Returning to the spot from which they had first shot the deer, the two boys hollowed a little cavity in the frozen snow within easy range of the dead reindeer and cuddled down cozily to await Unavik’s return or the appearance of any wild beast that might be attracted by the scent of blood. At first the land, stretching in undulating white hills to the horizon, seemed deserted, absolutely devoid of life, a desolate, barren waste. But presently the boys discovered that all about were living creatures.
A subdued twitter drew their attention to a sheltered spot under a projecting ledge. Peering intently at it, the boys saw a little flock of snow buntings and longspurs hopping about. On a low snow ridge a few rods away, a bit of the white surface moved, and a big Arctic hare rose from its hiding place and looked suspiciously about before leaping off.
Suddenly there was a frightened cry from behind them. As the boys wheeled, a great broad-winged white gyrfalcon swooped like a meteor, struck deep into the snow and, with a cloud of dazzling, glistening crystals like diamond dust swirling from his powerful wings, rose slowly with a ptarmigan grasped in his talons.
Presently from far up in the blue sky came a hoarse raucous croak. Glancing up the boys saw two tiny black specks that rapidly increased in size as two great ravens came flapping downwards. Perching upon the antlers of the dead deer they eyed the carcass suspiciously and, cocking their heads on one side, they peered in the boys’ direction as though they knew human beings were there—as no doubt they did.
“Say, if those birds start in they’ll ruin the deer,” whispered Tom.
“No, they won’t,” replied Jim. “The bodies must be frozen stiff by now. Don’t you remember Unavik told us ravens wait for some animal to tear the hide and meat and scatter bits of it about before they can eat?”
“That’s so,” agreed Tom. “Hello, look there!”
Close to the deer a shadow seemed to slip across the snow. The boys glanced up, expecting to see some big hawk or a snowy owl sailing above the valley. But the sky was unbroken by any bird. Curiously Tom and Jim stared through the narrow slits of their snow spectacles at the slowly moving, indistinct shadow. Closer and closer the thing drew to the dead deer. It seemed to have no definite outline, to be merely a faint, bluish, shapeless haze against the snow—a ghostlike thing so unreal that the boys began to think the dazzling snow had affected their eyes. Then, with a sudden motion, the shadow sprang across the snow and a little ball of white appeared upon the dark surface of the deer’s body as if by magic.
“It’s a fox!” whispered Jim. “A white fox. I’m going to shoot him.”
“Aim for his head,” cautioned Tom in a whisper, “or you’ll spoil the skin.”
Resting his rifle on the frozen ridge before him, Jim glanced through the sights. But the fox’s head was turned and he hesitated, waiting until he had a fair shot, for he knew that his soft-nosed bullet, striking the beautiful snowy body, would tear it to bits and ruin the pelt. Second after second passed and still the fox kept his head turned away from the boys as he gnawed ravenously at the edges of the bullet wound in the deer’s side, while the two ravens croaked at him in protest and cautiously hopped nearer and nearer, in the hopes of stealing a stray morsel from under the fluffy white creature’s nose.
Tom chuckled softly. “There’s the raven asking brother fox where Amook keeps his magic,” he whispered. “I can almost imagine I can understand the black rascal’s words.”
But Jim did not reply. The fox had suddenly stiffened. His head was raised. His ears were pricked forward as if listening. The ravens flapped back to their perch on the antlers. Jim’s finger pressed against the trigger. If the fox raised his head an inch higher, he would send the bullet true between the ears. And then, just as the sights were lined fair upon the round white head, the fox leaped away. There was a sound of crunching snow from the hillside and Jim, glancing around, uttered a suppressed, startled exclamation. Within fifty feet of where the boys crouched, a huge white bear was moving towards the dead deer!
“Gosh!” whispered Tom. “What luck!”
“Let’s both shoot together,” whispered Jim, his voice trembling with excitement. “We can’t miss. Aim back of the fore shoulder and when I count three, fire.”
Instantly both rifles were swung towards the big, yellowish white creature, and as for a moment he halted and his long neck moved back and forth, and his black nose sniffed the air, Jim counted; “One, two, three!” and the two guns roared out as one.
With startled hoarse croaks the raven took wing. The huge shaggy bear reared on its hind legs, pawed frantically at the air, growled, snapped his long white teeth savagely, and then lurched forward and slid a dozen feet down the hillside.
“Hurrah! we got him!” yelled Jim and leaping up the boys raced towards the fallen bear without stopping to reload their rifles.
Like a miniature mountain of shaggy white fur he lay there, a broad red splotch upon his side. The two elated boys, whooping and yelling, hurried forward. They were within a dozen feet of the enormous creature when to their horror and amazement the bear scrambled to his feet and with open jaws and savage growls sprang at them.
Uttering one wild yell of terror, the boys turned and fled up the hill for their lives. Behind them they could hear the low, menacing, awful growls and the sound of crunching snow. As they gained the summit of the ridge they turned, threw up their rifles, took quick aim and pulled the triggers.
But the hammers clicked harmlessly upon the empty shells. There was no time even to throw fresh cartridges into the chambers of their rifles. Less than twenty feet separated them from the infuriated, wounded monster. Again, yelling, they took to their heels. Then, to Tom’s brain, came a sudden remembrance, the story of Ukla and the fog which Unavik had told them, and in panting, gasping words he shouted to Jim:
“Don’t run down hill! Run along the side and then up again!”
Scarcely knowing why he did so, Jim obeyed, and winded, almost ready to drop, the boys again gained the summit of the ridge. Once more they glanced back. Tom’s ruse had worked. The bear, heavy and cumbersome, had been unable to check his own momentum as he topped the ridge and had half slid, half rolled for fifty yards down the slippery slope. But he had now turned and was once more lumbering towards them. With shaking, trembling hands they reloaded their rifles, took aim at the bear’s breast and fired.
Their shots went wild. Bits of fur flew from the bear’s back. He jerked his head to one side as a bullet nicked his cheek and then, with redoubled roars of rage and increased speed, he fairly hurled his great body up the slope.
“Gee, I wish we were magicians!” gasped Tom. “Come on—run down the hill a way and then up again. It’s our only chance!”
Once more the two exhausted boys raced down the hillside and then, quickly turning, ran to the top. But this time the bear did not follow. He was no fool and had learned a lesson. Galloping along the ridge top he was almost upon the boys before they knew it. As they glanced back and saw his drooling red mouth and great yellow fangs within arm’s reach they screamed in terror, dropped their rifles, and thinking only of escape, tore straight down the hill.
A roar behind them caused them to look back. The bear was standing upon the hill, reared upon his haunches and striking terrific sweeping blows at the rifles. Maddened with pain, all his savagery aroused, the creature was venting his anger on the guns and the boys, almost exhausted, drenched with perspiration, encumbered by their heavy fur garments, won a breathing space by the reckless abandonment of their weapons.
