CHAPTER V.

OFF FOR THE NORTH.

Monday morning dawned bright and clear with the temperature fifteen below zero. Late Saturday night and nearly all day Sunday it had snowed and nearly eighteen inches were added to the little which had covered the ground when they had landed. The intervening days had been busy ones. What with getting everything in readiness for the start and spending as much time as was possible with Captain Blake, who seemed loath to let them out of his sight, their time had been fully occupied. They had seen much of Pete Slinger and had come to love the little Irishman. And not only that, but their respect for him grew by leaps and bounds as they had frequent exhibitions of his wonderful ability along many lines.

"I wonder if there's anything he can't do," Jack said after he had seen him put a barrel of flour on to his shoulder with apparent ease.

"I don't know what it is if there is," the captain told him.

Pete, on his side, fairly seemed to worship the boys and there was nothing too much for him to do for them.

The ship was to sail at noon that day and Captain Blake had said the night before that he was glad as the place would seem very lonesome to him after they had gone.

It was only a few minutes after seven o'clock and still dark when they reached the store. As they approached they saw a long narrow sled loaded nearly three feet high with all sorts of packages. Hitched single file to it were six dogs who growled ominously as they came up.

"Lucky's on time all right," the captain said as he mounted the steps.

"Those dogs don't seem very much pleased to see us," Jack declared as he followed close at his heels.

"I guess they'll be all right when they get acquainted," Bob said.

"Here yees are," Pete greeted them as the captain pushed open the door. "I was jest tellin' Lucky thot he'd have ter go an' pull yees out uv bed."

Everything was all ready for the start and the good byes were quickly said. Outside once more Lucky grasped one of the handles, which stuck out breast high at the rear of the sled, with one hand while with the other he swung the long raw hide whip which cracked with a report like that of a forty-five.

"Mush," he ordered and the dogs started off up the street while the boys fell in behind.

"Good bye an' good luck to yees," Pete shouted.

"God keep you," the captain called after them.

"Good bye, good bye," the boys called back.

Lucky Hogan had explained the night before that they were to cut across country for a distance of some 250 miles where they would strike the river at about the same distance from the coast. As they left the town the stars above were just beginning to pale while in the east a faint glow told of the coming day.

"If I go too fast let me know heap soon," Lucky called back over his shoulder.

"We will that," Jack assured him.

Although they had started fairly early several teams had left ahead of them and the trail was in fairly good shape. Nevertheless it was hard traveling from the start. The snow was light and dry and the footing anything but secure, and inside of an hour they were both puffing hard.

"That fellow must think we're used to this all right," Jack panted, glancing back over his shoulder at Bob who was a few feet behind.

"Tell him he'll have to slow up a bit," Bob suggested.

The Indian stopped the team as soon as Jack called to him and waited for them to catch up.

"We go too fast, eh?" he asked.

"Just a little," Jack told him. "You see, we're a bit soft and it'll take a few miles to get our muscles hardened up."

"Injun try remember, go slower," he promised.

"Hope he doesn't think we're lazy," Bob whispered as Lucky started up the dogs again after allowing them to rest for a few minutes.

About nine o'clock the sun came up and it began to warm up a little and soon the boys were forced to discard their heavy mackinaws. The country, through which they were passing, was hilly and Jack declared that they were going either up hill or down all the time and he was not far wrong. About every hour the Indian stopped the team and allowed the dogs to rest for some ten minutes and the boys were glad of the breathing spells.

When noon came they halted at the foot of a long steep hill and ate their lunch which Pete had provided, washing it down with hot coffee from a thermos bottle.

"How far have we come?" Jack asked.

"'Bout twenty mile," the Indian told him.

"Gee, is that all?"

"No mak' fast time in deep snow."

"Well, we've been going fast enough to suit me," Bob laughed.

"Same here," Jack added.

The Indian, before eating, had fed the dogs, giving each a frozen fish, and they were now lying in the snow. Jack, as soon as he had finished, went toward them thinking that it would be a good time to get acquainted. But an ominous growl caused him to stop and look back inquiringly.

"Better wait," the Indian cautioned him and he came back. "Them dog heap bad when them no know you. Them know you ver' soon then you touch um," he explained.

"Would they bite me now?"

"Plenty apt bite now, not after while."

"Then I reckon I'll wait," Jack grinned as he sat down on the snow beside the trail. "But, I say, Lucky, they look like fine dogs."

"Them heap best dogs ever was," the Indian replied proudly. "They all one litter, oui. Injun had der father an' mother, raise um."

"How old are they?" Bob asked.

"Two year come summer."

"They're little more that pups then?"

"But they ver' strong and heap fast."

"I'll bet they are," Jack agreed.

"That lead dog heem Lightning an' next Thunder," the Indian told them.

"Those are good names," Bob said. "What do you call the others?"

"Next one Pete, den Kish, den Slack an' der sled dog heem Jim."

"Did you name that one after Pete Slinger?" Jack asked.

"Oui, heem bon friend to Injun an' Pete heem ver 'bon dog."

"But how about Slack? Why do you call him that?" Bob asked.

