Even now she was not sorry they had come, but it was unfortunate, she thought, that there were no rifles on their sleds. Ad-loo-at had taken with him only an old-fashioned native lance, a sharp steel point set upon a long wooden handle. That was all the weapon they had and, foot by foot, yard by yard, the gaunt, gray marauder was coming closer. Marian fancied she could hear the chop-chop of his frothing jaws.
Then, suddenly came catastrophe. With the mad perversity of his kind, her sled deer, suddenly turning from his position beside the sled, whirled about in a wide, sweeping circle which threatened to overturn her sled and leave her alone, defenseless against the hungry pack.
It was a terrible moment. Gripping the ropings of the sled with one hand, she tugged at the jerk-rein with the other.
“It’s no use,” she cried in despair; “I can’t turn him.”
One glance down the trail turned her heart faint; her sled-deer was now racing almost directly toward the oncoming pack, the gray leader not a hundred yards away.
In desperation, she threw herself from the sled, and, grasping at some dwarf willows as she slid, attempted to check the career of the mad deer. Twice her grip was broken, but the third time it held; the deer was brought round with a wrench which nearly dislocated her shoulder.
And now the deer for the first time scented danger. With a wild snort he turned to face the oncoming foe. A large deer with all his scraggly antlers might hold a single wolf at bay, but this deer’s antlers had been cut to mere stubs that he might travel more lightly. With such weapons he must quickly come to grief.
It was a tragic moment. Marian searched her brain for a plan. Flight was now out of the question, yet defense seemed impossible; there was not a weapon on her sled.
Suddenly her heart leaped for joy. The fight was to be taken from her hand. Ad-loo-at, with the faithful oversight which he exercised over those entrusted to his care, having seen all that had happened had whirled his deer about, tied it to Lucile’s sled and now came racing over the snow. He swung above his head the trusty native lance which had meant defeat to so many wild beasts in the days of long ago.
But what was this? Instead of dashing right at the enemy, the Eskimo boy was coming straight for the reindeer and on the opposite side from that on which the wolf was approaching.
“He doesn’t see the leader,” Marian groaned. “He thinks the rest of the pack are all there are.”
But in another second she knew this to be untrue, for, stooping low, the boy appeared to go on all fours as he glided over the snow; he was stalking the wolf even as the wolf was stalking the deer.
Realizing that the wolf was planning to attack the deer and not her, Marian set herself to watch a spectacle such as she would seldom witness in a lifetime.
She had often seen the antics of the Eskimo and Chukche hunters as they performed in the cosgy (common workroom) during the long Arctic nights. She had seen them go through this gliding motion which Ad-loo-at practiced now. She had seen them turn, leap in the air and kick as high as their heads with both feet, landing again on their feet with a smile. She had admired these feats, which no white boy could do, but had thought them only a form of play. Now she was beginning to realize that they were part of the training for just such emergencies as this.
Now her eyes were on the wolf, and now on the boy. As the wolf approached she cringed back to the very end of her jerk-line. She saw his red tongue lolling, heard the chop-chop of his iron jaws and caught the wicked gleam of his eyes.
The boy appeared to time his pace, for he came on more slowly. The deer, still facing the wolf, gave forth a wild snort of rage. He appeared to be unconscious of the fact that he was as defenseless as his driver.
Now the wolf was but a few yards away. Suddenly, pausing, he sprang quickly to the right, to the left, then to the right again. Before the deer could recover his bewildered senses, the wolf leaped full for his side.
But someone else leaped too. With a marvelous spring, the Eskimo boy landed full upon the reindeer’s back. Coming face to face with the surprised and enraged wolf, he poised his lance for the fatal thrust. But at that instant, with a bellow of fear, the deer bolted.
In wild consternation Marian tugged at the skin-rope. In another moment she had the deer under control and turned to witness a battle royal. The Eskimo had been thrown from the deer’s back, but, agile as a cat, he had landed upon his feet and had turned to face the enemy. He was not a moment too soon, for with a snarl of fury the wolf was upon him.