“We mus—must hu—hurry!” panted Jim. “May—maybe if we—if we can keep up a wh—while longer he’ll get ex—exhausted from loss of blood. C—come on, Tom. Gosh, I w—wish Unavik would come!”
Before them rose the steeper hill bordering the valley to the west and up this the boys hurried as fast as their wearied limbs would permit.
“Golly, wh—why isn’t there a ri—river he can drink up?” panted Tom whose sense of humor could not be downed even in the face of such danger. “Say, wouldn’t he ma—make a fog if he burst!”
Barely had they gained the hill top when the bear, his fury spent upon the rifles, was once more sliding and slipping down the opposite hill and the boys knew that it was only a question of minutes before he would be upon them. Near by, a ledge of rock jutted above the snow with its steep sides sheathed in ice. The boys, too utterly exhausted to run, saw in this their only hope.
“If we can get up there, perhaps he can’t reach us,” suggested Tom. “Come on, Jim. It’s our last chance.”
“But we can’t get up,” objected Jim.
“Yes, we can,” declared Tom as they hurried towards the rock. “I can climb up on your shoulders and then reach down and pull you up.”
With their last strength, the boys gained the rock. Tom clambered on Jim’s shoulders, drew himself on to the flat summit and with a desperate effort reached down and drew his companion up beside him.
And not an instant too soon. Before Jim’s feet were over the edge the bear had gained the base of the rock. He reared up, made a terrific swipe with his fore paws at Jim’s dangling feet, and the boy escaped death by an inch. Even as it was, one of the beast’s swordlike claws ripped through Jim’s moccasin and he howled with terror.
They were not yet safe. The bear, standing on his hind legs, could actually reach the edge of the rock’s summit and again and again he strove to draw himself up; growling horribly, cutting great grooves in the ice on the sides of the rock as he dug his hind claws into it. The boys huddled close and yelled each time one of the great, shaggy feet, with its three-inch claws, appeared over the edge of their refuge. Presently something of courage and confidence returned to them. Unless the bear found a grip, a crevice or a roughness on the rock for his hind feet, he could not reach them. Wounded as he was, his strength was unequal to the task of lifting his enormous weight by his front feet alone. Still, those fearful claws brought mortal terror to the boys each time they appeared. Then an idea came to Jim. Whipping out his heavy knife, he reached forward and each time a paw appeared he rapped it and slashed at it with the heavy steel blade.
Roaring until the air trembled, the bear drew back his feet and hurled himself bodily at the rock. At his second onslaught the boys’ faces grew white, their hearts seemed to stop beating. The rock moved! There was not a question of it. Instead of a solid, upjutting ledge as they had thought, it was merely a big upstanding bowlder, a loose stone frozen to the hilltop. At any moment it might crash over and throw them, injured and helpless, into the grip of the bear!
Sick with deadly fear, speechless, scarcely breathing, the boys cowered on their narrow refuge, while with each blow of the bear, the stone swayed and rocked. Each time the boys expected to feel it toppling to crash down into the snow.
Never in all their lives had such utter terror filled their hearts. They were absolutely at the bear’s mercy. The hope that his wounds might tell and that his strength would give out were groundless. He seemed as fresh, as strong and more maddened than ever. The boys felt that only their mangled bleeding bodies would remain to tell of their fate when Unavik arrived. It was awful to be killed this way—ripped and slashed and torn by the infuriated bear. Bitterly the boys regretted having remained behind to guard the bodies of the slain deer.
“I—I guess it’s all up with us,” stammered Tom, trying to choke back the lump in his throat.
“Yes, I—I only hope we—we get stunned when we fall,” replied Jim, his voice breaking. “The—then we won’t suffer so much.”
Scarcely had he spoken when the bear again threw himself at the rock. With a crackling of ice the bowlder gave and swayed perilously. The boys clutched wildly at the ice-filled crevices. They knew that one more such effort on the part of the bear would send the rock crashing over.
And then a new light came into their eyes, their hearts beat faster. From beyond the next ridge had come the sound of yelping dogs, the shrill shout of an Eskimo.
The bear, despite his rage, had heard it too. With lowered head and swaying neck he stood listening. The next instant the galloping dogs swung over the ridge. Behind them came the sledge with a fur-clad figure shouting and brandishing the long whip. At the top of their lungs the boys screamed, shouted and yelled. Forgetting their precarious position, they leaped to their feet and waved their arms. Unavik’s sharp eyes had taken in the situation at a glance. Midway in its mad career, he overturned the sledge and swung it sidewise. The dogs, suddenly arrested in their race, tumbled head over heels, and the next second, Unavik was among them, slashing through the thongs and traces and shouting commands.
Already the scent of the bear had reached the dogs’ nostrils. With stiff hairs bristling on their shoulders they hurled themselves forward. Like a pack of great, tawny wolves they came plunging towards the bear. At their heels came Unavik, his old musket in his hands. As the bear turned to face the snapping, snarling, savage ring of big dogs, the Eskimo approached within a dozen feet, raised his heavy 50-caliber Remington and fired at the bear’s broad chest.
With a gurgling roar the great beast lurched forward, struck wildly with his paws at the dogs and sank lifeless on the snow.
“Gee Christopher!” cried Tom, as the two boys scrambled from their perch. “It was lucky you came, Unavik. Another minute and we’d have been killed.”
The Eskimo grinned. “Sure Mike!” he replied. “How you feller likeum hunt bear?”
“We didn’t,” declared Jim. “He hunted us. My, but isn’t he a whopper!”
“Mos’ big all same Ukla, me say,” agreed Unavik. “Why you no killum?”
“That’s what gets me,” said Tom. “We hit him all right. Look, there back of the shoulder.”
But when the boys stooped and examined the wound they knew instantly why the bear had not died from their shots and why he had not become exhausted from the wounds. Their bullets had struck the edge of the massive shoulder blade and had glanced, tearing a great strip of hide and flesh away, splintering the edge of the bone, but inflicting no mortal injury, and not even disabling the leg. No wonder the bear had been able to chase the boys, although the shock of the bullets had temporarily knocked him out.
Hardly had the boys satisfied themselves of this when the second sledge arrived. The Eskimos gathered about, chattering and exclaiming. All agreed that it was the biggest bear they had ever seen. To carry the huge carcass to the village was impossible and so, as one of the men went with the boys to the dead reindeer, Unavik and the other Eskimo set to work to skin the bear. After having cut a haunch from the beast, and with its skin and the deer loaded on the sledge, the party started on their return to the village.
Now that it was all over and their excitement had subsided, the two boys felt weak and shaky and found it impossible to trudge through the snow. For a while they gamely stuck it out, but at last they were obliged to give in. Throwing themselves upon the sleds they lay almost as helpless and motionless as the dead animals beside them.
Great was the rejoicing in the village that night, for the death of a bear is always celebrated. The rest of the beast’s carcass had been brought in and the Eskimos gorged themselves on the meat. Throughout the night the drums throbbed, the Eskimos’ voices rose and fell in discordant chants and, grotesque in their fur garments, they danced and pranced while the dogs howled in unison.
