Blue Envelope

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XVII

  OUT OF THE NIGHT

  After Marian and Lucile had heard the crash against the door of theboarded-up house, and had stilled their wildly beating hearts, theydragged themselves halfway out of their sleeping-bags and sat up.

  "What was it?" Marian repeated. Her teeth were chattering so she couldhardly whisper.

  "It saw the light from the seal-oil lamp," Lucile whispered. A coldchill ran up her back. "Sh! Listen!"

  It was a tense moment. A dead silence hovered over the room. Had theyheard a sound as of low moaning or whining, or was it the wind?

  "Marian," whispered Lucile, "what sort of a sound does a polar bearmake?"

  "I don't know," Marian shivered.

  "Whatever it is, we're not going to open that door."

  "I--I don't know." The moan came distinctly now, and a scratchingsound. "Perhaps we ought. Perhaps--perhaps it is some one in trouble."

  Lucile was silent; she had not thought of that.

  For five minutes they sat there listening. Not a word passed betweenthem. Now and again there came that awful, low moan and thescratching. Save for the dismal wail of the wind that had arisen andwas singing about the corners of the house there was no other sound.The seal-oil lamp in the corner flickered constantly, sending a weirdyellow light dancing from floor to ceiling.

  "Lucile," said Marian at last, "I can't stand it any longer. If it'ssomeone in distress, they'll surely freeze, and then we could neverforgive ourselves. The chain will let the door open a crack. If it'sa bear, or a wolf, or a wild dog, he can't break the chain. If it'ssomeone, whoever he is, even if he's drunk, we ought to help him."

  Lucile shivered, but she arose and, fumbling about, found the butcherknife.

  "I'll stand by with the knife." She followed Marian, as they tiptoedtoward the door.

  The moon was shining brightly through the window. Whatever was at thedoor, they would be able to see it once the door was open a crack.

  "Now! Ready!" whispered Marian, as she grasped the doorknob and turnedit.

  With a wildly beating heart Lucile waited at her side.

  But the door did not open. "It's stuck," whispered Marian. "I--Iguess you'll have to help me."

  Reluctantly laying down the knife, Lucile put both hands over Marian'sand exerted all her strength in a pull.

  The next instant the door gave way, but instead of being permanentlyheld by the chain, it was only momentarily checked by it, then flewwide open, sending both girls crashing to the floor. The rusty staplehad broken.

  Too frightened to breathe they scrambled to their feet. Lucile fumbledabout for the knife. Marian seized the door to close it. Then in onebreath they exclaimed, "Why, it's only an Eskimo boy!"

  It was true. Before them on the snow, peering white-faced at them, wasa native boy, probably not over ten years old.

  He dragged himself to a sitting position, then attempted to rise. Atthis he failed, and fell over again.

  "He must be injured," said Marian.

  "Or starved," answered Lucile.

  It was plain that the boy was at this time quite as much frightened ashad been the girls a moment before.

  "We must get him inside and find out if he is hurt," said Lucile,bending over and grasping the boy by the shoulder. As she did this heuttered a low moan of fear and shrank back.

  Disregarding this, the two girls lifted him gently, and, carrying himinside, set him on their sleeping-bag with the wall of the room as aprop to his back.

  "I believe his foot's hurt," said Lucile suddenly. "See how hisskin-boot is torn!"

  To cut away the boot, which was stiff and frozen, was a delicate task.When this and the deerskin sock had been removed, they saw that thefoot had indeed been badly crushed. The deerskin sock had prevented itfrom freezing.

  By carefully pressing and working it this way and that, Luciledetermined that there were probably no bones broken. It, however, wasswelling rapidly.

  "We must bandage it at once," said Lucile.

  "With what?"

  Lucile's answer was to tear a six-inch strip from the bottom of herunderskirt. The wound was then tightly and skillfully bandaged.

  "Next thing's something to eat," said Lucile, rising. "You stay hereand I'll see what I can find to cook something in."

  She soon returned with a huge brass teakettle of the Russian type.Into this she put snow, and hung it over the seal-oil lamp. Soon a bitof fish was boiling.

  "Better warm stuff at first," she explained, "He must be nearly frozen."

  All this time the boy, with his look of fear gone, sat staring at them,his big brown eyes full of wonder.

  "I'd like to know where he came from and how it is that he's alone,"said Marian.

  "So would I," said Lucile. "Well, anyway, we'll have to do the best wecan for him. You know what it says somewhere about 'entertainingangels.'"

  "Yes, and that reminds me. He must have a place to sleep. I'll go seewhat I can find."

  She returned presently with an arm-load of deerskins.

