing his bowie knife between his teeth,with gloved hands he seized and dragged one of the dogs to thecampfire. The animal whined and protested, but showed no ill spirit.Jones muzzled his jaws tightly with strong cords. Another and anotherwere tied up, then one which tried to snap at Jones was nearly crushedby the giant's grip. The last, a surly brute, broke out into madravings the moment he felt the touch of Jones's hands, and writhing,frothing, he snapped Jones's sleeve. Rea jerked him loose and held himin the air with one arm, while with the other he swung the bowie. Theyhauled the dead dogs out on the snow, and returning to the fire satdown to await the cry they expected.
Presently, as darkness fastened down tight, it came--the same cry,wild, haunting, mourning. But for hours it was not repeated.
"Better rest some," said Rea; "I'll call you if they come."
Jones dropped to sleep as he touched his blankets. Morning dawned forhim, to find the great, dark, shadowy figure of the giant nodding overthe fire.
"How's this? Why didn't you call me?" demanded Jones.
"The wolves only fought a little over the dead dogs."
On the instant Jones saw a wolf skulking up the bank. Throwing up hisrifle, which he had carried out of the tepee, he took a snap-shot atthe beast. It ran off on three legs, to go out of sight over the hank.Jones scrambled up the steep, slippery place, and upon arriving at theridge, which took several moments of hard work, he looked everywherefor the wolf. In a moment he saw the animal, standing still somehundred or more paces down a hollow. With the quick report of Jones'ssecond shot, the wolf fell and rolled over. The hunter ran to the spotto find the wolf was dead. Taking hold of a front paw, he dragged theanimal over the snow to camp. Rea began to skin the animal, whensuddenly he exclaimed:
"This fellow's hind foot is gone!"
"That's strange. I saw it hanging by the skin as the wolf ran up thebank. I'll look for it."
By the bloody trail on the snow he returned to the place where the wolfhad fallen, and thence back to the spot where its leg had been brokenby the bullet. He discovered no sign of the foot.
"Didn't find it, did you?" said Rea.
"No, and it appears odd to me. The snow is so hard the foot could nothave sunk."
"Well, the wolf ate his foot, thet's what," returned Rea. "Look at themteeth marks!"
"Is it possible?" Jones stared at the leg Rea held up.
"Yes, it is. These wolves are crazy at times. You've seen thet. An' thesmell of blood, an' nothin' else, mind you, in my opinion, made him eathis own' foot. We'll cut him open."
Impossible as the thing seemed to Jones--and he could not but believefurther evidence of his own' eyes--it was even stranger to drive atrain of mad dogs. Yet that was what Rea and he did, and lashed them,beat them to cover many miles in the long day's journey. Rabies hadbroken out in several dogs so alarmingly that Jones had to kill them atthe end of the run. And hardly had the sound of the shots died whenfaint and far away, but clear as a bell, bayed on the wind the samehaunting mourn of a trailing wolf.
"Ho! Ho! where are the wolves?" cried Rea.
A waiting, watching, sleepless night followed. Again the hunters facedthe south. Hour after hour, riding, running, walking, they urged thepoor, jaded, poisoned dogs. At dark they reached the head of ArtilleryLake. Rea placed the tepee between two huge stones. Then the hungryhunters, tired, grim, silent, desperate, awaited the familiar cry.
It came on the cold wind, the same haunting mourn, dreadful in itssignificance.
Absence of fire inspirited the wary wolves. Out of the pale gloom gauntwhite forms emerged, agile and stealthy, slipping on velvet-paddedfeet, closer, closer, closer. The dogs wailed in terror.
"Into the tepee!" yelled Rea.
Jones plunged in after his comrade. The despairing howls of the dogs,drowned in more savage, frightful sounds, knelled one tragedy andforeboded a more terrible one. Jones looked out to see a white mass,like leaping waves of a rapid.
"Pump lead into thet!" cried Rea.
Rapidly Jones emptied his rifle into the white fray. The mass split;gaunt wolves leaped high to fall back dead; others wriggled and limpedaway; others dragged their hind quarters; others darted at the tepee.