“I’ll bet this is when the men don’t work or the women comb their hair for three days,” laughed Tom as, fully recovered from their exciting afternoon, they watched the merrymaking.
But there was a fly in the boys’ ointment, so to speak. When they had told their story to the captain he had grown serious and had told the boys that hereafter they were not to go any distance from the village alone under any circumstances.
“I’d feel nice going home and telling your folks a bear or a wolf had eaten you up, wouldn’t I?” said the skipper. “You may be owners, but I’m responsible for you, and hereafter you take one of the Eskimos and a pack of dogs with you if you stir from the village. I know you came through safely this time, but you might not be so lucky next time. And don’t you dare stay alone out there. If your Eskimo goes anywhere, you go too. Now, that’s final.”
“All right,” agreed the boys, “we’ll be careful.”
While they knew the captain was looking after their safety, it galled the two boys to think that their sled trips must be chaperoned by a native and that they were being treated like “tenderfeet,” as Tom put it. But as they looked at the enormous shaggy skin—twelve feet from nose to tail—and thought how it would look upon the polished floor of the house in Fair Haven, all else was forgotten in their pride at having secured such a trophy, and their hearts beat more quickly as vivid memories of their narrow escape from such a terrible death came to them.
Although the boys’ fathers had painted a picture of long and dreary months in the Arctic with the ship frozen in, and only the whalemen and Eskimos for company, the boys found it far from dull.
To be sure there were many days when snowstorms raged and the wind howled, and no one stirred from the long house on the deck. But even then there were things to amuse and interest the boys. A number of the native Eskimos were usually there, as well as those from Hebron, and the two lots of tribesmen were never tired of holding competitions of skill or strength. Gathered in a circle about the contestants, the whalemen and the boys would clap and applaud, shout encouragement and roar with laughter as the stocky natives struggled and strained in friendly, good-natured contests. Often a prize of tobacco, knives, clothes, or hatchets would be offered to the winner.
Many of the contests were wonderfully novel and amusing and sometimes the two boys would try their hands at them, much to the merriment of the assembled men.
One game which was a favorite with the Eskimos was a sort of tug of war. Kneeling on the deck with heads close together, the competitors would have their friends tie their necks together by a rope or thong, and then, at a signal, would strain and tug and heave, each trying his utmost to drag the other over a chalk line on the deck. Evidently there was a knack in it, aside from strength of neck muscles; for very often the smaller and weaker man would win. The boys after one or two trials decided this was too strenuous a contest.
Another game consisted of two Eskimos locking arms and legs together while perched on a third man’s back, and then trying to see who could dismount the other. Hard bumps and thumps always resulted, but the men’s heads were well padded with their mops of coarse black hair, and they always rose grinning and as good-natured as ever.
The greatest sport was to see the Eskimos attempt to box. The whalemen were always boxing, and after watching the white men for some time, the Eskimos wanted to try their skill. At their antics as they struck blindly at each other, dodged blows, ki-yied and shouted, twisted and turned, and often fell sprawling, the boys and the assembled whalemen roared until they almost choked.
But the Eskimos were apt imitators, they had unlimited perseverance, and gradually several of them began to develop skill in the use of the gloves and before long there were acknowledged champions among them. The sport-loving whalemen matched them up as lightweights, welterweights, and featherweights; for not a native could be found who, by any stretch of imagination, could be classed as a heavyweight. So interested did the crew become that several of the whalemen took to training their favorites; arguments over their respective merits grew heated, and the men bet recklessly on the results of the bouts. They even nicknamed the Eskimos, and Tom and Jim roared until their sides ached as Cap’n Pem would get excited and leaping up would pound his wooden leg on the deck and shout, “Wallop him, Dempsey! That’s a good one!” while Mike, whose favorite was a bull-necked, fat-faced, bow-legged man from Hebron whom he called Sullivan, would shout derogatory remarks about “Dempsey” and would dance wildly about the improvised ring, urging his man to the utmost.
While such things served to pass the time in bad weather and at night, the boys found far more pleasure with their dogs and their Eskimo friends ashore. Day after day they went hunting, always accompanied by Unavik or some other Eskimo. They were woefully disappointed in not finding musk oxen or another bear, but they often secured reindeer; and the pile of fox, wolf and seal skins which they reserved for themselves increased rapidly. The crew, too, went hunting, each man accompanied by an Eskimo, and each week the Narwhal’s cargo increased in value by many hundreds of dollars. Very often also the men had better luck than the boys, and several fine bearskins were brought in which spurred the boys to still greater efforts and longer trips. At last they were rewarded. They had traveled much farther than they had ever been before, following the valley of the river, and had reached a district of low, sharp hills, narrow ravines and small, rock-strewn valleys. Suddenly Unavik, who was with them, halted his dogs, peered intently at the snow, and pointed to a trampled trail leading across the valley.
“Musk ox!” he exclaimed. “Me say him feller near. Mebbe shootum.”
“Gosh, do you think we can?” cried Tom.
“Sure, Mike, mebbe,” replied the Eskimo as he unharnessed his dogs.
Cautioning the boys to be silent, Unavik crept to the top of the nearest ridge and peered about. No living thing was in sight. Then, with eyes on the tracks of the animals, he descended the ridge while the dogs, sniffing and whimpering, strained at their thongs, and the boys, thrilled with excitement, followed at the Eskimo’s heels. Along the little defile the trail led, over another ridge, through another valley, and up a third hill. “Him feller near,” declared Unavik, pointing to bare patches of rock and moss where the animals had scraped away the snow.
Very cautiously the three crawled among the ice-covered bowlders up the hill. The boys could scarcely restrain a cry of delight as they peered between the rocks and saw a dozen big, shaggy beasts pawing in the snow and nuzzling in the moss beneath.
Jim was about to raise his rifle, for the musk oxen were within easy range, when Unavik stopped him with a gesture and rapidly slipped the thongs that bound the dogs together. The next instant the huskies were bounding towards the surprised musk oxen who threw up their heads, armed with huge broad horns, snorted, and with one accord tore off up the valley.
“Gee, now we’ve lost them!” exclaimed Tom in disgust. “Why didn’t you let us shoot, Unavik?”
The Eskimo grinned but said nothing. Beckoning to the boys he turned and ran rapidly along the ridge in the direction the animals had gone. Presently, to the boys’ ears, came the barks, yelps, and growls of the dogs. Rounding a rocky hillock they came in sight of the pack, nipping and snapping at the musk oxen who had formed in a close ring with lowered threatening horns towards their enemies.
With their long, shaggy, black hair, their wild, reddened eyes and great recurved needle-pointed horns, the creatures looked very savage indeed and the dogs knew full well that death lurked in that ring of broad heads and sharp horns. These were no timid reindeer and, though the wolflike huskies now and then took chances and dashed at the snorting, stamping creatures before them, none dared approach too closely.
