CHAPTER XVI
FIGHTING THE NORTH
"Wheheveh was yo' aimin' fo' to go to?" interrogated Waseche, when theywere once more safely seated about the fireplace in the room at the endof the old mine tunnel.
"Sure, ut's th' map!" answered O'Brien, in a tone of the deepestdejection.
"The map! What about it?"
"Ut's in me other pants!" wailed the Irishman. "Back in th' _igloo_!"
"The _igloo_! The _igloo_--back there?"
"That same," nodded O'Brien, shamefacedly dropping his glance before thewrathful glare of Waseche's eyes. "Ye see, ut's loike this: two yearsago, Oi bruk away fr' th' haythins an' made th' Ignatook. Car-rlson an'Pete Mateese wuz here thin, an' Oi shtayed wid um f'r a month, untilwan day Oi wuz fishin' in th' river, an' they shwooped down an' caughtme befoor Oi c'd git back into th' valley. Afther that they watched meclost, an' befoor Oi c'd git away ag'in Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese wuzgone. 'Twuz thin Oi found his map, pegged to a caribou haunch on top avth' pile yondher, an' Oi shtayed here an' wor-rked till Oi'd all th'gold Oi c'd pack, an' thin Oi shtar-rted f'r th' Kandik. They caught me,av coorse, bekaze th' heft av thim cans, along wid phwat grub Oi wuzdhraggin' on th' sled, wuz more thin a wan man load. They'resooperstitious about th' creek, an' th' gold, too, an' they slung th'cans back into th' valley.
"That's two toimes Oi got away, an' since that they ain't watched me soclost, f'r they've lur-rned that widout dogs, Oi can't make ut to th'outside--an' Be Jabbers! nointeen toimes since, Oi've been dhrug back,but Oi always kep' th' map f'r fear that sometoime Oi'd git to useut--an' now, phwin we've got th' chanst, Oi've gone an' murdhered us allbe layvin' ut behint--an' all on account av th' dance an' th'_potlatch_, be rayson av which Oi wint an' changed me britches!"
The man's grief was so genuine, and his dejection so deep that thewrathful gleam faded from Waseche Bill's eyes, and Connie moved nearerand placed his hand upon the Irishman's shoulder.
"Never mind, O'Brien. You didn't mean to leave the map--we knowthat--don't we, Waseche?"
"Sho', he didn't," answered the man, gloomily. "But that don't help the_case_ any. How we-all ah goin' to get out of heah, now, is mo'n Iknow----"
"Me nayther," assented O'Brien. "Av Oi'd shtayed in Kildare, Oi w'dn'tbe here now. We bether go back an' settle down wid th' Injuns--av we c'nmake friends wid um ag'in, befoor they har-rpoon us--f'r Oi'll niver seeFlor-ridy, now!"
Connie leaped to his feet and stood before the two men, who looked intothe narrowing grey eyes that flashed in the flickering flare of theblubber lamp.
"You make me tired!" cried Connie. "Anybody'd think youneeded a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around."]
"You make me _tired_!" cried the boy, "both of you--with your talk ofnot getting out of the Lillimuit; and of going back to the Indians! Why,they'd eat up our dogs, and then we _couldn't_ get out! What's got intoyou, Waseche? Buck up! Anybody'd think you needed a city, with thestreets all numbered, to find your way around!
"Carlson came in by the Tatonduk--and he went out by the Kandik--hisfirst trip, when he showed the nuggets he brought back. Who madeCarlson's map? He was a sourdough--but he has nothing on _us_! He foundhis own way out--and so will we! If we miss the Kandik, we'll find apass of our own--or a river--or a creek! We're not afraid of theLillimuit. It hasn't got us yet! And it isn't going to! We've got thedogs, and we've got the grub--and we've got the nerve to back them.We'll hike to the outside on our own trail--and we'll turn around andcome back after the gold!
"But, if we don't make it--and have to die out there in the WhiteCountry--when they find us, they'll know _men_ died! We'll be, anyway,_one_ day's mushing ahead of our last camp fire!"
Waseche leaped to the boy's side and grasped the small, doubled fist.
"They sho' _will_, kid!" he cried. "They sho' _will_! But they ain't agoin' to find us bushed! I wisht yo' daddy c'd of heahd yo' then--Hewas _some_ man, Sam Mo'gan was, an' he'd sho' be proudful of his boy!
"I'm plumb 'shamed, pahdneh, fo' to gloomed up on yo' that-a-way--ain'twe, O'Brien?"
"We ar-re, that!" shouted the Irishman, with a new light in his eyes."Ye're a gr-rand lad, wid a hear-rt, in ye're ribs, that's th' heart ava foightin' man. F'r all ye're small soize, ye're th' gamest wan av th'three av us. An' uts Pathrick O'Brien'll folly ye to th' top av' th'narth pole, av ye say th' wor-rd."
A week was spent in exploring the valley of the Ignatook and in prospectpanning at different points along the mysterious boiling creek whosehot, black gravel showed an unbelievably rich pay streak.