For a fraction of a second the lance gleamed. Came a snarl, half of rage, half of fear, as the wolf fell backward. But he was on his feet again. It was to no purpose. All was over in an instant. Long practice with the lance had given the boy power to baffle his enemy and send the lance straight to the wild beast’s heart.
“Come,” Marian was startled by the sound of his voice at her side. She had managed to retain her hold on the jerk-rein. She now felt it being taken from her, knew that she was being lifted onto the sled and, the next moment, sensed the cool breeze that fanned her cheek. They were racing away to join Lucile and to continue their journey.
As she looked back, she saw the cowardly pack snarling over the bones of their fallen leader, and realizing that all danger was past, settled down in her place with a sigh as she said:
“That—that was a very close one.”
“Too much close,” Ad-loo-at smiled back. “In north we must go—how you say it—pre—pre—”
“Prepared,” supplemented Marian. “We’ll never travel again without rifles.”
“Oh! yes. Mebbe,” the boy smiled back. “Mebbe all right. Mebbe rifle miss fire. Him never miss fire.” He patted first his lance, then the muscles of his strong right arm. “Better prepared think mine.”
Marian smiled as the brown boy ran ahead to free his own deer and prepare to continue the journey. “Surely,” she thought, “physical fitness is a great thing. The boy has paid us well for fighting his battles for him on Puget Sound.”
No further adventures befell them on their journey, but it was with thankful hearts that they saw the familiar outlines of the village at East Cape. As the reindeer came to a stop they sprang from their sled, but Ad-loo-at made no move to follow them. “Me—I go back,” he said gravely. “You safe—I no stay.”
“But you must rest—and eat,” remonstrated Lucile. “And the reindeers, they need rest.”
“Huh,” came the answer, with a shrug. “Better time to rest when all work is done. Me young; reindeers young—we rest at camp.”
“But you must wait till I—I—well, there is something that I—that you—” Lucile fumbled for the right words. She sensed that the boy, for all his youth, had a grown-up way of looking at things. There was that talisman she had carried ever since that night he had left them there on the island of Puget Sound—the three elk teeth set with jade and an uncut diamond. “Don’t let him go, Marian, till I come back.”
She darted into their igloo, to return an instant later, the odd jewel gleaming in her hand. At sight of it a smile spread over Ad-loo-at’s face. “Ch—k!” he chuckled.
“You must take it back,” Lucile demanded.
The boy threw back his head and laughed boisterously. “It is a charm,” he said. “Can one Chukche take back a charm? It will keep you—what you say?—safe, yes. Me, I have this.” He held up his lance.
“But you must,” urged Marian in turn.
“Must—hear you that, reindeer. Heya! let us go!” He waved his lance aloft in farewell. “Heya—mush!” he commanded, and the three reindeer broke into the untiring stride that would soon carry them from sight. The two girls stood watching him till, with a last wave of his hand, he disappeared around a hill. Then, alone again, they thought of Phi.
“I wonder if he has gone on without us,” said Marian.
“I wonder. No, there he is!” exclaimed Lucile. “He’s coming down the hill to meet us.”
“Are—are we too late?” Lucile faltered as he reached
their side.
“About six hours, I should say,” Phi grinned.
“Six hours?”
“His nibs, the old Chukche guide, left for Cape Prince of Wales and all suburban points some six hours ago. Some one offered him more money than I did. I have a fancy it was your friend, the bearded miner who wanted my mail.”
“And—and you waited for us?”
“Naturally, since the guide left.”
“But you could have gone sooner?”
“Some three days, I’m told.”
“But you didn’t?”
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
Marian’s head whirled. She was torn between conflicting emotions. Most of all, she felt terribly ashamed. Here was a boy she had not fully trusted, yet he had given up a chance to escape to freedom and had waited for them.
“I—I beg your pardon,” she said weakly. She sat down rather unsteadily on the reindeer sled.