"Heem lazy, heem strong like moose, but heem lik' hang back. Call heem Slack."

"What breed are they?"

"Mother was Esquimo dog, heap beeg girl an' father heem timber wolf."

"You mean they're half wolf?"

"Oui."

"But where did you get him?"

"Injun catch um when ver' leetle pup."

"But I always thought you couldn't tame a wolf," Jack broke in.

"No geet ver' fame, but heem know Injun, no other man touch heem, jest Injun."

"Have you got them now?" Jack asked.

"No got. Heem break chain one night, go off an' no come back. Mebby geet shot. She geet seek ver' soon an' die, seex moons gone."

They had met no one all morning, but they were only about half way up the hill when, almost without warning, a team swept around a bend in the trail. Coming down the hill they were traveling fast and, before Lucky could get his team out of the way, the two leaders had met. The boys were some thirty feet behind the sled and by the time they reached the scene of action the air seemed, as Jack afterward declared, full of dogs. The yelps and growls of the combatants drowned the voices of the Indian and the driver of the other team as they shouted orders to which the dogs paid not the slightest attention. There were six dogs in the other team and, for a moment, they seemed well matched so far as the boys could see, but soon even they could tell that the strangers were getting far the worst of it.

"Our dogs'll kill them," Bob shouted.

But the fight was over almost as quickly as it had started. The stranger's dogs, evidently realizing that they were outclassed, soon gave up the combat and shrank back whining piteously. Lucky's dogs did not press their advantage being apparently satisfied with the result. But the driver of the beaten team did not show as good judgment. He was a large burly man whose dark skin and high cheek bones indicated that he was a half breed. No sooner had the dogs separated than, with a snarl of rage, he drew an ugly looking revolver from his belt and aimed it at Lightning.

"Don't shoot him," Jack gasped.

Then an amazing thing took place. Lucky was about twelve feet from the breed when the latter drew his gun and, with a movement of his arm incredibly swift, his whip lash darted out and the end wrapped itself about the barrel of the revolver. Another quick movement and the gun was snatched from the man's hand and sent flying through the air to fall in the snow twenty feet away. The entire scene took place so swiftly that it was all over before the boys realized what had happened.

"Did you see that?" Bob gasped.

But before Jack could answer the breed had leaped for the Indian with a hoarse cry of rage. The boys held their breath wondering what was coming next, but they did not have long to wait. They had suspected that the Indian was possessed of great strength, but what they saw amazed them. As the breed rushed toward him the Indian bent his body slightly to meet the attack and the next instant they saw the stranger lifted bodily and thrown several feet to fall sprawling in the snow.

"How'd he do it?" Jack whispered.

"He did it all right," Bob replied. "Wonder if he's had enough."

The breed was slowly picking himself up a look of blank amazement on his face. First he looked toward the boys and then turned to Lucky who stood with a look of calm stoicism on his face.

"Better not," he said calmly as the breed took a step toward him.

There was something in the Indian's voice that gave the other pause for he stopped and, for a moment stood as though undecided what to do. Then he turned and started toward where the revolver had fallen.

"Stop."

At the order the breed turned his head but kept on.

"Stop."

This time he halted and growled:

"I'm goin' ter geet my gun."

"Injun geet eet," and he sprang from the trail and a moment later picked the revolver from where it had fallen in the snow.

Removing the cartridges he threw them away and then, stepping close to the breed, handed him the gun. For a second it seemed that the breed was about to jump at the Indian's throat in spite of the lesson he had already received, but he evidently thought better of it for he snatched the gun from his hand and, thrusting it into his belt, turned and went quickly back to where his dogs were lying in the snow. Lucky followed and at his command his dogs rose and soon, with the help of the boys, the team was out of the trail enough to permit the other team to pass. Low rumbling growls came from the throats of the dogs of both teams as they passed, but there was no move toward another attack.

"Do you know that fellow?" Bob asked as soon as the stranger had gotten out of hearing.

"Non, heem heap bad man."

"He's a heap disagreeable one," Jack added.

"But he tackled the wrong customer when he tackled you," Bob said with an admiring glance at Lucky. "That was the prettiest throw I ever saw: wish you would teach me how to do it."

"Oui, Injun show white boy sometime."

Lucky examined the harness, but found it had not been injured during the fight and, at his cry of "mush" the dogs were off again.

"My, what a man," Bob said in a low tone as he and Jack fell in behind.

"And then some," Jack added.

"It seems queer," Bob continued.

"What seems queer?"

"Why, Lucky."

"But what do you mean queer?"

"Well, he looks like an Indian and he acts like an Indian and we have it from no less authority than the great Pete Slinger that he is an Indian, but he talks like a Canuck and has an Irish name. Can you beat it?"

"But he says heap once in a while and just a minute ago he referred to you as a white boy. That's Indian all right."

At last they reached the top of the long hill and the trail dipped down on the other side in an almost endless reach. It was four o'clock when they reached the edge of a thick growth of trees and, as it was nearly dark, Lucky proposed that they make camp for the night. Both boys greeted the suggestion eagerly for, although they would hesitate to acknowledge it, they were tired. Beneath the broad branches of a giant spruce, which stood just within the edge of the forest, the ground was nearly bare of snow and Lucky choose it as a good place.

