CHAPTER IV
FOR HE IS A WHITE MAN'S DOG
Two months had elapsed since the mysterious college boy had passed onnorth with his dog-team.
Many things could have happened to him in those months. As Marian satlooking away at the vast expanse of drifting ice which had beenrestless in its movements of late, telling of the coming of the springbreak-up, she wondered what had happened to the frank-eyed, friendlyboy. He had not returned. Had a blizzard caught him and snatched hislife away? The rivers were overflowing their banks now, though thickand rotten ice was still beneath the milky water. Had he completed hismission north, and was he now struggling to make his way southward? Orwas he securely housed in some out-of-the-way cabin, waiting for openwater and a schooner?
A letter had come, a letter in a blue envelope, and addressed as theother to Phi Beta Ki. That was after Lucile's return. Lucile had beenaway to the Nome market with her deer herd when the first letter hadcome, but had now been home for a month. The two of them had laughedand wondered about that letter. They had put it in the pigeon-hole,and there it now was. But Marian had not forgotten her promise to takeit with her in case the boy did not return before she left the Cape.
Now, as she watched-the restless ocean, she realized that it would notbe many days before it would break its bonds. The ice would then floataway to points unknown. Little gasoline schooners would go flittinghere and there like sea-gulls, and then would come the hoarse voice ofthe _Corwin_, mail steamer for Arctic. She would take that steamer toNome. Would the boy be back by then, or would she carry the mysteriousletter with her? For a long time Marian gave herself up to speculation.
As she sat dreaming of these things, she started suddenly. Somethinghad touched her foot.
"Oh;" she exclaimed, then laughed.
The most forlorn-looking dog she had ever seen had touched her footwith his nose. His hair was ragged and matted. His bones protruded atevery possible point. His mouth was set awry, one side hanginghalf-open.
"So it's you," she said; "you're looking worse than common."
The dog opened his mouth, allowing his long tongue to loll out.
"I suppose that means you're hungry. Well, for once you are in luck.The natives caught a hundred or more salmon through the ice. I havesome of them. Fish, Old Top, fish! What say?"
The dog stood on his hind legs and barked for joy. He read the sign inher eyes if he did not understand her lip-message.
In another moment he was gulping down a fat, four-pound salmon, whileMarian eyed him, a curious questioning look on her face.
"Now," she said, as the dog finished, "the question is what are wegoing to do with you? You're an old dog. You're no good in a team.Too old. Bad feet. No, sir, you can't be any good, or you wouldn't beback here in five days. We gave you to Tommy Illayok to lead his team.You were a leader in your day all right, and you'd lead 'em yet if youcould, poor old soul!"
There was a catch in her voice. To her dogs were next to humans. Inthe North they were necessary servants as well as friends.
"The thing that makes it hard to turn you out," she went on huskily,"is the fact that you're a white man's dog. Yes, sir! a white man'sdog. And that means an awful lot; means you'd stick till death to anywhite person who'd feed you and call you friend. Mr. Jack London haswritten a book about a white man's dog that turned wild and joined awolf-pack. It's a wonderful book, but I don't believe it. A whiteman's dog wants a white man for a friend, and if he loses one he'llkeep traveling until he finds another. That's the way a white man'sdog is, and that's why you come back to us, poor old dear." Shestooped and patted the shaggy head.
"I'll tell you what," she murmured, after a moment's reflection. "Ifthe fish keep running, if the wild ducks come north, or the walrus comebarking in from Bering Sea, then you can stay with us and get sleek andfat. You can sleep by our door in the hallway every night, and ifanyone comes prowling around, you can ask them what they want. How'szat?"
The dog howled his approval.
Marian smiled, and turning went into the cabin. The dog did not belongto them. He was an old and decrepit leader, deserted by a faithlessmaster. He had adopted their cabin as his home. When food had becomescarce, they had been forced to give him to an Eskimo traveling up thecoast. Now, in five days he was back again. Marian was not sure thatLucile would approve of the arrangement she had made with the dog, butwhen her heart prompted her, she could only follow its promptings.
She had hardly entered the cabin than she heard a growl from the dog,followed by the voice of a stranger.
"Down, Rover!" she shouted, as she sprang to the door.
The man who stood before her was badly dressed and unshaven. His eyesbore a shifty gleam.
"Get out, you cur!" He kicked at the dog with his heavy boot.
Marian's eyes flashed, but she said nothing.
"This the post office?" The man attempted a smile.
"Yes, sir."
"'S there a letter here for me?"
"I don't know," she smiled. "Won't you come in?"
The man came inside.
"Now," she said, "I'll see. What is your name?"
"Ben--" he hesitated. "Oh--that don't matter. Won't be addressed tomy name. Addressed like that."
He drew from his pocket a closely-folded, dirt-begrimed envelope.
Marian's heart stopped beating. The envelope was blue--yes, the veryshade of blue of that other in the pigeon-hole. And it was addressed:Phi Beta Ki, Nome, Alaska.
"Is there a letter here like that?" the man demanded, squinting at herthrough blood-shot eyes.
It was a tense moment. What should she say? She loathed the man;feared him, as well. Yet he had asked for the letter and had offeredbetter proof than the mysterious college boy had. What should she say?
"Yes," she said, and then hesitated. Her heart beat violently. Hissearching eyes were upon her. "Yes, there was one. It came two monthsago. A young man called for it and took it away."
"You--you gave it to him!"
The man lifted a hand as if to strike Marian. She did not flinch.
There came a growl from the door. Looking quickly, Marian caught thequestioning gleam in the old leader's eye.
The man's arm fell.