Suddenly one of the oxen uttered a low bellow, plunged forward and, before the dogs could retreat, the wicked horns swung to right and left, and a howling husky was tossed high in air to fall dead and bleeding on the snow.
“Golly, they’re some fighters!” exclaimed Jim in a low voice. “Come on, Tom, let’s shoot!”
But before the boys could fire, the musk oxen had scented them. Forgetting the dogs in their greater fear of human beings, they dashed off in a close-packed bunch with the huskies at their heels. Once more Unavik and the boys raced after them, and once more the dogs brought the animals to bay. This time Unavik led the way behind bowlders and snowdrifts down the wind. All unsuspected by the wild cattle, the three approached within easy range and picking out two of the biggest bulls, the boys fired.
At the double report the musk oxen again dashed off and, confused by the dogs, they came galloping, plunging, directly towards the three hunters. Before the astonished boys realized what had occurred, the great shaggy beasts were upon them. There was no time to reload and fire, no time to rise and run. Like an avalanche the stampeded creatures bore down upon the frightened boys. With lowered heads, rolling eyes, steaming nostrils and swinging horns they came. With terrified yells the boys threw themselves to one side, rolled among the rocks, and buried their heads, faces down, in the snow. All about them pounded the galloping hoofs. Tom screamed as he was struck a terrific blow and hurled aside. Over them they heard the panting breaths, the loud snorts and the low bellows of the creatures. Each second they expected to feel the sharp hooked horns ripping through their garments and their flesh.
But in an instant it was over. The musk oxen had passed; the boys were unhurt, and slowly, and with wondering expressions, they cautiously raised themselves as the pack of dogs raced by.
“Jiminy crickets!” exclaimed Jim, “I thought we were goners that time.”
“Gosh, yes!” assented Tom. “One of ’em stepped on me, but I guess these furs saved me. Say, what’s the matter with us? We didn’t kill a single one.”
“Search me,” replied Jim, “I don’t see how we missed.”
“Me say hitum, sure Mike!” cried Unavik who was searching the trampled snow where the beasts had passed.
The boys hurried to his side and glancing down, saw big splashes of crimson on the snow. Evidently they had not missed. Racing after the Eskimo they hurried as fast as they could travel towards the distant barking of the dogs. As they leaped the crest of a hummock, Unavik uttered a sharp cry, and the boys shouted with delight as they saw a big black bull lying half buried in a snow drift where he had fallen.
“We got one anyway!” cried Tom as they hurried on. “Say, we are in luck!”
Once again they found the oxen at bay and, this time when they fired, two of the creatures were left behind when the herd galloped off.
“Gee, that’s enough!” declared Jim, as panting and utterly exhausted the boys seated themselves on one of the dead oxen. “I’m all in. These clothes were never made for sprinting.”
“Get the dogs, Unavik,” said Tom. “No use in killing more. We can’t even get these three in to the village. We’ll wait here for you.”
The Eskimo started off, but there was no need for him to recall his pack. The musk oxen were thoroughly frightened and demoralized and had fled over hill and dale into the vast white waste, and the dogs, realizing that the creatures could not be brought to bay again with the scent of blood behind them, came trotting back towards the dead oxen.
It was, as Tom said, impossible to carry the three creatures to the village and so, having regained their breaths, the two boys and Unavik set to work skinning the two oxen. It was a hard slow job, but at last it was done and the boys straightened their aching backs and eased their cramped muscles.
“Well, that’s over!” exclaimed Jim. “But how on earth can we carry those skins and heads back? They weigh pretty near a ton, I’ll bet.”
Unavik grinned. “Me say plenty easy,” he remarked and rolling the skins in a bundle with the hair inside he lashed them firmly with the tough sinews from the creatures’ legs, attached his dogs to the whole and with a sharp command sent the huskies galloping over the snow with the bundle of skins sliding like a sled behind them.
“Golly, that’s easy!” cried Tom. “But I’d never have thought of it.”
With the musk ox trail to guide them, the three had no difficulty in locating the sledge and having harnessed the dogs they drove the team back to the first ox they had killed. This Unavik dressed and, after a deal of hard work, the body was loaded on the sled and the triumphant and elated boys turned towards the distant village. It was a long, hard tramp, the boys were tired, and except when traveling down a steep slope, they could not rest by leaping on to the sledge, for the dogs had all they could do to haul the vehicle with its load. But the boys did not complain. With three musk oxen to their credit they could well afford to undergo some hardship; but over and over again they were forced to halt and rest. As a result, it was nearly midnight when they at last saw the rounded igloos and the ghostly outline of the schooner in the flickering light of the aurora, and with heartfelt thanks, they reached the end of their journey.
“Where’n tarnation ye been?” demanded Cap’n Pem, who was the first to see them. “I swan, ye’ll have us all plumb crazy worryin’ over ye.”
“You needn’t have worried,” declared Tom, “Unavik was with us.”
“Shucks, he’s jes’ as bad as ye be,” declared the old whaleman. “H’ain’t got no sense ’tall. What——”
“Hello!” cried Captain Edwards, interrupting the old whaleman. “You boys are late. Just beginning to think we’d have t’ start out to search for you. Have any luck?”
“Three musk oxen,” replied Jim. “We’re pretty near starved.”
“I’ll bet ye be,” cried Cap’n Pem. “Blow me if ye ain’t reg’lar hunters. Fetched in three o’ the critters, eh? Waall, I’ll be sunk!”
As the half-famished boys ate ravenously, they told their story of the hunt to the men and officers and then, having been unanimously acclaimed the champion hunters of the ship, they crawled into their bunks, snuggled among their furs, and were instantly sound asleep.
So rapidly had the time passed that the boys could scarcely believe that half the winter was over. As Tom, on the morning after their musk ox hunt, started to write down the events of the preceding day in his diary, he uttered a surprised ejaculation.
“Gosh, Jim, it’s only two weeks till Christmas!”
“No!” exclaimed Jim. “Gee, I didn’t realize it. We’ll have to have a celebration. I wonder what they do up here.”
“Of course we celebrate,” the captain assured them when they spoke to him about the holidays. “Reckon we’d better be gettin’ ready pretty quick.”
So for the next ten days every one aboard the Narwhal was busy. There was the same delightful mystery in the air as at home; preparations for the Christmas festivities proceeded rapidly; and the boys were amazed to discover what resources the men and the schooner possessed. Mike and the carpenter worked early and late at building a miniature whaling ship to serve in place of a Christmas tree. The grinning black cook labored from morning until night—or rather from breakfast until bedtime—baking cakes and pies, making mysterious dishes, and boiling great kettles of molasses for candy, and from dinner until nearly midnight, the boys and men had glorious fun pulling the molasses candy, roasting quarts and pecks of peanuts, and popping hundreds of ears of corn. Half shyly the rough whalemen brought out clumsily wrapped packages and placed them on the pile of gifts on the chart table. Even the Eskimos seemed to catch the spirit of Christmas, and grinned and clucked and chuckled as they saw the preparations going on, for they had seen Christmas celebrations before and knew what a fine time was in store.