"White boys cut plenty boughs while Indian unpack stuff," he suggested as he pulled two small, but sharp axes from beneath the canvas which covered the load.

By the time they had enough of the fragrant boughs cut to satisfy him, the Indian had the dogs fed and fixed for the night, what they needed unpacked and a fire started.

"Talk about efficiency," Jack declared as he brought in his third armful of boughs.

"He's it," Bob laughed.

"Hope he's as good a cook as he is at other things," Jack whispered.

"It'll be funny if he isn't."

"You mean it'll be a tragedy."

But their fears were groundless for in less than an hour from the time they had reached the woods the Indian announced that supper was ready. Venison steak and potatoes baked in the camp fire constituted the main part of the meal and both boys declared that nothing had ever fasted better. The Indian seemed pleased at their words of praise and urged them to eat until both declared that they could not get another mouthful down. They washed the dishes in melted snow water which had been heating in a large iron kettle set in the hot ashes.

It was now pitch dark and a light wind had sprung up during the last half hour.

"You think it's going to storm?" Bob asked a little later as they sat by the fire.

"Oui, Injun 'fraid so."

The wind had been increasing slowly, but steadily and now the moan of the trees, as their tops swayed to and fro, filled the night. For an hour or more they sat by the fire while, at Bob's invitation, the Indian entertained them with stories of his early life. He was a good story teller and they listened with bated breath as he told of one adventure after another.

"Time to sleep now," he finally declared.

"I reckon," Bob agreed.

"You think it'll snow before morning?" Jack asked as he got to his feet.

The Indian hesitated a moment. "Wind getting round Nor East, mean snow," he finally declared.

From the sled, which had been left beneath the branches of another spruce near by, he brought three sleeping bags, huge canvas affairs, lined with bear skins and fitted with a flap, which could be drawn completely over the head, but which was equipped with air holes so that the sleeper would be able to breath easily.

"We ought to sleep warm in those things," Jack declared.

"Oui, sleep heap warm," Lucky assured them.

How long he had been asleep Bob did not know but, sometime in the night, he awakened with a sudden start. For an instant he wondered where he was and then, as memory returned, he wondered what had disturbed him for he rarely woke up in the night unless there was a cause. But, after listening intently for a moment and hearing nothing save the sighing of the trees and an occasional low growl from one of the dogs, he decided that he had been mistaken and was about to go to sleep again when, far off in the forest, he heard a low but distinct howl.

"That sounds like a wolf," he thought.

And then, from a direction more to the right, came an answering howl a little louder than the other.

He was lying close to Jack who was between him and the Indian and, as the second howl rang through the forest, he felt his brother stir.

"Did you hear it?" He asked.

"Sure did."

"Sounded like a wolf."

"That's what I thought."

Then came the answer from the first wolf and now it was apparently much nearer. Low menacing growls from the dogs indicated that they too had heard the ominous sounds.

"They're coming this way," Jack declared.

"Sounds like it."

"Think there's any danger?"

"Injun build up fire. No come ver' near fire."

So Lucky also was awake. Bob had thought it a bit strange that the Indian had not been awakened as he knew that most forest bred men were light sleepers.

"Can we help?" he asked as he heard him crawling out from his sleeping bag.

"Non. Plenty much wood. Injun feex heem."

The fire, as Bob could see from where he lay, had not entirely died out and, as Lucky had said, there was plenty of wood, and soon it was blazing up brightly the fight casting weird shadows.

"Wolf no come near fire," the Indian told them as he crawled back into his bag.

"What time is it? Did you look?" Bob asked.

"Oui, three o'clock."

"Will that fire last till morning?"

"Injun keep heem feexed. White boys go sleep," he assured them.

"Is it snowing?" Jack asked.

"Oui, heem snow leetle, not hard—yet."

As they could tell by the sound of the howls the wolves were coming nearer and, in spite of the Indian's assurance, the boys were unable to go to sleep again.

"That fellow wasn't far off," Jack whispered a few minutes later.

"Neither was that one," Bob replied.

"Hope they know that they're supposed to be afraid of fire."

"Same here."

The dogs were getting more and more uneasy as the wolves came closer and soon the boys heard the Indian again moving. He threw some more wood on the fire and then, going to where the dogs were stationed, he spoke to them in a low tone as if fearful that he would awaken the boys. At his words the dogs ceased their growls, but a low whining told that they were not fully reassured.

"We're not asleep," Bob called out.

"How many of them are there should you say?" Jack asked as the Indian came back beneath the tree.

"Mebby ten, mebby more."

Howl now answered howl in rapid succession as the wolves came nearer and, a few minutes later Bob, who was sitting up, thought he could see a shadowy form on the other side of the fire and some twenty feet away from it.

"Look, Jack," he whispered.

"I can't see anything."

"Just the other side of that big tree."

"I see it now."

"Heem no come nearer," the Indian assured him.

"How about trying a shot at him?" Bob whispered.

But before he could get out of his bag at his automatic, which was in his belt, the wolf had disappeared.

