On the Edge of the Arctic; Or, An Aeroplane in Snowland

by H. L. Sayler

  CHAPTER XIV

  IN THE CABIN OF THE PARALYZED INDIAN

  No sooner had the monoplane begun to disappear over the northern hillsthan the impatient Paul demanded the attention of Colonel Howell.

  "Colonel," he began, "I'm almost ashamed to even make the suggestion, butI've been watching the men at work on the gusher. They don't seem able toget a plug into the pipe or to put a cap on the end of it, even with therigging they've managed to set up."

  "We seem to be at the end of our string," laughed Colonel Howell. "Butlaymen frequently make suggestions that never occur to professionals.Have you an idea?"

  "Not much of a one," answered Paul diffidently, "but I learned one thingin school--I think it was in what you call 'Physics.'"

  "Speak out," laughed Colonel Howell. "We've utilized all our own ideas;that is, all but one, and I don't like that. I suppose we can dig a pitaround the pipe and smother the blaze. But that's goin' to be quite ajob, and I'm not sure it would work."

  "A pit!" exclaimed Paul. "Now I've got it. They used to tell me, when youstrike a force you can't handle, try to break it up into parts."

  Colonel Howell looked up quickly.

  "We don't need a pit," went on Paul, "but something like a trench. Let'sdig down alongside the pipe until we're ten or fifteen feet beneath theground and then tap the tube and let some of the gas out where it won'tdo any harm. If we can't drill a hole, we can rig up a long-handledchisel and punch an opening. When the gas rushes out, down there in thetrench, maybe it won't catch fire for a few minutes and it's sure to shutoff a good deal of the pressure at the mouth of the tube. If it does,maybe we can get the cap and the regulator on the top. Then we can plugthe opening below. It'll leak, of course, but the regulator'll fix thingsso we can use the gas at least."

  Colonel Howell thought a moment and then slapped the young man on theback. Without a word, he hurried to the two workmen and in a few momentsEwen and Miller had begun digging into the frozen ground. ColonelHowell's orders were for them to make a trench about four feet wide andextending toward the river about twenty feet. It was to be twenty feetdeep alongside the pipe and in the form of a triangle, the long side toincline toward the river. This was to facilitate the removal of thegravel and dirt and to afford a path to the deep side of the trench whereit touched the gas tubing.

  "Five feet from the bottom," explained the enthusiastic Paul, "we'll puta shelf across the trench and we'll work from this, so that when a holeis made in the pipe no one will be in danger from the rush of gas."

  "That's right," added Colonel Howell. "All the gas can't get out throughthe new opening, but enough of it ought to escape to make it possible towork on the top opening. But we'll hardly finish the ditch before theboys get back?"

  "Hardly," smiled the happy Paul. "They ought to be here before dark."

  While Ewen and Miller were busy with picks and shovels, Colonel Howelland Paul devoted themselves to improvising the long wooden handle for thechisel to be used in cutting the pipe. But the workmen had not finishedthe trench when night came and, to the surprise of Colonel Howell andPaul, the _Gitchie Manitou_ had not returned. This fact especiallydisturbed Colonel Howell and Paul because soon after noon the bright dayhad ended and the afternoon had passed with lowering clouds and otherevidences, including a decided drop in the temperature, that a bad nightwas approaching.

  The northward flight of the aviators had been made without anypremonition of this change. After the monoplane had reached the highground, Norman could not resist a temptation to make his way some milesback from the river, where the boys could see that the sparse timber grewvery much thinner and that within five miles of the river the timberlanddisappeared altogether in a wide prairie or plain. Still farther to theeast, they could make out irregular elevations on the plain, whichappeared to be treeless ridges.

  "I wish we had time to go over there," remarked Roy, "for we may neverget back this way and I'd like to have had one good look at the cariboulands."

  But the general nature of this treeless, barren waste had beenascertained and Norman brought the swift car back on its flight towardthe river. Colonel Howell had explained to them that the Indian villagethey were seeking was one hundred miles from the gas camp. As it was notcertain that Pointe aux Tremble could be easily made out from a distance,it was necessary to keep careful watch of the chronometer and thepropeller revolution gauge.

  The flight over the picturesque banks of the great river was now gettingto be an old story to the boys and protected as they were in the inclosedcockpit, the journey proceeded with only occasional comment. They hadleft the camp at nine twenty-five o'clock, having set the engines atfifty miles, and, allowing for their detour, at a quarter after eleveno'clock Roy arose and began to use his binoculars. But either the reputeddistance or the boys' calculations were wrong, for it was not until aquarter of twelve o'clock that they caught sight of a few cabinsscattered along the riverbank within a fringe of poplar trees.