"No more cartridges!" yelled Jones.
The giant grabbed the ax, and barred the door of the tepee. Crash! theheavy iron cleaved the skull of the first brute. Crash! it lamed thesecond. Then Rea stood in the narrow passage between the rocks, waitingwith uplifted ax. A shaggy, white demon, snapping his jaws, sprang likea dog. A sodden, thudding blow met him and he slunk away without a cry.Another rabid beast launched his white body at the giant. Like a flashthe ax descended. In agony the wolf fell, to spin round and round,running on his hind legs, while his head and shoulders and forelegsremained in the snow. His back was broken.
Jones crouched in the opening of the tepee, knife in hand. He doubtedhis senses. This was a nightmare. He saw two wolves leap at once. Heheard the crash of the ax; he saw one wolf go down and the other slipunder the swinging weapon to grasp the giant's hip. Jones's heard therend of cloth, and then he pounced like a cat, to drive his knife intothe body of the beast. Another nimble foe lunged at Rea, to sprawlbroken and limp from the iron. It was a silent fight. The giant shutthe way to his comrade and the calves; he made no outcry; he needed butone blow for every beast; magnificent, he wielded death and facedit--silent. He brought the white wild dogs of the north down withlightning blows, and when no more sprang to the attack, down on thefrigid silence he rolled his cry: "Ho! Ho!"
"Rea! Rea! how is it with you?" called Jones, climbing out.
"A torn coat--no more, my lad."
Three of the poor dogs were dead; the fourth and last gasped at thehunters and died.
The wintry night became a thing of half-conscious past, a dream t
o thehunters, manifesting its reality only by the stark, stiff bodies ofwolves, white in the gray morning.
"If we can eat, we'll make the cabin," said Rea. "But the dogs an'wolves are poison."
"Shall I kill a calf?" asked Jones.
"Ho! Ho! when hell freezes over--if we must!"
Jones found one 45-90 cartridge in all the outfit, and with that in thechamber of his rifle, once more struck south. Spruce trees began toshow on the barrens and caribou trails roused hope in the hearts of thehunters.
"Look in the spruces," whispered Jones, dropping the rope of his sled.Among the black trees gray objects moved.
"Caribou!" said Rea. "Hurry! Shoot! Don't miss!"
But Jones waited. He knew the value of the last bullet. He had ahunter's patience. When the caribou came out in an open space, Joneswhistled. It was then the rifle grew set and fixed; it was then the redfire belched forth.
At four hundred yards the bullet took some fraction of time to strike.What a long time that was! Then both hunters heard the spiteful spat ofthe lead. The caribou fell, jumped up, ran down the slope, and fellagain to rise no more.
An hour of rest, with fire and meat, changed the world to the hunters;still glistening, it yet had lost its bitter cold its deathlike clutch.
"What's this?" cried Jones.
Moccasin tracks of different sizes, all toeing north, arrested thehunters.
"Pointed north! Wonder what thet means?" Rea plodded on, doubtfullyshaking his head.
Night again, clear, cold, silver, starlit, silent night! The huntersrested, listening ever for the haunting mourn. Day again, white,passionless, monotonous, silent day. The hunters traveled on--on--on,ever listening for the haunting mourn.
Another dusk found them within thirty miles of their cabin. Only onemore day now.
Rea talked of his furs, of the splendid white furs he could not bring.Jones talked of his little muskoxen calves and joyfully watched themdig for moss in the snow.
Vigilance relaxed that night. Outworn nature rebelled, and both huntersslept.
Rea awoke first, and kicking off the blankets, went out. His terribleroar of rage made Jones fly to his side.
Under the very shadow of the tepee, where the little musk-oxen had beentethered, they lay stretched out pathetically on crimson snow--stiffstone-cold, dead. Moccasin tracks told the story of the tragedy.
Jones leaned against his comrade.
The giant raised his huge fist.
"Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood!"
Then he choked.
The north wind, blowing through the thin, dark, weird spruce trees,moaned and seemed to sigh, "Naza! Naza! Naza!"