Two days before the great day, the completed model of the ship was set up in the deck house, and all hands busied themselves stringing the pop corn in its rigging, hanging the presents to the yards and masts, piling candy wrapped in bright-colored paper on the decks, and attaching colored candles along the bulwarks, up the shrouds, and along the yards.
“Say,” cried Jim, as the boys surveyed the completed substitute for a tree with approval. “Every one’ll have to hang up his stocking. Look at that heap of presents!”
At first the men demurred, trying to laugh off their embarrassment, but the boys insisted, the captain seconded them, Mr. Kemp added his pleas, and old Pem chuckled.
“’Spec’ I’m a ol’ fool!” he exclaimed. “But I rec’on we kin all ’ford to be kids, come Christmas. I’m a-goin’ fer to hang my stockin’!”
Stumping to his cabin, the old whaleman returned carrying a huge rabbit skin under-boot. “On’y stockin’ I got,” he declared as all burst out laughing.
“Well, b’gorra, ’tis lucky for ould Santa that yez have but wan lig thin!” cried Mike. “Faith an’ wid two av thim there’d not be a prisint for the rist av us.”
Now that Cap’n Pem had started the fun, the men quickly caught the spirit. Shouts of merriment, roars of laughter and good-natured chaffing floated over the frozen wastes from the schooner as the whalemen brought out socks, fur boots and heavy woolen stockings, and hung them in a long row along one side of the deck house, while the captain and the boys hurried back and forth filling them with bundles and packages.
Christmas day dawned clear and cold. Not a breath of wind stirred the frost filled air. The thermometer registered 45° below zero and the boys noted that the sun rose above the frozen plain of the bay at 9.30. Jumping from their bunk, the two boys ran hither and thither, wishing a “Merry Christmas” to every one. Presently the men came trooping in and seated themselves at the long table loaded with the Christmas breakfast.
The meal over, the Eskimos began to arrive, for all had been invited to spend the day aboard the schooner. Soon the deck house was packed with the grinning men and laughing girls and women all decked out in their richest furs and most elaborate costumes, every one carrying some bundle of fur or skin.
Then peanuts and pop corn were passed around, which the Eskimos munched and enjoyed hugely. Presently the captain jumped upon a chair and announced that there would be a dance. Swanson appeared with a much battered concertina, the carpenter brought out a wheezy fiddle, the ebony-skinned cook arrived with a banjo, and, to complete the orchestra, Nate produced a mouth organ.
Whatever the tune was—if tune it could be called—the boys never knew, but the men cared not a jot and seemed perfectly satisfied. Presently the deck was covered with couples, each dancing a different step, all laughing and all as happy as a crowd of youngsters. Tom and Jim roared with merriment as old Cap’n Pem seized a stout Eskimo woman and started to waltz with her. Mike took the center of the deck and executed a weird hornpipe which brought down thunderous applause, and Mr. Kemp, with blackened face and with a strip of gaudy calico wrapped about his long legs and a gay bandanna on his head, pranced up and down in a cakewalk.
Then the Eskimos had their turn. The skin drums throbbed and boomed, a man with a curious tambourinelike instrument, like a thin drum filled with pebbles, added to the din, and the natives pranced around and around, chanting a weird song, stepping high, twisting and turning and moving in intricate figures.
Then came games, followed by boxing matches, and the fun waxed fast and furious. Finally there was a tug of war, Eskimos against whalemen, and when, with wild shouts and yells, the Eskimos had pulled their rivals an inch over the chalk line and were declared the victors, Captain Edwards announced that the presents would be given out.
As he ceased speaking, there was a shout from the companionway and every one turned and gaped in astonishment, for there, pushing his way through the narrow entrance was Santa Claus! Even the boys were surprised, for Santa had been kept a profound secret. Clad in a suit of brown wolfskin with ermine trimming, and with big sealskin boots on his feet, the fat little fellow beamed upon all through his voluminous white whiskers of bearskin, and entering the deck house, tossed down his heavily loaded pack and brushed the snow from his sleeves and shoulders.
At first no one recognized him, but at his first words a roar of merriment burst from every one’s lips. “Had a everlastin’ tough time a-gettin’ to ye, clean up here!” he cried, striving ludicrously to disguise his voice. “But I reckon I brung presents fer all.”
“B’ the saints, ’tis the fursst toime Oi iver see a wan-ligged Santa!” chuckled Mike. “But sure ’tis a foine wan he do be afther makin’ at that.”
Rapidly the presents were distributed. There were comfort bags for each member of the crew, every bag containing buttons, thread, wax, combs salve, thimbles, pins and a small mirror. Every Eskimo woman received a bundle of bright-colored cloth and a little package of beads. The girls were given bead necklaces and gold plated rings. Each native boy got a shiny new jackknife, and every Eskimo man received a file and a plug of tobacco. Then the presents piled around the ship were distributed, and finally the men, sheepishly and flushing like children, received their well filled stockings and giggled and snickered like schoolgirls as they unwrapped the packages.
The Eskimos had done their part also. The men and boys were fairly loaded down with moccasins, fur boots, carved ivory curios, selected skins and similar things, while the natives were mad with delight over the powder and lead, the matches, the hatchets and knives, and the brass and iron they received.
Then came dinner, and such a dinner! There was a roast haunch of reindeer, bear chops, musk ox steaks, roast ptarmigan and potted hare. Even the cranberry sauce was there, with mince and pumpkin pies, and to cap the climax, a great steaming plum pudding which the grinning cook brought triumphantly in with its brandy sauce ablaze.
And the Eskimos at their table also had a feast. The dainties so appreciated by the white men held no attractions for the natives, and so their feast consisted of canned fruits, thick tinned milk, and, to their minds best of all, vast quantities of lard and oleomargarine. Not until midnight did the celebration end. When the last Eskimo had departed and eight bells pealed through the night, all vowed that this Christmas in the Arctic was the jolliest one they had ever known.
One morning Tom came on deck, glanced ashore and rubbed his eyes. He could hardly believe what he saw. Beyond the igloos, several of the Eskimos were busily putting up a skin tent on the shore.
“Golly, Jim!” he cried to his cousin. “Look, there—they must know that spring’s coming. They’re putting up their skin tents.”
“Cricky, so they are!” exclaimed Jim. “Say, I didn’t know spring came so early.”
“Won’t be here for some spell yet,” laughed Mr. Kemp who had overheard the boys. “You’re rushing the season. Getting tired of winter?”
“Not a bit of it,” declared Tom. “We’re having a bully time and I wouldn’t mind being frozen in here for six months more. But if spring’s not near, why are they moving ashore and putting up the skin tents?”
“Going to mend some clothes,” replied the second officer.