  It was necessary to find a suitable landing place and both aviatorsbusied themselves in this respect with no great result. What clearingthere was seemed to be full of tree stumps and large brush. The car,having passed over the few cabins of what seemed to be a desertedvillage, with no living thing in sight, it was necessary to make a turnto look for a landing place in the vicinity. In doing this, Norman made awide swing.

  The only naturally open place was some distance to the east. Withoutconsulting Roy, he made for this white glare of snow. As the monoplanedropped toward the wide opening, Roy made a desperate dive toward thefloor of the cockpit and, before Norman learned the situation, his chumwas pulling its new mooseskin jacket from the .303 rifle.

  "It's a moose!" shouted Roy, "and a dandy. Gi' me a shot at it. I've gotto shoot something from the machine."

  "I thought there wasn't any game around here," answered Norman, trying invain to get his eyes above the cockpit.

  "I guess the hunters have all gone too far," answered Roy breathlessly."Anyway, there's a dandy bull right out there in the open. Give me a shotat it."

  As he spoke, he dropped one of the front sections and pointed to one sideof the basin-like opening among the spruce trees. The moment Normancaught sight of the animal, which stood with its forefeet together, itshead erect, and its immense spread of antlers reared almost defiantly, hebrought the machine directly toward the animal. There was a heavydischarge from Roy's rifle, but no sign that his shot had gone home.

  "Try him again," laughed Norman. "He's big as a barn."

  But while Roy pumped a new shell into place, the erect animal suddenlystumbled and then with a snort whirled and sprang toward the trees. Thistime when the rifle sounded the great antlers seemed to rise higher andthen the moose lunged forward on its head and began kicking in the snow.Norman, gazing at the struggling animal, brought the monoplane to thewide drifts of snow.

  "You get out and finish him," he exclaimed as the _Gitchie Manitou_ cameto a jolting stop. "It's getting colder. I'm going to put some alcoholan' glycerine in the radiator. This isn't a very good place to freezeup."

  "Why not wait till we get over to the camp?" asked Roy as he dropped oneof the side sections.

  "We've got enough of a load now," answered Norman as he began to prowlaround among the extra supplies. "There isn't much snow among the trees.We'll take all we can carry of this fresh meat and go to the camp onfoot. There's no place to land there, anyway."

  Closing the machine, the two boys soon quartered the moose, and leaving apart of the carcass in the lower limbs of a spruce tree, shouldered theremainder and made their way toward the Indian village. The snow andtheir heavy load made this a panting task and in the mile walk theypaused to rest several times.

  When they finally reached the edge of the Indian settlement and broketheir way through the last of the trees, they found before them a picturethat had escaped them from the airship. In the distance lay the desertedlooking cabins but, nearer by and as if seeking protection among thescrub spruce, rose a single tepee
. Before it stood two men and twosquaws.

  "They must have seen us," panted Roy, as he and Norman advanced, bendinglow under their burdens. "They seem to be watchin' for us."

  In fact, one of the men had his arms outstretched. The cheerless groupwas made even more so by a small, almost blazeless fire, in the thinsmoke of which was suspended a black kettle.

  "They must have seen us," panted Roy as he and Normanadvanced.]

  "No wonder they let a moose almost stick his nose in camp," was Norman'scomment. "The men seem to be as old as Methuselah."

  There was nothing dramatic in the arrival of the boys, for the Indiansspoke no English and gave not the least sign of gratitude when thequarters of the moose were thrown on the ground. Both the women sank ontheir knees and one of them eagerly bit into the raw flesh. After vainlyattempting to talk to the men, Norman pointed to a knife in the belt ofone of them and then at the freezing flesh on the ground.

  While the boys watched them, this aged and emaciated Chipewyan alsodropped on his knees and hastily cut off four strips of flesh. Withoutany attempt at cooking these the starving group attacked them voraciouslyin their raw condition. After a few moments, the boys took the otherquarter and, motioning toward the other cabins, started toward them. Theydecided, if they found no younger men, to take the two old men back tothe monoplane and deliver to them their other provisions.

  Having reached the first cabin, the boys at once discovered that Chandlerhad not overstated the camp condition. Neither in this filthy structure,nor in any but one of the other half dozen did they find anyone but womenand children. In each cabin there was heat in plenty, but signs of foodwere wholly missing. In each place the air was foul, and half-cladchildren made the situation pitiable. In one fortunate cabin, thechildren were chewing shreds of skin.