"He saved his hide," Jack said.

That the roaring fire had been too much for the wolves to face was evident as their howls grew; fainter and fainter and finally died out altogether.

"I'm mighty glad they were educated wolves," Jack sighed as he snuggled down in his bag.

"What you mean, educated?" Bob asked him.

"Why, that they were brought up to be afraid of fire."

CHAPTER VI.

A NORTHERN BLIZZARD.

It was still dark when Bob awoke again, but the smell of frying bacon, which came to his nostrils as he raised his head, told him that it was morning and time to get up. The wind was blowing hard as he could tell by the sound of the tree tops and a fine snow was drifting in even beneath the tree and he saw that both Jack and himself were nearly buried in it.

"Time to get up," he said giving his brother a shake.

"Huh."

"I said it's time to get up," Bob repeated.

"Oh, all right," and in another minute Jack had wiggled out of his bag. "Gee, it's storming all right, isn't it?"

"I'll say it is. Hear that wind."

"Heap beeg snow outside," Lucky declared as they came close to the fire.

"It must be coming down pretty fast," Bob agreed as he noticed that even in the thick woods several inches had fallen.

"Will it last all day?" Bob asked.

"Mebby."

"But we can keep on just the same?"

"Oui, in the woods heem not so bad."

"How long'll we be in the woods?" Jack asked.

"Fifty, seexty mile."

"Then we won't be out today, that's certain."

It was eight o'clock when they started and still dark. The going was much harder than the day before as the newly fallen snow made the footing even more insecure.

"We'll be lucky if we make twenty miles today," Bob told Jack before they had gone a mile.

Although the thick trees sheltered them to a large extent from the fury of the storm, which had now nearly assumed the proportions of a blizzard, yet the sharp particles of snow stung their faces like needles whenever an open space allowed the wind to reach them with anything like its full force. The snow was also getting deeper and deeper and for the last half mile the Indian had been breaking trail ahead of the team.

"It must be fierce out in the open," Jack declared as they paused for a rest shortly after nine o'clock.

"Heem heap bad," Lucky agreed.

"And it seems to be getting worse instead of better," Bob added as he glanced up through an open space between the trees.

"It's sure howling some," Jack agreed.

"I think you better put on snow-shoe now," Lucky advised as they were about to start off again. "White boys know um?"

"You bet," Bob assured him. "We were raised in Maine you know and, believe me, they have some snow up there."

"But you can't break trail with snow-shoes on," Jack objected.

"Non, no can. Injun no put um on."

"Then we're going to take turns at it," Bob declared.

"Injun break trail."

"Not now, he won't," Bob insisted shaking his head as Lucky held out a pair of snow-shoes which he had taken from the pack on the sled. "You put them on, I'm going to break trail for awhile."

"But Injun—"

"I know, you'd do all the work if we'd let you, but we're going to do our share," Bob insisted.

Seeing that the boy was determined the Indian did not insist further, but thrust his feet into the straps and motioned Bob to go ahead. There was still enough of the trail left so that he had no trouble in keeping the path, but it was filling rapidly and in places the snow was already drifted even across it. He had expected to find it hard work, but it was harder than he had thought it would be. But he was strong and not afraid of hard work so he kept at it until Jack sang out that it was his turn.

"It's getting pretty hard to see the trail and you'll have to be careful," he advised as he slipped his feet into the shoes which Jack had been wearing.

"Injun know heem get off trail," Lucky assured them.

Bob judged that they had been making about two miles an hour and the Indian agreed with him when he mentioned it.

"And I reckon we'll go slower before we go faster," Jack said. "Just listen to that wind."

"Do you suppose those wolves are following us?" Bob asked the Indian a few minutes later.

"Mebby."

"I thought I heard one howl just then, but perhaps it was only the wind."

"Injun hear heem."

"Are they timber wolves?"

"Oui."

"Will they attack a man?"

"Mebby."

"But not likely?"

"Them geet a man alone them go for heem, not likely three mans."

Bob was not frightened, but he always liked to know just what he was up against and he had read so many stories in which wolves, and especially timber wolves, had attacked men that he was a bit worried.

"I suppose one could get up in a tree if they should attack us," he suggested.

"Oui, but them no geet us," the Indian assured him.

At noon they halted in a sheltered place for dinner and several times while eating they heard the howls of the wolves, but they were at some distance and the Indian assured them that there was no danger.

During the afternoon the storm increased in violence but they kept steadily on breaking trail by turns in short shifts. The old tracks had disappeared sometime ago and the Indian was obliged to continually shout directions when either of the boys were in the lead. In spite of the fact that one or the other always went ahead of the dogs it was hard work for them to drag the sled along and at three o'clock Lucky decided that they had better call it a day.

"Them dog heem ver' tired," he said.

"And it's no wonder," Bob agreed.

"They got nothing on me at that," Jack declared.

Although still early in the afternoon dusk was already beginning to creep over the forest and they knew that it would be dark in another hour.

As on the previous day the boys cut boughs for the beds while the Indian attended to the dogs and started the fire.