  "There's everything out there," she smiled, nodding toward the nativevillage; "just as if they were gone overnight and would be back in themorning."

  "I wonder," said Marian, with a little thrill, "if they will."

  An hour later, with a pole propped solidly against the door, with theboy slumbering soundly in the opposite corner, and the seal-oil lampflickering low, the girls once more gave themselves over to sleep.

  When they awoke, they found the cabin encircled by a howling whirlwindof snow, one of those wild storms that come up so suddenly in Arcticseas and as suddenly subside.

  The frozen fish, which was a large one, sufficed for both breakfast anddinner for the three of them. The boy, a bright little fellow, withthe ruddy brown cheeks of an Italian peasant boy, but with the slightsquint of eyes and flatness of nose peculiar to these natives of theNorth, watched every move they made with great interest.

  They tried from time to time, to talk to him, but he did not,apparently, know a word of English, and even to the few words of Eskimothey knew he gave no response.

  "Oh, Lucile!" Marian exclaimed at last. "Are we in Russia or America?Who is this boy? Where are his people?"

  Lucile did not reply. She was too deeply perplexed for words. But theboy, seeming to have caught something of the purport of Marian's words,tore a splinter from the board wall of the cabin, and, having held itin the blaze of the seal-oil lamp until it was charred, began to drawon the floor.

  First he drew a large circle, then a small one. Next, on the largecircle he drew lines to represent men, as children often do, a straightline for the back and one each for an arm and a leg, with a circle fora head. When he had drawn many of these, he drew a square within thesmaller circle, and within the square drew two characters to representpersons. He next drew, between the two circles, many irregularfigures. In the midst of this mass of irregular figures he drew acharacter for a person.

  He made a motion with his hand to indicate that the irregular figuresbetween the circles were in motion. Next he made a motion with hischarcoal pencil to indicate that the lone person was moving across theirregular figures between the circles. This motion was halting, as ifthe person, many times, stumbled and fell. The course of the charcoalat last reached the edge of the square, and there it drew the recliningfigure of a person.

  Lucile had watched every move intently.

  "Do you see what he is telling us?" she cried excitedly. "It is theold native way of telling stories by drawings. He has said, by the twocircles, that there are two islands, one large, one small. On thelarge one are many people--his people--on the small one, a house--thehouse we are in. Between the two islands there is floeing ice. Afigure is attempting to cross the ice. He is that one. He falls manytimes, but at last reaches the island and this house."

  "And," said Marian, "probably the people, many of them, live on thisisland. They were probably over there when the ice came. The
y did notdare to attempt to cross. When the floe is steady and solid, as itwill be after this storm, then they will cross. And then--" she paused.

  "Yes, and then?" said Lucile, huskily.

  With the setting of the sun, the wind fell. The snow-fog drifted awayand the moon came out. Lucile crept out of the cabin and went insearch of some new form of food. She found the spare-ribs of a sealhanging over a pole on one of the caches. It seemed fairly fresh, andwhen a piece was set simmering over the seal-oil lamp it gave forth anappetizing odor.

  The two girls stood by the window as the food cooked. They werelooking out over the sea, which was now a solid mass of ice.

  "I almost believe I can catch the faint outline of that other island,"said Lucile.

  "Yes, I think you can," said Marian. "But what was that?" She grippedher companion's arm.

  "What?" said Lucile.

  "I--thought--yes, there it is; out there to the right. Some darkobject moving among the ice-cakes."

  "Yes, now I see it. And there's another and another. Yes, perhapstwenty or more. What can they be?"

  "Men--and--dogs," said Marian, slowly. "The tribe is coming home."There was a little catch in her voice. Every muscle in her body wastense. They were far from their homes, not knowing where they were;and these people, a strange, perhaps wild, tribe of savages.

  Then there came to Marian the words of the great bishop: "Humanity isvery much the same everywhere," and for a time the thought comfortedher.

  They remained there standing in full view in the moonlight, watchinguntil the men could be distinguished from the dogs; until the wholecompany, some fifty or more people, left the ice and began to climb theslope that led to the village.

  But now they all stopped. They were pointing at the cabin, some ofthem gesticulating wildly.

  After a time they came on again, but this time much more slowly. Intheir lead was a wild-haired man, who constantly went through the weirddance motions of these native tribes; weird, wild calisthenics theywere, a thrusting out of both hands on this side, then that, a bowing,bending backward, leaping high in air. And now they caught the soundof the witch song they were all chanting:

  "I--I--am--ah! ah! ah! I--I--I ah! ah! ah!"

  As they neared the cabin Lucile turned away.

  "I--I think," she said unsteadily, "we had better bar the door."

  At that she lifted the heavy bar and propped it against the door.