“Oh, say, you must think we’re easy,” laughed Jim. “They could mend clothes in the igloos, couldn’t they? What’s the joke?”
“No joke,” Mr. Kemp assured him. “And of course they could mend clothes in the igloos—only they don’t think so. That is, some kinds. You see, these Eskimos believe there’s a water god and a land god—sorta spirit I reckon—and each one’s boss of the critters where he reigns. So they think if they mend clothes made of sea critters’ skins on shore, the water spirit’ll be peeved, and if they mend things made of land animals’ hides on the ice, t’other god’ll be vexed. I’ll bet, if you was over to that tent, you’d find the old lady sewin’ at a shirt or somethin’ made of bear or reindeer or fox, or some other land thing’s hide.”
“Well, that is the funniest thing yet,” declared Tom. “Come on, Jim, let’s go and see.”
They found that it was exactly as Mr. Kemp had said. Inside the tent, two of the Eskimo women were busily mending some garments which the boys at once saw were made of wolf and deer skins. This discovery aroused their interest and all of their spare time was spent questioning the Eskimos about beliefs and habits. The two boys learned a great number of most interesting things. All of these they recorded in their notebooks, and once, as Tom was busily writing down a folklore story, Newilic, who had been watching him, asked what he was doing. Tom explained as best he could and the Eskimo grinned. Then, asking Tom to let him take the book, the Iwilic[3] grasped the pencil in his fist, screwed up his mouth, bent his eyes close to the paper, and commenced to draw several pictures. Presently he handed the book back to Tom and as the boys saw what the Eskimo had drawn they roared with laughter. There, unmistakable and indescribably quaint and funny, were the birds and animals of the story with a stiff-jointed, woodeny Eskimo among them.
From that time on the boys had Newilic illustrate all the stories they recorded, and the result was a collection of the most fascinating pictures they had ever seen. Both boys declared they would have them bound and the stories printed with them as soon as they reached home.
Of course the two boys never lost their interest in hunting and one day, when out for meat for the schooner’s table, Jim killed an Arctic hare, and picking him up, was amazed to see that he was speckled with brown.
“Hurrah!” he shouted to Tom. “Now I know spring’s coming. The hares are getting brown.”
“Perhaps Amook forgot to rub his hands all over him,” laughed Tom. “You know one swallow doesn’t make a summer, and I don’t believe one hare with brown spots makes a spring. Let’s get another one and see if he’s the same way.”
But oddly enough, now that the boys wanted a hare, there were none to be found. Finally, tiring of searching for them, the two turned back. As they crossed a little swale, a pair of ptarmigan fluttered up and Tom bagged them.
“Gosh, I guess you’re right,” he cried as he picked up the birds. “These fellows have got brown feathers on them.”
“Yep, ain’t no doubt of it,” declared Cap’n Pem when the boys returned to the schooner and showed the brown feathers and hairs to the old whaleman. “Can’t fool these here critters, by gum! I’ll bet ye, ye’ll see the geese a-honkin’ back afore long.”
Despite the fact that the hare and the ptarmigan, as well as many other creatures the boys brought in, were all assuming their summer coats of gray and brown, there was no let up in the biting wind. Snow storms came and piled the drifts higher, and the thermometer hovered around the thirty or forty mark below zero.
Then one day the boys came on deck to find a soft wind blowing from the south, water was dripping from the icicles on the Narwhal’s rigging, the sky was clear and blue, and there was an unmistakable feel of spring in the air. Day after day the south wind blew, and the sky was cloudless and though the nights were cold, the ice and snow thawed rapidly during the short days. One morning a faint, faraway sound caused the boys to look up, and they saw a little V-shaped string of black specks winging swiftly across the sky.
“There are the geese!” cried Tom. “I guess spring really is here.”
Evidently the Eskimos were of the same mind, for they were all busy, erecting skin tents and moving their household belongings from the igloos to their new homes. Before long the low, rounded houses of ice were deserted.
“Looks like the ice might break up pretty soon,” remarked Captain Edwards. “That is, if this weather holds. What do you think, Pem?”
The old whaleman squinted at the sky, sniffed the wind and scratched his head. “I reckon ’twill,” he replied at last. “But I’ll be sunk if I hanker arter a early thaw. Mos’ gin’rally there’s a’ all-fired, dod-gasted freeze arterwards an’ the ice buckles an’ raises Sam Hill. I’ve seen many a good ship stove an’ sent to Davy Jones by a freeze arter the ice breaks. No, sir, gimme a late spring an’ no danger of it a-freezin’ solid arterwards.”
“Hmm,” muttered the skipper. “Yep, I know that, Pem, but if the ice breaks we’ll clear it away about the schooner and then she’d ought to stand it. Clear water’ll freeze smooth black ice and won’t do any harm.”
“Mebbe ye will, an’ mebbe ye won’t,” grumbled the old man. “Course I ain’t a-lookin’ fer trouble but I’ll bet ye we git it.”
A few days after this conversation the boys were wakened by a report like a cannon and started up. “What’s that?” cried Tom.
“Ice breakin’ up,” called back Mr. Kemp from the next berth. “Reckon she’ll be a-goin’ good by to-morrow.”
Throughout the rest of the night the crackling reports, dull crashes and sharp detonations woke the boys a score of times, and when they reached the deck the next morning, they gazed with amazement at the vast plain of white that marked the bay. Where yesterday it had been solid ice—rough, hummocky and rugged—it was now broken, and cracked in every direction. Narrow strips of dark water could be seen here and there, and the mass rose and fell in undulations like the swell of the ocean.
“Hurrah! it’s broken!” cried Tom. “Now we’ll soon be getting away.”
It did indeed look as though the bay would soon be cleared of ice, for the tide or current and the wind were slowly but surely moving the ice away from the land. Already a stretch of fifty feet of water separated the igloos from the shore, and along the beach tiny waves were lapping at the shingle. For the first time in many months, the boys felt the schooner gently rising and falling beneath their feet. But Tom and Jim did not know the treacherous Arctic weather. Two nights later they were aroused by shouts and cries, the sound of hurrying feet, and crashing shivering blows that shook the schooner from stem to stern. At first they thought the Narwhal had gone adrift and was on the rocks. Hurrying into their garments they rushed on deck to gaze upon a terrific, wild and magnificent sight. The wind had shifted and was blowing half a gale from the east and the broken ice, that had been drifting out of the bay for the past three days, was now being driven back.
Tossing on the waves, the great masses of gleaming ice came in, grinding together, crashing like thunder as one collided with another, bumping and roaring as they lifted and fell upon the seas. In a vast solid rampart, the upended jagged cakes were approaching the Narwhal, and already she was surrounded by scores of the cakes—huge, sharp-edged bits of floe twenty feet or more in thickness, and hurled like battering rams by wind and waves.
Instantly, the boys realized the peril the schooner was in. Each time a great cake was flung against the stout ice sheathing of her hull, the Narwhal shivered and trembled. It seemed impossible that any vessel could withstand the steady buffeting, the constant impacts, of the tossing cakes.
