by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XX THE HUNCHBACK BOWMAN
Three days, coming to earth only for fuel and sleep, Curlie and Jerryskimmed the far horizon searching for some sign of the "Gray Streak." Thedays were fair. Beneath them lay the earth, a blanket of white brokenonly by streaks of black where spruce and tamarack followed a narrowstream. Beyond, to the north, south, east and west, lay the gray rim ofthe horizon. Three times Curlie's heart leaped at sight of a plane onthat horizon. Each time he met with disappointment. A commercial planebringing trappers in from the Barrens and two mineral hunters, theybrought him no news of the ship he sought.
And then, on the third day at a time when he was feeling the urge of dutyto turn back, the "Gray Streak" hove in sight.
What to do? To follow? To turn back? The thing must be decided on theinstant. Official orders said, "Turn back." Romance, adventure, thedesire to avenge a fallen comrade, the common good of all those who hadcome to dwell in the North, urged him on.
Duty whispered.
The call of romance rang in his ears. Romance won.
"Jerry, we're going after them."
"Absolutely, son." Jerry's grin was good to see.
Three hours later Curlie found himself following the lead of thatmysterious ship. Grave doubts had by this time entered his mind.
"How is this to end?" He asked this question many times. Many times, too,he told himself it was his duty to turn back, that a cargo of freight forthe north awaited him, that each mile on this mad adventure was countingagainst him as a pilot with a blameless record; yet something still urgedhim on.
A hundred, two, three, four hundred miles they flew.
Then like a flash it came to him that he was being led away into a landwhere no man was.
"They hope I will run out of gas and be obliged to land where there is nofuel supply. And then?"
He shuddered at thought of that which might follow. Save for his bow andarrow, neither he nor Jerry was armed. "And if they did not attack us, wewould be in a fair way to starve before we could beat our way back acrossthis rocky wilderness."
* * * * * * * *
At this same moment Johnny Thompson was enjoying adventures all his own.
With his dog team on his second journey in search of pitchblende he hadtraveled fifty miles, and the day was still young. That was because hehad started at two o'clock in the morning. In this north country where atone time of the year there is no night at all and in another there is noday, men forget the conventions of life. Instead of three meals a day,they may eat five, or two, or only one. If a journey is to be made, theystart when they are ready. Johnny had been ready at two in the morning.
He was fond of night travel. Then the moon casts ghostly shadows. Thestars burn like candles. All living things are afoot. White foxes arebarking on the crests of rocky ridges. Wolves follow a traveler forhours. He did not mind the wolves. Like Curlie, he was an archer. Hispowerful bow, a curious affair made of wood, rawhide and some secretglue, presented to him by an Indian, was ever at hand.
Now and then a dark bulk that was a caribou loomed in the distance.
"If I could pick off one of those I could make my journey twice as long,"he told himself.
He thought of the mineral he had come to seek, pitchblende. More illusivethan gold and many times more precious, radium, the product ofpitchblende, had somehow gotten into his blood.
Sandy possessed several books and pamphlets on radium. During his sparetime Johnny had delved into these and had been fascinated by the story ofradium. He had learned that while radium is worth sixteen million dollarsa pound, a quantity worth twenty cents mixed with phosphorescent zincwill so illuminate a watch dial that time may be read from it on thedarkest night.
Sandy had shown him a spinthariscope. In this curious instrument he hadwitnessed the flash of light that comes from a single atom of radium.
"And think!" Sandy had lowered his tone impressively. "Should thisinstrument be left in a dark chamber for a thousand years, that tiny atomwould still give off light!"
As he traveled he paused now and then to chip off a bit of rock with hishammer, only to cast it away. He would do this to-day, to-morrow and thenext day. Then, unless he obtained an extra food supply, he must turnback.
Yet in three days he could travel far. Beside some ancient river bed, onthe rocks above a cataract that even winter could not conquer, at thecrest of some mountain-like ridge, he might come upon the brownish-black,velvet-like quartz that would spell riches for old Sandy, Scott andhimself. Always he thought first of his brawny, gray-haired friend.
"He is past seventy," he told himself. "A prince of a man. Always livedfor others. Ever a prospector, this is his last great adventure. It mustbe a real one. It surely must!"
His mind returned often to the strange tales Curlie had told him, talesof the "Gray Streak."
"What if they were to swoop down upon me here on this river?" he said tohimself with a shudder.
Once more he thought of pitchblende. "I'll have some that shines like acandle in the dark before I turn back."
Before he turned back? How little he knew of that which would happenbefore he turned his face toward camp!
Two things happened in quick succession. A caribou appeared on a ridgenot fifty yards from his sled. A quick, fleeting arrow, and his foodsupply was supplemented by two hundred pounds of rich, juicy meat. Partof this he would hide in a scrub spruce tree, ready for use on hisreturn. The rest would feed his dogs and himself for three days. Andthere was other food on his sled.
It was while he was preparing this meat that a truly curious thinghappened. On a ridge a quarter of a mile from where he stood appeared alone traveler. He drove a dog team. And such a team as it was! Up untilthat moment the boy had not believed that dogs could go so fast.
"Like the wind!" he exclaimed. "As if they had wings and raced anairplane."
The driver was stranger still. He was short and broad. As one looked athim from a distance it seemed that a pair of very broad shoulders hadbeen set upon a pair of long legs, and a head placed atop it all. Yetthose legs were powerful and fast. This strange being followed the teamwith ease.
"The hunchback bowman." Johnny's lips parted with wonder, and a thrillran through his being. The bow and his sled had been made by a hunchback,an Indian. But this Indian had lived hundreds of miles away. "Thehunchback bowman," he repeated, then turned to the task of the hour.