"We geet heap plenty wood," he told them as soon as they had brought in enough boughs. "Fire burn plenty fast in wind."

"You bet we want plenty," Jack agreed.

"Enough to entertain all comers," Bob added.

"We'll get it while you're getting supper," Jack told him and the Indian nodded assent.

But it was not so easy to keep his promise as he had thought. The snow was now so deep that all the dead underbrush was buried out of sight and the darkness was rapidly increasing.

"Looks kind of dubious," Jack said after they had been hunting for several minutes.

"I'll say it does, but we've got to find some and that's all there is to it," Bob replied. "I don't want those wolves nibbling at my toes tonight."

"I reckon they'd nibble more than your toes if they got that close," Jack declared. "But here's what we want so I guess your tootsies are safe."

He had found a dead tree almost ready to fall over and, as he spoke he gave it a shove and down it came.

"If it hasn't all gone to punk," Bob said as he came up.

A quick examination proved that, although the tree had been dead for some time, it was still fit for firewood and they set to work to cut it up so that they could drag it to the camp some fifty feet away.

"Think this one'll be enough?" Jack asked as he started off with the butt.

"I don't know, but we'd better get more if we can."

But by the time they had dragged the different parts of the tree up to where Lucky had started a fire with some dead branches which he had found close by, he told them that they had enough.

"You sure?" Bob asked anxiously.

"I think so but mebby you find one more."

"Come on, Jack," Bob said as he started back. "I think I saw another dead one close by that one."

It was now so dark that they could see but a few feet ahead of them and they were obliged to be very careful with the axes to avoid an accident, but they finally got the other tree cut up and dragged into camp.

"Now I feel better," Bob declared.

"Supper heem ready," came the welcome announcement just as they were putting away the axes.

All that night the storm raged. Several times during the night they heard the howls of wolves above the noise of the storm, but they did not come very near thanks undoubtedly to the fire which the Indian kept burning brightly all the time. It was eight o'clock when Lucky awoke them to find that the storm had nearly blown itself out and that breakfast was ready. Over a foot more of snow had fallen and they knew that their progress would be slow that day.

"It's almost as bad as the case of the frog jumping out of the well," Jack declared as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"How was that?" Bob asked.

"Why, every time he jumped up two feet he fell back three."

"Well, we're more'n holding our own and that's better than he did."

Four more days passed and Saturday night came. In spite of the deep snow they had on the whole made fairly good time as their muscles were hardening and they were able to maintain a faster pace. There had been no more snow and that which had fallen had drifted so hard that in most places it held the sled and dogs though, of course, Lucky and the boys were obliged to wear snow-shoes. In view of the fact that they were on a trip where time might mean a man's life they had decided that they were justified in traveling on Sunday although under other circumstances they would not have considered it. The weather had been cold, the thermometer rarely getting above ten below zero and one morning it had sunk to thirty below.

Each night they had heard the howls of timber wolves and a number of times they had caught sight of a slim gray form in the distance. The knowledge that the pack was still following them was far from comforting but, being well armed with both rifles and revolvers, they had no real fear.

Thursday morning Jack had shot a small buck deer and the meat was a very welcome addition to their larder as they had brought with them only enough fresh meat for a couple of days. Their respect and liking for the Indian increased every day for they found him not only abounding in resourcefulness, but he had proved, as Jack put it, a mighty likeable fellow.

"I always thought Indians were solemn and never laughed or anything of that sort," he said to Bob one day as they were some distance behind the sled, Lucky leading the way.

"They usually are more or less that way, but Lucky can laugh as well as the next fellow."

"You bet he can. Probably it's the way he's been brought up," Jack suggested.

"We heet river one more day," Lucky told them that night as they were washing up after supper.

"You mean we'll be there tomorrow night?" Bob asked.

"Heem 'bout forty mile," Lucky said.

"Then we'll make it sure," Jack declared.

Besides the Canuck they had encountered their first day out they had seen but two men and these they had met the day after the storm. They had seemed well disposed Canucks and, learning that they had come from up the river, they had inquired if they had seen anything of their uncle. But neither of them had.

It was just as dusk was beginning to settle the next day that they came in sight of the river. For a couple of miles they had been climbing a gentle slope, and, as they reached the top, they could see two rivers about a mile away.

"Big one heem Yukon an' leetle one Kayakuk," Lucky told them pointing with his hand.

"But how do we get down to it?" Bob asked. "It looks as though it went off almost perpendicularly here and it must be a drop of nearly a hundred feet."

"Path down off jest leetle way. Injun show you."

Bob was about to turn back when a startled cry from Jack, who had been standing a few feet nearer the edge of the hill, made him look around just in time to see his brother disappear over the edge together with a vast smother of snow. For an instant he was petrified with fear.

"He—he's gone," he gasped. Then, as reason returned, he shouted:

"Jack! Jack!"

But there was no answer. The Indian had said nothing, but Bob could see that he was shaking as with the palsy.

"Where's that pass down?" he shouted. "Maybe he's not dead."

The question seemed to galvanize the Indian to action and, leaving the dogs, he led the way a little to the right where a more gentle descent offered.