"Yes," she said stoutly, "I gave it to him. Why should I not? Heoffered no real proof that he was the right person, it is true--"
"Then why--"
"But neither have you," Marian hurried on. "You might have picked thatenvelope up in the street, or taken it from a wastepaper basket. Howdo I know?"
"What--what sort of a boy was it?" the man asked more steadily.
"A good-looking, strapping young fellow, with blue eyes and an honestface."
"That's him! That's him!" the man almost raved. "Honest-lookin', yes,honest-lookin'. They ain't all honest that looks that way."
Again came the growl from the door.
Marian's eyes glanced uneasily toward the pigeon-hole where the latestblue envelope rested. She caught an easy breath. A large white legalenvelope quite hid the blue one.
"Well, if another one comes, remember it's mine! Mine!" growled theman, as he went stamping out of the room.
"Old Rover," Marian said, taking the dog's head between her hands."I'm glad you're here. When there are such men as that about, we needyou."
And yet, as she spoke her heart was full of misgivings. What if thisman's looks belied his nature? What if he were honest? And what ifher good-looking college boy was a rascal? There in the pigeon-holewas the blue envelope. What was her duty?
Pulling on her calico parka, she went for a stroll on the beach. Thecool, damp air of Arctic twilight by the sea was balm to her troubledbrain. She came back to the cabin with a deep-seated conviction thatshe was right.
She was not given many days to decide whether she should take theletter with her or leave it. A sudden gale from the south sent theice-floes rushing through the Straits. They hastened a
way to seasunknown, not to return for months. The little mail steamer camehooting its way around the Point. It brought a letter of the utmostimportance to Marian.
While in Nome the summer before she had made some hasty sketches of theChukches, natives of the Arctic coast of Siberia, while they camped onthe beach there on a trading voyage in a thirty-foot skin-boat. Thesesketches had come to the notice of the ethnological society. They nowwrote to her, asking that she spend a summer on the Arctic coast ofSiberia, making sketches of these natives, who so like the Eskimos areyet so unlike them in many ways. The pay, they assured her, would beample; in fact, the figures fairly staggered her. Should she completethis task in safety and to the satisfaction of the society, she wouldthen be prepared to pay her way through a three years' course in thebest art school of America. This had long been a cherished dream.Marian's eyes shone with happiness.
When she had read the letter through, she went for a five-mile walkdown the beach.
Upon returning she burst in on her companion.
"Lucile," she exclaimed, "how would you like to spend the summer inSiberia?"
"Fine! Salt mine, I suppose," laughed Lucile. "But I thought allpolitical prisoners had been released by the new Russian government?"
"I'm not joking," said Marian.
"Explain then."
Marian did explain. At the end of her explanation Lucile agreed to goas Marian's traveling companion and tent-keeper. In two weeks herschool work would be finished. It would be a strange, a delightfulsummer. Their enthusiasm grew as they talked about it. Long afterthey should have been asleep they were still making plans for this,their most wonderful adventure.
"But how'll we go over?" exclaimed Lucile suddenly.
"Gasoline schooner, I suppose."
"I'd hate to trust any men I know who run those crafts," said Marianthoughtfully.
Lucile considered a moment.
"Native skin-boat, then."
"That would be rather thrilling--to cross from the new world into theold in a skin-boat."
"And safe enough too," said Marian. "Did you ever hear of a nativeboat being lost at sea?"
"One. But that one turned up at King's Island, a hundred and fiftymiles off its course."
"I guess we could risk it."
"All right, let's go."
Marian sprang to her feet, threw back the blankets to her couch, andfifteen minutes later was dreaming of a tossing skin-boat on a wild seaof walrus monsters and huge white bears.
Her wild dreams did not come true. When the time came to cross thethirty-five miles of water which separates the Old World from the New,they sailed and paddled over a sea as placid as a mill-pond. Here abrown seal bobbed his head out of the water; here a spectacledeiderduck rode up and down on the tiny waves, and here a great mass oftubular seaweed drifted by to remind them that they were really on thebosom of the briny ocean.
Only one incident of the voyage caused them a feeling of vague unrest.A fog had settled down over the sea. They were drifting and paddlingslowly forward, when the faint scream of a siren struck their ears. Itcame nearer and nearer.
"A gasoline schooner," said Marian.
The natives began shouting to avert a possible collision.
Presently the schooner appeared, a dark bulk in the fog. It tookshape. Men were seen on the deck. It came in close by. The wavesfrom it reached the skin-boat.
They were passing with a salute, when a strange thing happened. Rover,the old dog-leader, who had been riding in the bow standing wellforward, as if taking the place of a painted figurehead, suddenly beganto bark furiously. At the same time, Marian caught sight of a beardedface framed in a porthole.
Involuntarily she shrank back out of sight. The next instant theschooner had faded away into the fog. The dog ceased barking.
"What was it?" asked Lucile anxiously.
"Only a face."
"Who?"
"The man who wanted the blue envelope; Rover recognized him first."
"You don't suppose he knew, and is following?"
"How could he know?"
"But what is he going to Siberia for?"
"Perhaps to trade. They do that a great deal. Let's not talk of it."Marian shivered.
The incident was soon forgotten. They were nearing the Siberian shorewhich was to be their summer home. A million nesting birds cameskimming out over the sea, singing their merry song as if to greetthem. They would soon be living in a tent in the midst of a city oftents. They would be studying a people whose lives are as little knownas were those of the natives in the heart of Africa before the days ofLivingstone.
As she thought of these things Marian's cheeks flushed with excitement.
"What new thrill will come to us here?" her lips whispered.