by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER VIII WHITE FOXES
One feature of the North fascinated Joyce Mills more than any other--thedog teams. Her outfit had engaged two of these teams at Fort Resolution.Wonderful dogs they were, too. Long, rangy, muscular fellows, they stoodto her waist. And how they could travel!
"All right, boys! Mush!" she would cry. And away they would fly.
On days when one of these teams was not in use, she would go for a longdrive into the great unknown. It made little difference what directionshe took, for all this world about her was new.
Often, because the dogs traveled best when following a scent, she allowedthem to choose their own course. Invariably they took up some trail. Attimes it was only the tracks of a man on skis or snowshoes, at others itwas the mark of some dog sled. Whatever it might be, though the trail waswindblown and three days old, they followed it with unerring steps.
On the day when Curlie Carson took up the flight of the pigeon, shestarted on one of these dog team jaunts. Once more she allowed the teamto take its course. This day the leader chose the tracks of a man onsnowshoes.
"One of our men," she told herself. "Be just time to come up with himbefore sunset. He'll enjoy a ride home."
As we have said, Joyce was no weakling. While training her mind, she haddeveloped her body as well. This day she rode only a part of the way.
Trotting after a dog team rouses the drowsy blood and sends it coursingthrough the veins. It stimulates thoughts. This girl's thoughts on thatday were long, long thoughts. At times she dreamed of gold, placer gold,great moose-hide sacks bulging with nuggets. She knew that Lloyd, theyoung Canadian of their outfit, had studied the aerial photographs thatwere taken a hundred miles from the camp, and then had gone into a brownstudy.
"Looks like quartz, gold, up there," she had heard him murmur. "Why notplacer gold in the streams farther down?" He had disappeared on a strangemission early next morning. When he returned late that evening, if he hadanything to report he had made no mention of it. A strange, silentfellow, this Canadian.
"Gold," she said aloud. "Gold. What will it not buy? Comfort; ease;education; a home. Some even believe it will buy friends. But not truefriends, I am sure of that."
Gold! Would they find it? And if they did, what then? A frown gatheredlike a storm cloud on her brow. She had thought again of Johnny's strangerevelation. "One of your men is a thief," she seemed to hear him say.
"I'll find the thief!" she told herself with renewed determination.
"But if we make a rich strike before I find him?" She shuddered atthought of the terrible possibilities involved.
Then, shaking herself free from all these brooding thoughts, she shouted:"_Ye! Ye! Ye!_" to send her dogs spinning away at a reckless speed.
Since the land here was rocky and uneven, this resulted in a spill.Coming to the top of a ridge, the dogs rushed pell mell down the otherside and landed all in a heap in a bunch of willows at the bottom.
Joyce was recovering from this spill and her dogs were sitting about hergrinning when upon looking up she beheld, not ten paces away, the man shehad been following.
She caught her breath in surprise. He was not Jim, nor Clyde, nor Lloyd.Nor was it her father. It was a man she had never seen before.
"Where did you come from?" she wanted to ask, but did not. It gave her ashock to know that she had taken up this man's trail not half a mile fromher cabin and, having followed him for miles, was now alone with him inthe great white world.
He was strange, too, and had, she thought, an evil face. "But I must notjudge too soon," she told herself.
The man was short with broad shoulders. He had a dark face that might beFrench, Indian or half-breed.
"Hello!" he said rather gruffly. "You follow? What want?"
She looked at him, nonplussed. What indeed did she want? Nothing.
She told him so. Plainly he did not believe her.
"My name," he said stolidly, "Pierre Andres. Trapper, me." He jingled abundle of traps hanging from his arm. "You want white fox skin? Allright. I geeve heem you."
"No! No!" she persisted stoutly. "I want nothing. I am looking for someone."
"Some one look for gold." He placed a hand above his eyes. "Allee timelook. No find. Eh?" He tried to smile, and his face became uglier thanbefore. "Oh, you find. Bye and bye. Not know mine." He chuckled deep downin his throat.
"See! Look!" he exclaimed suddenly. He made a motion as if to drop on allfours. "Buffalo." He sent out a curious snort. "You!" He made a face."'Fraid, you. Up tree. Then, boom! Buffalo gone! Is it not so?
"And now I gotta say good-bye."
"Good--good-bye." The words stuck in her throat. Speaking to her dogs,she sent them spinning back over the trail.
Her mind was in a whirl. Who was this man? What had he been doing abouttheir camp? Had he been near when she was treed by the buffalo? Had hefired that shot?
She thought, of his traps. "Hope he hasn't set any near our cabin."
Only the night before, while out for a stroll in the moonlight, she hadmade a delightful discovery. Three beautiful white foxes had their homebeneath the cliff back of their cabin. She had surprised them at theirplay. She did not want one of their skins for a decoration.
But now, while she was wondering whether this man had any connection withJohnny's half-mythical Moccasin Telegraph, her dogs suddenly took a turnto the right, speeding away on a fresh trail.
Seeing that this trail, cutting her old one at an acute angle, led towardcamp and hoping once more that it might lead her to one of her party, sheallowed the dogs to pick their own way.
This time she was not disappointed. They had not gone half a mile beforeshe sighted, standing out dark against the sky, a lone figure at thecrest of a ridge.