  Still unable to find anyone who could speak English, the boys continuedtheir work of rescue by cutting off a generous piece of moose and thencontinuing their investigation. Having reached the last cabin, whichdiffered in no respect from the others, Norman and Roy came across asurprise that was a shock to them. Swinging open the door, withoutwarning, they entered a chill interior that was reeking with new odors. Asmall fire burned in one corner and before it, on a pallet of worn andgreasy blankets, lay the distorted figure of a man. He was the soleoccupant of the almost dark room.

  While the boys hesitated, choking with the rancid and stifling odorsabout them, they saw the figure turn its head with an effort. Then theysaw that it was a man of about middle age, who was almost completelyparalyzed. He could move neither his legs nor his body, but with the useof his elbows, he was just able to turn the upper part of his body.

  He did not resent the intrusion but he did not give the young men theleast sign of welcome. In his left hand rested a charred stick. With thishe was able to reach the little fire at his side, in front of which waspiled a heap of small sticks and branches--his firewood.

  The fireplace and chimney, which was also inside the cabin, were made ofclay and occupied the corner of the uninviting apartment. Near the firestood a smoke-begrimed frying pan in which there was a piece of blackmeat of some kind. On the dirty clay hearth was a tin basin, in whichwere a few ounces of soiled looking meal or flour.

  "The man's paralyzed," remarked Norman in an undertone. "But at that heseems better off than the rest."

  "He ain't starvin', at least," answered Roy. "But we'd better give himhis share of moose."

  He spoke to the man and was surprised to receive a grin in return. Itmeant that the invalid did not understand. But the moment they offeredthe meat to the almost-helpless man, they were glad to see that he hadthe full use of his arms and fingers. Reaching for a knife that lay underhim, he began to cut off pieces of fat with celerity. These he atewithout cooking.

  The close cabin was so crowded with articles of various kinds that theboys could not resist an examination before they took their leave.

  "Somebody's been livin' here besides this man," exclaimed Roy at once. Hepointed to the opposite corner of the cabin where there were indicationsthat some one had had a bunk. Then in the other end of the room theyfound the cause of the heavy odors. Hanging from the rafters were severaldozen skins, stretched tightly on trappers' boards, and in various statesof curing. There was also a collection of steel traps, a dog sled and ajumbled mass of dog harness.

  Curing skins was not exactly a novelty to either of the boys but theyknew a valuable skin from an ordinary one and they could not resist thetemptation to look for a possible silver fox. They soon decided that thetrapper who might have collected these furs was one of no greatexperience. Roy pointed to the skins, then made signs to the Indian as ifto ask if the skins belonged to him. The man grinned in silence andpunched up his little fire. Roy was examining one of the stretched hideswhen he suddenly called to Norman and pointed to a name written withindelible pencil near the bottom of the board.

  "Well, what do you think of that?" exclaimed the astonished Norman.

  The two boys were looking at the scrawl which was plainly "E. O.Chandler."

  "There you are!" exclaimed Roy. "Here's where our friend made hisheadquarters. No wonder he knew that the Indians were starving."

  There was a light tapping on the floor and the paralyzed and speechlessIndian pointed toward the corner of the room where there were signs of abunk. In the gloom the boys went to this place. But they noticed nothingin particular until the prostrate Indian again lifted his stick upward.And then, shoved in a crevice between the logs, they saw a soiled andcrumpled envelope. Taking it to the window, they read plainly enough theaddress--"E. O. Chandler, Fort McMurray." There was no postmark but inthe upper left hand corner was this printing--"Hill Howell, Contractor,Centralia, Kansas."

  "It's one of the envelopes that Colonel Howell has down in camp,"exclaimed Roy.

  "Yes," answered Norman slowly, "and I'll bet you it's a message thateither Ewen or Miller wrote to Chandler after he left us."

  "Do you think we ought to read it?" asked Roy, his fingers grasping thegreasy envelope as if itching to extract the enclosure.

  "I reckon it's none of our business," answered Norman, as if with someregret, "but I'll bet it concerns Colonel Howell and I believe we oughtto take it to him."

  Roy turned toward the Indian and made signs of putting the letter in hispocket. If this meant anything to the helpless man, he gave no sign otherthan the same peculiar grin. Roy put the envelope in his pocket and,making signs of farewell, the two boys left the cabin.