"White boy be careful," the Indian cautioned as Bob started down, but he had no thought but to get to the bottom as quickly as possible.

It was very steep even here and several times he lost his footing and fell, once turning over three or four times before recovering himself. Only one thought was in his mind—Jack was in danger, perhaps dead. It seemed to the frantic boy that ages passed before he reached the bottom, but in reality it was only a few seconds. The last twenty feet or so was the steepest and, in his rush, he tripped and rolled to the bottom. But he was not hurt and, quickly picking himself up, he started as fast as he could go for the place where Jack had gone over. A projection cut off his view until he was within a few feet of the spot.

"O, God, don't let him be dead," he prayed as he hurried along.

With his heart in his mouth he rounded the turn and the next instant a low cry of joy burst from his lips. There, not twenty feet away sat Jack rubbing his eyes as though he had just woke up. At Bob's cry he turned.

"Why didn't you come down by the short route?" he grinned.

"Thank God," Bob breathed as he hastened to Jack's side. "Jack, boy, I—I thought you were killed," he sobbed.

"Well, not so you'd notice it," Jack assured him.

"White boy sure no hurt? Heap bad fall."

Lucky was standing just behind Bob a look of intense relief on his face.

"Well, I haven't had time yet to take account of stock, but so far's I know I'm all here."

"It's a miracle you weren't killed."

"Oh, I don't know. You see, so much snow came down with me that I lit as light as a feather." Jack grinned.

"Didn't you hear me yelling?" Bob asked.

"No. You see I was about six feet more or less underneath when I landed and about the time you were yelling I reckon I was pawing my way surfaceward."

"Where are your snow-shoes?" Bob asked.

"Down below. I'm afraid they didn't come through as well as I did."

"White boys stay here Injun git team, git shovel." Lucky turned and was gone before they had time to say anything.

"Believe me, he was one scared Indian when he saw you go over that cliff. Don't ever tell me that Indians have no feelings or that they never show them. If ever I saw fear and sorrow on a human face if was then."

"I'd like to have seen him," Jack said as he got to his feet.

"Well, I never want to see it again," Bob assured him.

"And, of course I wouldn't want anything to happen to bring it there. I didn't mean that. Only I've always thought that Indians never did show their feelings, you know."

It was nearly half an hour before Lucky came around the bend with the team as he had to go some little distance before finding a place where he could get the sled down safely. Stopping the team he quickly got a shovel from the stores and in a few minutes had recovered the shoes. As Jack had thought they had not come off as well as he. One of the frames was broken and several of the strips of rawhide had snapped in the other.

"Not much bust," the Indian told them as he held them up. "Injun got one more pair an' heem feex dees in queek time tonight."

If was almost dark by the time the Indian had found the extra pair of snow-shoes and they were ready to start once more. About a mile up the smaller river from where it emptied into the Yukon they had seen a small piece of woods and the Indian told them that they would make camp there for the night.

"Leetle town 'bout twenty mile up river," Lucky told them after they had eaten supper and were sitting around the fire.

"What's its name?" Bob asked.

"Heem name Red Shirt."

"Red what?" Jack demanded.

"Heem Red Shirt."

"Some name."

"How big a town is it?" Bob asked.

"Not beeg. You mean how leetle heem be, eh?"

"All right, how little is it?" Bob laughed.

"Heem seex mebby seven cabin. Mebby twenty Injuns an' Canucks."

"Wonder if they have movies there?" Jack smiled.

"What heem?"

"Didn't you ever see moving pictures?"

"What heem?" the Indian asked again.

Jack described the moving picture as well as he was able, but it was evident that the Indian did not get a very good idea of what he was talking about.

CHAPTER VII.

A NEW KIND OF BED-ROOM.

It was shortly after noon the following day when they reached the town of Red Shirt. The half dozen or so log cabins were huddled closely together at the foot of a fairly high mountain and the first person they saw, a huge bulk of a man with a thick shaggy red beard, wore a shirt of the brightest red.

"That must be the shirt," Jack whispered to Bob.

"It's red enough anyway," Bob whispered back.

The man was standing on the porch of the largest of the cabins which, somewhat to the boy's surprise, proved to be a store well stocked with goods.

"Howdy," he greeted them as they came to a stop an front of the store.

"How do you do," both boys answered his salutation while Lucky grunted "how."

"Why, eets Lucky Hogan," the man said as he recognized the Indian who's back had been turned until he spoke.

"Oui, it's me," he said holding out his hand which the other grasped. "An' them boys dey Bob an' Jack Lakewood. Heap fine boys."

"Ver' glad know yer," the big man smiled shaking hands with them in turn. "Come in where eet be warm."

A huge stove, its sides red hot, in the center of the room made the heat seem almost stifling to the boys after the long continued cold outside.

"Whar yer go, eh?"

They were hardly inside before the man asked the question.

"We hardly know," Bob told him. "You see, we are looking for my uncle who came up here ten or twelve weeks ago and has not been heard from since. We thought you might have seen him."

"Heem name Lakewood?"

"Yes, Silas Lakewood and he was with a man by the name of Long."

"Jeem Long?"