“We couldn’t help it,” she said presently. “They just wouldn’t bring us back. Isn’t there some other way?”
“I’ve thought of a possible one. I’ll make a little try-out. Be back in an hour.”
Phi was off like a flash. A few minutes later the girls thought they heard him calling old Rover, who had been left in his care.
“Wonder what he wants of him?” said Lucile.
“I don’t know,” said Marian. “But I do know I’m powerful hungry. Let’s go find something to eat.”
CHAPTER X
FINDING THE TRAIL
“I think we can go.” Phi smiled as he spoke. His hour for a try-out had expired. He was back.
“Can—can we cross the Straits?” Marian asked, breathless with emotion.
“I think so.”
“How?”
“Got a new guide. I’ll show you. Be ready in a half-hour. Bring your pictures and a little food. Not much. Wear snowshoes. Ice is terribly piled up.”
He disappeared in the direction of his own igloo.
Marian looked about the cozy deerskin home where were stored their few belongings, then gazed away at the masses of deep purple shadows that stretched across the imprisoned ocean. For a moment courage failed her.
“Perhaps,” she said to herself, “it would be better to try to winter here.”
But even as she thought this, she caught a vision of that time when she and her companion had been crowded out of a native village to shift for themselves. Then, too, she thought of the possible starving-time in the spring, after the white bear had gone north and before walrus would come, or trading schooners.
“No,” she said out loud, “no, we’d better try it.”
When the girls joined Phi on the edge of the ice-floe, they looked about for the guide but saw none. Only Rover barked them a welcome.
“Where’s the guide?” asked Lucile.
“You’ll see. C’m’on,” said the boy, leading the way.
For a mile they traveled over the solid shore-ice. They then came to a stretch of water, dark as midnight. At the edge of this was a two-seated kayak.
Phi motioned Lucile to a seat. Deftly, he paddled her across to the other side. It was with a sinking feeling that she felt herself silently carried toward the north by the gigantic ice-floe.
Marian and the dog were quickly ferried over. Then, after drawing the kayak upon the ice, the boy turned directly north and began walking rapidly. At times he broke into a run.
“Have to make good time,” he explained as he snatched Marian’s roll of sketches from her hand. “Got to get the trail.”
They did make good time. Alternately running and walking, they kept up a pace of some six or seven miles an hour.
“Why, I thought—thought we were going to go east,” puffed Marian. “We’re just going down the beach.”
Phi did not answer.
They had raced on for nearly an hour when they suddenly came upon a kayak drawn up as theirs had been on the ice.
“Ah! I thought so,” said the boy. “Now’s the time for a guide. Here, Rover!”
He seized the dog by his collar and set him on the invisible trail of the men who had deserted that kayak. The dog walked slowly away, sniffing the ice as he went. His course was due east. The three followed him in silence. Presently his speed increased. He took on an air of confidence. With tail up, ears back, he sniffed the ice only now and then as he dashed over great, flat pans, then over little mountains of broken ice, to emerge again upon flat surfaces.
Marian understood, and her admiration for Phi grew. He had found the trail of the men who had crossed the Straits before them. He had put Rover on that trail. Rover could not fail to follow. The trail was fresh, only seven hours old. Rover could have followed one as many days old.
“Good old Rover,” Marian murmured, “good old Rover, a white man’s dog.”
All at once a question came to her mind. They had been obliged to go several miles north to pick up the trail. This was due to the movement of the floe. This movement still continued. It was carrying them still farther to the north. The Diomede Islands, halfway station of the Straits, were small; they offered a goal only two or three miles in length. If they were carried much farther north, would they not miss the islands?
She confided her fears to Phi.
“I thought of that,” he smiled. “There is a little danger of that, but not much, I guess. You see, I’ll try to time our rate of travel, and figure out as closely as I can when we have covered the eighteen miles that should bring us even with the islands. Then, too, old Rover will be losing the trail about that time. When that bearded friend of yours and his guide leave the floe to go upon the solid shore ice of the islands, the floe is going to keep right on moving north. That breaks the trail, see? When we strike the end of that trail we can go due south and hit the islands. If the air is at all clear, we can see them. It’s a clumsy arrangement, but better than going it without a trail.”