Shouting, and yelling, the men and the Eskimos labored, striving to ward off the ice with poles, by lowering great rope fenders over the sides, and by paying out cable, but their puny efforts made no impression on the irresistible oncoming ice. Presently, however, the boys noticed that there were fewer shocks, that the blows seemed less severe and then they saw the reason. The first cakes of ice had reached the shore, others had piled upon them, back of these the oncoming ice was checked and, unable to move farther, the countless thousands of heaving, crashing, grinding cakes were jammed together and the schooner was locked fast in their embrace.
“Gosh! that was a narrow escape!” cried Jim. “But I guess we’re all right now.”
“All right!” burst out Mr. Kemp. “Here’s where we’re a-goin’ to get it good an’ plenty. If the Narwhal ain’t stove it’ll be nothin’ short of a miracle.”
For a moment the boys could not see where the danger lurked and every one was too busy to answer the questions they longed to ask. But presently they understood. The gale, the heavy seas outside the bay and the tide were all pushing with terrific force against that vast mass of millions of tons of ice, and the schooner was gripped within it as in the jaws of a titanic vise. Only her hull of oak and pine, a mere egg shell in that stupendous field of ice, lay between the cakes, and no fabric built by human hands could withstand that awful pressure.
With sickening creaks the timbers and planks began to give. With horrified eyes the boys saw the stout sides and bulwarks bending and buckling inwards. The heavy oak rail parted, splintered and ripped like a match stick. With a report like a gunshot the decks sprang into the air and rose in a steep hill-like ridge above the shattered bulwarks.
“Gosh, Jim, it’s all over with the old Narwhal!” cried Tom, scarcely able to realize that the stout old schooner had met her fate at last. “Now what will we do?”
Even as he spoke the boys were thrown headlong on to the ripped deck and with a terrific lurch the schooner’s stern reared high in air. She careened terribly, and a moment later was lying almost on her beam ends on the top of the floe which had forced its way beneath her keel. Captain Edwards, old Pem and Mr. Kemp were shouting and yelling orders while the Eskimos who had seen their plight from the shore came hurrying over the ice to help. Soon every one was laboring like mad, unloading the cargo, getting out stores and supplies and preparing to desert the schooner, for all knew, that should the wind shift and the ice go out, the Narwhal would plunge to the bottom like a lump of lead.
Rapidly the casks of oil, the bales of whalebone, the bundles of skins, and the sacks of walrus ivory were lowered over the schooner’s sides. In a constant stream the Eskimos’ sledges went back and forth between the stove schooner and the shore, carrying the salvaged goods which were piled in a great mound well back from the beach.
At last everything movable had been saved. The spars and sails, the chains and cables, the blocks and tackle and the running rigging were stripped from the Narwhal and with lumber hastily torn from the long deck house a shed was built over the pile of valuables and supplies.
“Gee, we’re marooned here now,” cried Jim when the last sledge had come from the schooner and her sorrowing crew had tramped over the hummocky ice and stood gazing at the pitiful-looking ship which had served them so well.
“Reckon we won’t have to stay here long,” said Captain Edwards. “The Ruby’s up to Nepic Inlet and, if we can make her, we’ll be all right.”
“The Ruby?” queried Tom. “What’s she?”
“Little brigantine out o’ Nova Scotia,” replied the skipper. “Bluenose sealer. Guess her skipper’ll be willin’ to come in here an’ pick up this stuff of ourn an’ give us a lift to port.”
“But how can we get to her?” asked Jim.
“Sleds,” replied the captain. “’Tain’t over a hundred miles by land to the inlet an’ we can make it all right. Snow’s still good enough for sleddin’.”
Since another warm spell and a thaw might arrive at any moment, and make it impossible to travel over the slushy snow, no time was to be lost. Within two hours from the time the crew had come ashore, all were on their way across the snow-covered land toward Nepic Inlet and the Ruby.
Leading the party was Amaluk, with his sledge laden with necessities, the men’s personal belongings, food, and supplies. Behind him came team after team and the schooner’s men and officers. In the rear were the two boys with their own dog team, their sledge laden with their trophies, and with Unavik a few paces ahead of them.
Although the snow had been softened by the warm spell, the change in wind and temperature had frozen a hard crust upon it, and sledding was easy and rapid. But the heavily loaded sledges broke through here and there and the boys, bringing up the rear, found that they could travel far easier by swinging to one side on to the unbroken crust. Often, for several miles, they were out of sight of the others, for they made detours around hills and deep drifts and once or twice stopped to shoot game. They had no fear of going astray for the shrill shouts of the Eskimos, the cracking of whips, and the yelps of the dogs were borne plainly to them on the strong easterly wind.
They had traveled in this way for several hours when Tom, who was running ahead, halted and signaled the dogs to stop. “Look here, Jim,” he cried, “there are reindeer near. See, here’s where they’ve been scraping away the snow and feeding.”
“Golly, that’s so,” assented Jim as he saw the bits of moss on the white surface and the bare spots where the animals had pawed away the snow from a deep bed of moss.
“Let’s go after them!” suggested Tom. “They may be near, and Captain Edwards said to get meat if we could, to help out the provisions.”
“Better not,” cautioned Jim. “You know he told us not to go off alone.”
“But that was different,” argued Tom. “He meant not to go off on long trips. There’s no danger in this. We can’t get lost. It’ll be dead easy to find the others’ trail, or follow our own back. See, it’s plain as can be.”
“No, I guess there’s no danger of that,” admitted Jim. “All right, come on, but if we don’t find the deer soon, we’ll have to come back.”
Urging their dogs forward, the boys followed the deer’s trail and presently, by the dogs’ yelps and growls and the way they strained at their traces, the boys knew they were on a fresh scent, and that the deer could not be far away. The trail led up a narrow circuitous valley, and as the marks of the reindeer’s hoofs became more and more distinct, and the bits of moss where the animals had stopped to feed were fresher, the boys knew they were nearing the herd, and halted their dogs.
“Let’s look over that ridge before we go farther,” suggested Tom. “They may be in the next hollow.”
Crawling up the low ridge, the boys peered over and to their joy saw a dozen reindeer lying down and resting. Hurrying to the dogs, the boys unharnessed them, looped the neck thongs together and led the pack to near the summit of the hill. Then, unleashing them, they let them go. With loud barks and growls the dogs rushed down at the surprised deer.
Leaping to their feet the reindeer, as always, formed a defensive ring, and while they were busy keeping off the snapping dogs, the boys slipped around the hill to get within easy range. So intent were the deer upon their four-footed enemies that the boys crept within fifty yards and brought down two of the creatures. It was almost as simple and as little sport as killing domestic cattle but the boys were out after meat and not for sport and, having all they needed, they ran towards the herd, yelling and shouting.
Instantly the survivors turned and fled, and the dogs, after chasing them a short distance, came loping back to the dead deer.