"I do not know his first name."

"That heem, Jeem," Lucky broke in. "You know Jeem," he added turning to the big man.

"Oui, I know heem," he replied in a tone which expressed dislike if not hatred.

"Did you see them?" Bob asked a bit impatiently.

"Oui, I see 'em both."

"Do you remember how long ago it was?"

"Eet quite some long time, mebby tree month, mebby only two, I dunno."

"They stopped here?"

"Oui, two mebby tree day."

"And did they say where they were going?"

"Non. They seem have beeg secret. No tell whar dey go."

"But they went up river?"

"Oui."

"And you haven't seen or heard from them since?"

"Non. No see, no hear."

"What do you know about this man, Long?" Bob asked after a moment's silence.

"Heem no bon. Heem one bad man."

"You mean he's a thief?"

"Mebby. Heem bad man. No bon."

Just then the door opened and a man entered.

"Thees Jere Laduc," the storekeeper introduced him. "Heem jest come from up river. Mebby heem seen 'em." Then turning to the new-comer he asked: "Yer see Jeem Long up river, Jere?"

The Canuck, a small wiry looking man, with a smooth face, took off his cap and scratched his head thoughtfully before answering.

"Oui," he said finally. "I see Jeem Long."

"Was there another man with him?" Bob asked.

"Oui, beeg man."

"Do you know his name?"

Jere scratched his head again.

"I forget. I hear heem, oui, but no remember."

"Was it Lakewood?"

"Dat eet, Lakewood."

"Where did you see them?"

"Eet was 'bout ten mile above Batzahakat."

"Is that a town?"

"Oui."

"How far from here?"

"Hunered mile."

"And how long ago was it that you saw them?"

The breed scratched his head a long time before answering.

"Eet must be two month," he finally concluded.

"You know him, this man, Long?"

"Oui, heem no bon."

There was no hesitation this time.

"Testimony seems to be unanimous on that point at any rate," Jack whispered.

"Did he tell you where he was going?" was Bob's next question.

"Non, heem no say."

"Do you know if they went north?"

"Dunno. Dey leave early in mornin'. Me no see 'em go."

"I guess that's about all the information we'll get here," Bob whispered to Jack.

"Looks that way," Jack agreed.

The storekeeper invited them to stay over a night in the settlement but, after a brief conference, they decided that time was too precious and that they would push on. So, after thanking him and purchasing a few things they needed, they said good bye and started off up the river. Altogether they had stopped an hour and, although they had learned nothing which was very definite except that their uncle had really been there, somehow the boys felt slightly encouraged.

"Evidently that man Long's a bad egg," Jack said as they trudged out of the village.

"Everyone seems to think so," Bob agreed.

"The inhabitants of this burg seem to keep pretty close indoors," Jack remarked just as they struck the river.

"Them eat dinner now," Lucky told him.

On the river the traveling was good and they made twenty-five miles before camping for the night.

"River tak' heap beeg bend leetle way above here an', in the mornin' we go east, cut off mebby twenty mile," the Indian told them.

For the past three days they had heard nothing from the wolves and both boys hoped that they had given up following them. Lucky shrugged his shoulders when Bob mentioned it as if to say that it did not matter to him one way or the other.

"Any fish in this river, Lucky," Jack asked as soon as they had cut the wood for the night.

"Oui, heap beeg salmon. Some trout."

"Suppose I could catch one through the ice?"

"Dunno, mebby."

"Well, I've got a hook and line and I'm going to make a stab at it. Fresh fish won't go bad."

They were camping in a clump of woods just a few yards from the river and, taking one of the axes, Jack was soon cutting a hole in the ice. This took longer than he had thought for the ice was nearly eighteen inches thick and it was pretty dark by the time he was ready to drop in his hook which he had baited with a piece of pork.

"Hope they like pork," he said to himself as he dropped in the hook.

His hope was quickly realized for before the bait had sunk more than five or six feet he felt a strong yank and pulled in a trout nearly fifteen inches long. Quickly he rebaited the hook and dropped it back through the hole. This time he had to wait a little longer, but inside of twenty minutes he had landed three more trout and two salmon of about five pounds weight each.

"Not bad for the first time," he chuckled as he strung them together on a bit of line which he found in his pocket.

"Yer catch um feesh?" Lucky asked as he came whistling up in the gathering darkness.

"What did I go after?" he asked.

"Feesh."

"Well, when I go after fish, fish is what I bring back. Ask Bob if you don't believe it." And he held up the string in the light of the fire.

"Yer catch um," Lucky declared.

"He always does," Bob assured him. "That boy could catch fish in a water bucket."

Soon the two salmon were sizzling in the frying pan and they proved a very welcome addition to their fare.

The next morning they were up early and just as day was breaking, they left the river and struck off due east. The sun came up thickly overcast and Lucky gave it as his opinion that it would snow before noon.

"You're a good weather prophet, Lucky," Jack said when, a little after ten o'clock, the first flakes began to fall.

There was no wind and the snowflakes at first drifted lazily to the earth as if in no hurry to get there. Soon they were coming in greater abundance and, although there was still no wind, the boys noticed that the Indian was casting an anxious eye toward the sky.