O'Brien improved rapidly from day to day. The despairing, furtive lookfaded from his eyes, which glowed with a new hope and a new-borndetermination to do a man's part in the accomplishment of a purpose. Hiswild dash for the river showed the utter futility of attempting torecover Carlson's map, for the loss of which he blamed himself bitterly.Nevertheless, the words of the boy put new heart into the lonely man,who ceased mumbling and muttering of Florida, and threw himself with awill into the work in hand.
The high rock-cliffs that flanked the valley of the Ignatook curvedtoward the west in two solid walls, unbroken except at a point two milesabove the old mine, where a narrow ravine led in a long, winding slopeto the level of the surrounding plateau.
It was by way of this ravine, O'Brien assured them, Carlson had takenhis departure; and that this fact was known to the White Indians wasclearly demonstrated when, each day they saw silent fur-clad figuressilhouetted against the clearcut skyline. There was something ominousand forbidding in the attitude of the silent sentinels of the frozenwastes who thus guarded the exits from the valley of thecreek-of-the-steam. Time and again Connie glanced from the immutablewatchers to the blackened bones upon the gravel at his feet. These weremen, once; had they really drunk the poison water? Or, had they beenheld prisoners until they starved, by the human vultures that gloated intheir lonely perches high among the rim-rocks?
"If you couldn't outguess 'em, why didn't you rush 'em?" he asked oneday, addressing a sightless, grinning skull. And behind him, O'Brienlaughed.
"They won't foind our-rn here, will they, b'y?"
"You bet they won't!" exclaimed Connie, and shook a small fist at asolitary, motionless figure on the brink of the high rock wall.
To the westward of the mouth of the ravine the walls drew closetogether, so that the hot black waters of the creek completely filledthe narrow gorge and effectively blocked any further ascent of thevalley.
"I don't like to huht no one, needless," said Waseche Bill, as they satabout the fireplace one evening discussing plans for escape; "but we-allgot to get out of heah--an' we ah _goin'_ to get out too--an' if itcomes right down to a matteh of _them_, oah _us_, why it's theah ownfault if they get huht."
"Yis," agreed O'Brien, "Oi shpose ye're roight. But, somehow--yesee--they divoided grub wid me phwin they wuz hungr-ry."
"I know, O'Brien, but that don't give 'em no right to hold us heah, an'to stahve us an' steal ouh dawgs, neitheh. We need them dawgs to getback with--an' we ah goin' to keep 'em. We-all cain't stay heah nolongeh--much. 'Cause, outside of the meat an' fish, we ah runnin'pow'ful shoht of grub. An', besides, the days is gettin' longeh mightyfast, an' the trail ahead of us is a long trail--even if we have goodluck, an' if the snow softs up on us we cain't haul no load, an' when itmelts we cain't cross no rivehs, an' if we get to the mountains yondeh,we won't have no ice-trail to get out on. No, seh! We got to get out ofheah--an' we got to go _now_--an' if anyone tries fo' to stop us, whysomethin's goin' to happen--that's all."
"They's wan way--an' ondly wan, that we c'n me'be give um th' shlip,"said O'Brien. "'Tain't no use thryin' ut in th' dar-rk, f'r th' rayvineis narrow an' they've a foire at th' head uv ut. We'll be travellin'heavy, an' we can't git t'rough um wid a whoop an' hurrah, loike wedone in th' village--but we moight shlip by in th' shnow."
"In the snow?" asked Connie. "What do you mean?"
"Sur-re, they's a star-rm brewin'--th' soigns is roight, an' th' fa
le avut's in th' air. Wan day, or two, an' she'll br-reak, beloike, on th'tur-rn av th' moon. Phwin she thickens up, th' Injuns'll hit f'r th'_igloos_ as fasht as their legs'll carry thim, an' not a nose'll theyshtick outsoide till ut quits shnowin'. F'r they've a fear in theirhear-rts f'r th' star-rm, an' they've no shtummick f'r to be ketched outin ut----"
"Them, an' me--both!" interrupted Waseche Bill.
"Ahroo! Now, come on! Ut's f'r their own good we're doin' ut. Oi knowth' fur-rst fifteen er me'be ut's twinty moiles av th' thrail to th'Kandik. We'll wor-rk ut loike this: They know they's a star-rmcomin'--Oi seen a little knot av um on th' edge av th' clift a jabberin'an' p'intin' into th' Narth. We'll let um see us fetchin' wood into th'moine, loike we wuz gittin' ridy to hole up f'r th' star-rm. Th' sledswe'll load jist insoide th' mouth av th' tunnel, an' phwin they hit f'rth' village we'll har-rness th' dogs an' shlip up th' rayvine, an' outachrost th' bench. They's a bit av a mountain out yondher, me'be ut'stin moiles, an' on th' soide av ut we c'n camp snug in th' scr-rub, tillth' shnow quits. Our tr-racks'll be burried, an' ut'll be a couple avdays befoor they foind out we're gone, an' be th' toime they've pickedup our thrail, we'll be out av their raych--f'r they'll venture notfar-r to th' west, havin' fear-r av phwat lies beyant."