Marian did “see,” but this did not entirely still the wild beating of her heart as she leaped a yawning chasm between giant up-ended cakes of ice, or felt her way cautiously across a strip of newly-formed ice that bent under her weight as if it were made of rubber.
It was with a strange, wild thrill that she realized they were far out over the conquered sea. Hundreds of feet below was the bed of Bering Straits. Above that bed a wild, swirling current of frigid salt water raced.
Once, as they were about to cross a stretch of new ice, Phi threw himself flat and hacked a hole through the ice. Water bubbled up, while Marian caught the wild surging rush of the current.
For a second her knees trembled, her face blanched. Phi saw and smiled.
“Never fear,” he exclaimed; “we’ll make it all right. And when you get back home you’ll have a story to tell that will make Eliza’s crossing on the ice seem like a picnic party crossing a trout stream on stepping-stones.”
It was not long after that, however, when even this daring boy’s face sobered. Old Rover, who had been following the trail unhesitatingly, suddenly came to a halt. He turned to the right, sniffing the ice. Then he turned to the left. After that he looked up into the face of the boy, as if to say:
“Where’s the trail gone?”
Phi examined the ice carefully.
“Been a sudden jam here,” he muttered; “then the ice has slid along, some north, some south. It has all happened since our friends passed this way. You just wait here. I’ll take Rover to the north and let him pick up the trail. When I find it, I’ll come back far enough to call to you. May be to the south, though, but we’ll soon see.”
He disappeared around a giant ice-pile and, in a twinkling, was lost to view.
The two girls, placing their burdens of food and Marian’s sketches on an up-ended ice-cake, sat down to wait. They were growing weary. The strain of the adventure into this puzzling, unknown ice-field was telling on their nerves.
“I wish we were safe at Cape Prince of Wales,” sighed Marian.
“Yes, or even East C
ape,” said Lucile. “I think I’d be content to stay there and chance the year with the natives.”
“Anyway, Phi’s doing his best,” said Marian. “Isn’t he a strange one, though? Do you think he has the blue envelope?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I think he has.”
“I don’t know,” Lucile said sleepily. Fatigue and the keen Arctic air were making her drowsy.
Presently, she leaned back against an ice-cake and fell asleep.
“I’ll let her sleep,” Marian mused. “It’ll give her strength for what comes next, whatever that is.”
An hour passed, but no call echoed across the silent white expanse. Marian, now pacing back and forth across a narrow ice-pan, now pausing to listen, felt her anxiety redoubled by every succeeding moment. What could have happened to Phi? Had some mishap befallen him? Had a slip thrown him into some dangerous crevice? Had thin ice dropped him to sure death in the surging undercurrent? Or had he merely wandered too far and lost his way?
Whatever may have happened, he did not return.
At length, with patience exhausted, she climbed the highest ice-pile and gazed away to the north. The first glance brought forth a cry of dismay. A narrow lane of dark water, stretching from east to west, extended as far as eye could see in each direction. It lay not a quarter of a mile from the spot where she stood.
“He’s across and can never recross to us,” she moaned in despair. “No creature could brave that undercurrent and live. And there is no other way.”
Then, as the full terror of their situation flashed upon her, she sank down in a heap and buried her face in her hands.
They were two lone girls ten miles from any land, on the bosom of a vast ice-floe, which was slowly but surely creeping toward the unknown northern sea. They had no chart, no compass, no trail to follow and no guide. To move seemed futile, yet to remain where they were meant sure disaster.
As if to complete the tragedy of the whole situation, a snow-fog drifted down upon them. Blotting out the black ribbon of water and every ice-pile that was more than a stone’s throw from them, it swept on to the south with a silence that was more appalling than had been the grinding scream of a tidal wave beneath the ice.
The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls Page 51