"You think it's going to be a bad storm?" Jack asked him.

"No wind all right. Wind heem begin blow be heap bad. No woods for many mile."

"Well, the snow has held off for a good while for this time of year so I suppose we ought not to kick if we do get it now," Bob said philosophically.

"I reckon it's going to blow some at least," Jack said an hour later as he felt a slight breeze fan his face. "Those flakes aren't coming down straight any more."

It was snowing hard and there was a fairly strong breeze when they stopped for dinner at twelve o'clock although it was not yet strong enough to cause the snow to sting.

"About how far from here is there a piece of timber," Bob asked as they were getting ready to start off again.

"Mebby twenty mile, mebby leetle more."

Enough snow had already fallen to make it hard going and within an hour they were taking turns breaking trail for the dogs. The wind was steadily increasing in force and the snow showed no sign of abatement.

"We'll never make that woods tonight at the rate we're going," Jack declared.

"Non, we no mak' heem. We look for bon place mak' camp. Heem goin' blow heap hard soon."

Lucky was right again for they had not been traveling an hour before the wind had risen to the force of a gale and was driving the sharp particles of snow against their faces with stinging violence.

"Whew, but this is work," Jack panted as he came back from breaking trail to allow Lucky to take his turn.

"I'll say you're right," Bob agreed.

It was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead and it was a mystery to the boys how the Indian could keep a straight course especially as the wind seemed to change its direction frequently. But he seemed sure of his way and the boys had no reason to doubt his judgment.

By half past two the dogs began to show signs of distress and the Indian gave it as his opinion that they had better stop.

"No must keel um dog," he declared.

"I'll say we mustn't, but how are we going to camp here in the open?" Bob asked.

"Injun show white boys."

All day they had been traveling over a flat country and there was not even a hill to give them the slightest protection. Still they felt sure that Lucky knew best and if he said camp why, camp it was.

"We mak' um house," he said as he pulled the shovels from the sled. "We sleep all right, but have eat cold supper, no got wood."

The prospect was anything but pleasant, but the boys were not unused to hardships and there was no grumbling as they set to work digging a hole in the snow under directions from the Indian.

"Mak' heem 'bout eight feet long an' seex wide," he told them, as he turned to care for the dogs.

There was now about four feet of snow on the level, and, as the old snow was packed down very hard, it took them some little time to complete the task.

"Reckon it'll drift in about as fast as we can shovel it out," Jack grumbled as he threw out the last few; shovelfuls of snow.

"Then we can have the pleasure of shoveling it out again," Bob laughed.

"I believe you'd laugh if you were going to be hanged."

"Not quite that bad, but might as well laugh as cry, you know."

Thanks to Lucky's thoughtfulness in bringing along a small alcohol stove they were able to make coffee which made the supper seem a little more cheerful.

"What about the dogs?" Bob asked.

"Dog all right. No mind snow if not too tired," the Indian assured them.

It was only a little after four o'clock when they finished supper, but it was already dark. Not that it made so much difference, as Jack declared, seeing that the snow was coming down so fast that they could only see a short distance anyhow.

"You shovel um out again and we feex roof," Lucky said as soon as the meal was finished.

"What you going to make a roof out of?" Jack asked.

"I show white boy. You geet snow out."

The snow was already several inches deep in the dugout, as Jack called it, but they made short work of it and finished just as the Indian dragged up a piece of canvas about twelve feet long and eight wide.

"I see what our roof's to be now," Jack laughed.

When spread over the dugout the canvas overlapped about three feet on each side and on it they shoveled snow, stamping it down good and hard with their feet.

"Now heem hold some snow," the Indian declared when they had two feet or more of hard packed snow on either end.

"But it won't hold up all night if it keeps up like this," Bob said doubtfully.

"We clean heem off one two time, mebby."

"Mebby is right," Bob laughed.

It was very cold, but after they had crawled info the dugout and into their sleeping bags they were plenty warm.

"If we only could have gotten some boughs," Jack complained. "This ground was laid hard side up."

"You ought to be thankful that you've got any ground to lie on," Bob told him.

"Is that intended for a joke?"

"No. Why?"

"I thought there was no ground for it."

"Smarty."

"Well, don't blame me. I was born that way, you know."

"Just hear that wind," Bob said a few minutes later. "I can't help feeling sorry for the poor dogs outside."

"Them dog all huddle up together. Keep um all warm," Lucky assured them.

"But they'll be buried before morning," Jack objected.

"Sure, snow heap warm. No mind that."

"Well, I'm glad to know that they won't suffer. It's snug as a bug in a rug in here," Jack declared.

"How about a story, Lucky?" Bob asked.

For more than two hours, while the storm howled and blew outside, the Indian entertained them with wonderful stories of the North Land. He was a splendid story teller in spite of his broken English and they could hardly believe it when he announced that it was nearly eight o'clock and time they were asleep.

"Injun shovel off snow an' den we go sleep," he said as he wiggled out of his bag.

"Is it snowing as hard as ever?" Bob asked when he slid back into the dugout.