"It's Lloyd Hill," she told herself with a thrill of joy. She hadrecognized him on the instant. His was a military bearing not often foundin the North. At this moment he stood rigidly erect, looking away towardthe west as a commanding general might while surveying some vast smokingbattlefield.
She was obliged to cross a narrow valley to reach him. This gave her timefor reflection. Lloyd Hill was not like the other men of her camp. He wasmore reserved. He was, as her father expressed it, "a good listener." Hetalked little. When he did speak his English was perfect. Jim spoke withthe mellow drawl of the southern mountains; Clyde with the breezy tongueof the west. Lloyd impressed her as coming from a fine family; yet henever spoke of his family. A silent, rather slender, dark-eyed fellow, hewas ever alert, yet never in a hurry.
"Always seems to be all there," her father had said. "But how tense heis. If you fired off a gun when he wasn't looking, he'd jump three feetfrom the ground!" This was more true than he knew, and for good reasons.
With these thoughts passing through her mind and with one half-askedquestion lurking back of all, "Who stole those films for the pictures weare using?" she crossed the intervening space to climb the ridge.
All this time, though she was sure he knew she was coming, he did not somuch as turn his head. Only when she had reached his side did he speak.With one arm outstretched he said:
"Do you see that?"
"See what?" She turned a puzzled face up to his. "I see the frozen bed ofa stream. There are rapids and a waterfall over there, too swift tofreeze. And I think I see a pelican waiting for a fish."
"But off to the right?"
"Hills, rocks, snow."
"Ah, yes. But once that stream flowed there. If you look closely you willsee that the narrow banks of a rapid stream are still suggested there.Yes, that's where it ran."
"What changed its course?"
He shrugged. "Jam of logs and drifting ice in the spring, perhaps.Anyway, it happened. See this."
He dropped something in her hand. It was a fine yellow crescent.
"That," he said with a sudden intake of breath, "is gold. Free gold, theycall it. Found it many miles up from here in the rocks. Gold up there.But not e
nough for quartz mining. Too far from everywhere.
"But that," he pointed again to the ancient bed of the stream, "lookspromising. There are rapids and falls in it, just as there are in thisnew channel. And at the foot of the falls there may be golden sands, wornaway from the rocks and carried down there."
He broke off abruptly. "Jump in! Let's get back to camp."
On the return journey she insisted upon his riding part of the way.Scarcely a word was said during all that long twilight ride. She likedhim all the better for this.
"I wonder if there really could be gold?" she thought to herself. "Muchgold. Anyway, the ground is frozen. How could he prospect there now?"
As if reading her thoughts, he said:
"There's a steam-thawer over at Fort Resolution. The doctor's got atractor. We could haul it over and thaw that ground out in a hurry."
To the girl's great surprise, during the evening he said nothing to hispartners about this recent discovery. "I wonder why?" she said toherself. "Well, since he does not speak of it, neither shall I."
"Punch Dickinson will be dropping down here with the plane to-morrowmorning," Clyde Hawke said. "I asked him to come when I saw him last."
"That's right!" Lloyd Hill leaped from his chair. "Just in time. I'llride over with him." All eyes were turned on him for an explanation.
"Found some encouraging dirt back in the hills," he said simply. "Need athawer. One there. I'll bring it over."
If they expected more details they did not get them.
"Since you're going," Newton Mills said after a moment, as he dragged abag from a corner, "you might take this along and see what you can doabout getting it down to Edmonton for an analysis."
"What is it?" Jim asked.
"Pitchblende."
"Pitchblende, radio-active rock. Last price quoted on radium was amillion dollars an ounce," Jim drawled. "Be great if we'd discover apound or two laying around loose up here somewhere!"
"Wouldn't it!" laughed Clyde.
Though she understood little of this talk and was unable to tell what wassaid in jest and what in earnest, Joyce was thrilled by this newdiscovery.
"It will go to Edmonton," she told herself. "Be some time before we canget the report, know the truth. In the meantime we may dream, and halfthe joy of life comes from dreaming."
Before retiring she slipped on her faun-skin parka and stole out into thecrisp air of night. She climbed the ridge that lay between their camp andthe rocky cliff. Then she turned to look back.
She caught her breath. How wonderful it was! The moon, a ball of palegold, hung high overhead. The whole empty white world, clean as freshlaundered linen, lay before her.
But she had not come for this. Creeping farther up the ridge where somescrub spruce trees grew, she moved stealthily forward into the shadows,at last parting the branches noiselessly and looking into the spacebeyond.
"Ah, yes," she breathed, "there they are."
Three white foxes, two old ones and one half-grown cub, were sporting inthe moonlight. How beautiful they were! And how they did romp! "Nokittens could be half as cute," she told herself.
Now they formed a circle and chased one another's tails round and round.Now they piled into a heap and rolled about like balls of snow. And now,sitting in a row like choir boys, they sang their night song.
"_Yap--yap--yap!_"
In the midst of this Joyce thought of the stranger she had followed thatday, and shuddered, she hardly knew why.
All this was forgotten as, half an hour later, she crept beneath herdowny feather robe and fell asleep, dreaming dreams in which gold andradium were sadly mixed with Indians and traps, white foxes, wildbuffaloes and moonlit night.