“We can’t carry both these, as they are,” said Tom. “And we can’t afford to waste them. Let’s dress them and leave the heads and horns. We have better ones than these and the meat’s what we want most.”
“Guess we’ll have to,” agreed Jim, and at once the two set to work.
Although the boys had assisted Unavik and the other Eskimos in dressing deer and musk oxen, they had never before tried it alone and they soon found that it was a hard and difficult undertaking. The deer were heavy, the boys were no expert butchers and the time passed more rapidly than they imagined.
As they finished the first deer and with grunts of satisfaction stood up and looked about, they noticed for the first time that the sky was overcast, that heavy dun-gray clouds were scudding low overhead, and that the wind had increased.
“Gee, I guess it’s going to storm!” exclaimed Jim. “Don’t you think we’d better leave the other deer?”
“Why?” asked Tom. “If it does storm, it won’t make any difference. We’re not two miles from the trail, and we can make it in a few minutes. Come on, let’s get busy on this other fellow. If it storms it will be all the easier to catch up with the other sledges. They’re slower than we are and may have to stop.”
Once more the boys bent over the deer, cutting and dressing the big carcass, and they had almost finished when a few big snowflakes dropped upon the animal’s hide.
“Golly, it’s snowing!” exclaimed Jim. “Say, we’ve got to hurry!”
The snow was falling thick and fast by the time the deer was dressed. Bending to the force of the wind, the boys called to their dogs and started for the sledge.
And then they realized that they had made a fatal blunder. All intent upon dressing the deer they had forgotten to knot the dogs’ thongs together, the animals had been eating their fill of the offal from the deer, and instinctively knowing a storm was approaching, they were running nervously about, sniffing the air and whining.
At Tom’s call, two of the dogs, old huskies who had been long trained to obedience, came trotting to him, but the others kept their distance.
“Come on, we’ll have to get them,” cried Jim, as the boys knotted the thongs of the two together. “Gosh, we were boobs not to have fastened them!”
But as soon as the boys started towards the dogs, the animals turned, dashed away with tails between their legs and growled savagely.
“Confound them!” cried Tom, and yelling a command in Eskimo he made a rush at the nearest dog.
With a sharp bark, and baring his teeth, the creature leaped away and then, lifting his head in air, he uttered a long wolflike howl and galloped off over the hill with the pack at his heels.
The boys looked at each other with real fear upon their features.
“They’ve gone!” exclaimed Tom. “Now we are in a fix.”
“We’ll have to leave the deer and the sledge and hike it,” declared Jim. “Maybe these two dogs can lead us to the trail.”
It was their one chance and urging the dogs on, the boys started back over the trail of their sledge. But presently they were again at a loss. The rapidly falling snow had now covered the runner marks, the dogs seemed confused and ranged back and forth, and the boys grew more and more frightened. Then one of the dogs gave a glad yelp and with noses to the snow they strained at the leading thongs.
“It’s all right!” shouted Tom. “The dogs have picked up the trail!”
“Well, they’re going in exactly the opposite direction I think they should have gone,” declared Jim. “But I suppose they know.”
Over low hills and through valleys the dogs led the boys while the blizzard raged. To the frightened and nervous lads it seemed as if they had covered twice the distance they had come when the dogs barked loudly, sniffed the air and tugged harder than ever at the leash.
“Guess the others are near now!” panted Tom, striving to keep pace with the dogs. “They smell something.”
The next instant the dogs cringed back, the hair rose upon their necks and with tails drawn in they whimpered as if in fear.
“Gosh, I wonder what’s up now!” exclaimed Tom.
“Maybe a bear or wolf ahead,” suggested Jim, cocking his rifle.
Anxiously the boys peered into the misty white ahead and saw a low, irregular mound of snow with a dark object projecting from it.
“Say, what’s that ahead?” queried Jim in low tones.
“Looks like a sled covered with snow,” replied Tom. “We’ll soon see.”
Approaching cautiously, while the dogs struggled to keep back, the boys neared the little white mound, and the next instant Jim uttered a piercing, frightened cry and leaped back. Sticking stiffly up from the snow was a human arm!
“Gee, it’s a man!” exclaimed Tom. “What are you afraid of? Maybe he’s got lost or injured and is not dead yet. Come on, let’s see.”
With fast beating hearts the boys, overcoming their fears and nervousness, stepped close to the ominous pile of snow. Tom grasped the outstretched fur-clad arm.
But the next instant he let go, yelled, and jumped away with a white face. The arm was frozen stiff. It was the arm of a corpse!
“He—he’s dead!” stammered Tom.
Jim had now recovered himself. “Well, he won’t hurt us if he is,” he reminded Tom. “It’s awful I know, but we must find out who he is. It may be one of our men.”
“Ugh, I hate to go near it!” declared Tom.
“So do I, but we’ve got to,” said Jim. “Come on, Tom, we’re no babies or silly nervous girls. Brace up.”
Striving to control their nervous fears, the boys grasped the furs encasing that gruesome stiff arm and tugged. Presently, with a horrible, terrifying motion, the arm moved, the snow broke loose and the boys involuntarily screamed and jumped away as the body rolled over free from snow.
With wide eyes the two gazed upon the corpse and backed still farther off. The body, clad in furs, was that of a short, heavily built man, but the face, swarthy, black-bearded and black-browed, was frightful with the expression of fear and awful agony stamped upon it. At the first glance the boys saw with inexpressible horror that the whole side of the skull was crushed in and the scalp ripped off.
“Wha—wha—what killed him, I wo—wonder!” stammered Tom, his teeth chattering.
Jim, summoning all his courage, took a step nearer. “A bear!” he exclaimed, as he caught sight of a row of great gashes in the man’s neck and the ripped and torn back of the fur coat.
“Well, le—let’s get away from here,” stuttered Tom. “We ca—can’t do anything.”
Without replying Jim turned and with boyish terror of death gripping their hearts, and all their courage flown, the two raced away from the body.
Not until they had topped the next rise did they stop. Then, as they halted to regain their breaths, they noticed that the snow had almost ceased, the wind had gone down and they could see for a long distance across the white landscape.
A moment later Tom gave a glad cry. “Look Jim! Look!” he yelled. “We’re all right! see, over on that second hill! There’s some of the men!”
“Hurrah! you’re right!” yelled Tom as he too caught sight of two sledges just topping a distant ridge. “Come on!”
Yelling and shouting, the boys raced forward as fast as the newly fallen snow would permit. As they gained the summit of the second hill, they waved their arms wildly. But they were already seen. The dogs wheeled, the sleds swung around, and with the two drivers riding the runners, they came racing towards the boys.
As they came near Tom and Jim looked at each other in surprise. The dogs, they knew, were not the Eskimos’. One team was made up of huge black and white Newfoundlands, the other of shaggy-haired, magnificent, cream-colored huskies. At the boys’ first glance they were sure the men were utter strangers.