O'Brien finished, and Waseche turned to Connie:
"What do yo' say, son?" he asked. "Shall we try it? It ain't a goin' tobe no snap, out theah on the white bench with the snow an' th' roahin'wind. It's a funny thing--this heah takin' a long chanst jes' to keep agang of Injuns from hahmin' us so we won't hahm them."
"They divoided their grub," repeated O'Brien, with an appealing glanceat the boy.
"And, for _that_, we'll take a chance!" answered Connie. "We're game."
Breakfast over, the following morning, the three busied themselves incutting firewood and carrying it into the tunnel. Indians appeared hereand there among the rim-rocks and, after watching for a time, departedin the direction of the village. By noon, the weather had thickenedperceptibly. A thin grey haze filled the atmosphere through which theweak rays of the Arctic sun filtered feebly. There was no wind, and theair lost its invigorating crispness and clung heavily about them like awet garment. No more Indians appeared upon the edges of the cliffs andWaseche Bill ventured upon a scouting expedition up the narrow ravine,while Connie and O'Brien remained behind to pack the sleds and carry anoccasional armful of firewood for the benefit of any lingering observer.
The boy insisted upon loading Carlson's sled, carefully fitting thecollars to the necks of his own three dogs, which had been hardly ahalf-dozen times in the harness since their memorable dash through thehills when Connie beat out the Ten Bow stampede.
Waseche returned reporting a clear trail, and all fell to harnessing thedogs.
"Whateveh yo' doin' with _that_ sled?" asked Waseche, in surprise.
"I'm going to take it along," answered Connie. "You can't ever tell whatwill happen, and old Boris and Mutt and Slasher may as well be workingas running loose."
Waseche grinned:
"Go ahead if yo' want to. Them ol' dawgs mout get somewhehs with it,an' if they don't, yo' c'n cut yo' trace-lines an' tu'n 'em loose."
"_Is that so!_" flared the boy. "If there's any cutting loose to bedone, you can do it yourself! _This_ sled goes to Ten Bow! And, what'smore, there isn't a lead dog in the world that can touch old Boris--andyou know it! And if big Mutt couldn't out-pull any two of your dogs,he'd be ashamed to waggle his tail! And Slasher could lick your wholeteam--and Mac's, too! And I wouldn't trade a flea off any one of my dogsfor your whole string of mangy _malamutes_--_so there!_"
Waseche chuckled with delight as he winked at O'Brien:
"If yo' eveh want to staht somethin' right quick," he laughed, "jest yo'go ahead an' belittle th' kid's dawgs." And then he dodged swiftly asone of the boy's heavy mittens sailed past his head and slapped smartlyagainst the wall.
O'Brien's two cans of gold were removed from the "safe" and placed,together with the sleeping-bags, robes and blankets, upon Connie'ssled. The stone was adroitly wedged into place and arranged so naturallythat no marauding visitor could possibly have guessed that theinnocent-appearing rock concealed a treasure of upwards of one hundredthousand dollars' worth of pure gold. The caribou venison and fish,together with what remained of the outfit, had already been securelylashed to the larger sleds and, with a last look of farewell, the littlecavalcade moved from the tunnel-mouth and headed for the ravine.
All trace of the sun was obliterated, and for the first time since thebig blizzard, the Arctic sky was overcast with clouds.
Waseche Bill took the lead with McDougall's big ten-team, Conniefollowed with his own three dogs, while O'Brien, with Waseche's team,brought up the rear. The sleds slipped smoothly over the dry frostspicules, and the eyes of the three adventurers eagerly sought the edgesof the high cliffs for signs of the White Indians. But no living,moving thing was visible, and, save for the occasional creak of runners,the white, frozen world was a world of silence.
A half-hour later the _malamutes_ headed up the ravine and humped to thepull of the long ascent. Rapidly, the weather thickened, and when, atlast, they gained the bench, it was to gaze out upon an eerie, flat,white world of fore-shortened horizon. The sleds were halted while thethree took their bearings. O'Brien pointed unhesitatingly toward theopaque west, and Waseche swung McDougall's leaders.
"Mush yo'! Mush yo'!" he yelled. "Hooray fo' Alaska!"
"An' Flor-ridy, too!" yelled O'Brien, and then a puff of wind--chillwind, that felt strangely clammy and damp in the intense cold, came outof the North. The long, serpentine bank of frozen fog that marked thecourse of the Ignatook, shuddered and writhed and eddied, while raggedpatches of frozen rack detached themselves and flew swiftly southward.The air was filled with a dull roar, and a scattering of steel-likepellets hissed earthward. A loud cry pierced the roar of the approachingstorm, and before them stood a solitary White Indian, immovable as astatue, with one arm pointing into the North. For a long moment he stoodand then, in a whirl of flying spume, disappeared in the direction ofthe village.
"Come on, boys!" cried Connie, and his voice sounded far and thin. "Digin! 'Cause we're right now _fighting the North_!"