That same evening Patsy made her second startling discovery. An hourbefore night was to set in, she had harnessed a sled deer and struck outinto the hills in search of a brown yearling that had been missing fortwo days.
"Strange where they all go," she murmured as she climbed a hill for abetter view of the surrounding country. "Marian was right; unless wediscover the cause of these disappearances and put an end to them, soonthere will be no herd. It's a shame! How I wish I could make thediscovery all by myself and surprise Marian with the good news when shegets home."
As she scanned the horizon away across to the west, she saw a single darkfigure on the crest of a hill.
"Old Omnap-puk," she said, taking in with admiration the full sweep ofhis splendid antlers. "It's the first time I've seen him for a longwhile. We can't lose you, can we? And we can't catch you," she said,speaking to the lone figure.
Old Omnap-puk was neither reindeer nor caribou; at least this was whatMarian had said about it. She believed that he was a cross-breed--halfreindeer and half caribou. He was large like a caribou, larger than thelargest deer in the herd. He had something of the dark brown coat of thecaribou, but a bright white spot on his left side told of the reindeerblood that flowed in his veins.
But he was very wild. Haunting the edge of the herd, he never came closeenough to be lassoed or driven into a brush corral. Many a wild chase hadhe lead the herders, but always he had shown them his sleek brown heels.
Many times the girls had debated the question of allowing the herders tokill him for food and for his splendid coat; yet they had hesitated. Theywere not sure that he was not a full-blooded reindeer; that he was notmarked and did not belong to someone. If he was a stray reindeer, theyhad no right to kill him. Besides this, it seemed a pity to kill such awonderful creature. So the matter stood. And here he was on their feedingground.
As Patsy stood there gazing at this splendid creature, she slowlyrealized that the Arctic sun had flamed down below the far horizon andlong shadows raced out of the West. A full orbed moon stood just atop thetrees that lined the eastern rim of hills. Turning reluctantly to leave,her eyes caught sight of a dark spot in the snow. She bent over toexamine it, and a moment later straightened up with a startledexclamation.
"Blood! It is a trail of blood. I wonder which way it goes?"
Unable to answer this question, she decided to circle until she couldfind some sign that would tell her whether or not she was back-tracking.Satisfied at last of the direction, she pushed on, and there in the eeriemoonlight, through the ghostly silence of an Arctic night, she silentlyfollowed the trail of blood.
Suddenly she stopped and stood still. Just before her was a largediscoloration of the snow. And, though the snow was so wind packed thatshe walked on it without snowshoes, her keen eyes detected spots where ithad been broken and scratched by some hard, heavy object.
Dropping on her knees, she began examining every detail of the markings.When she arose she spoke with a quiet tone of conviction:
"This is the track of a man. He has killed one of our deer and had beencarrying it on his shoulder. Blood dropped from the still warm carcass.That explains the trail of blood. The load has become too heavy for him.At this spot he has laid his burden down. In places the antlers havescratched the snow. After a time he has gone on. But which way did hego?"
Once more she bent over. On the hard packed snow, the sole of a skin bootmakes no tracks. After a moment's study she again straightened up.
"There's a long scratch, as if he had dragged the carcass to his shoulderas he started on, and an antler had dragged for two or three feet. Thatwould indicate that he went the way I have been going. Question is, shallI go farther, or shall I go for the herders with their rifles?" Shedecided to go on.
The blood spots grew less and less as she advanced. She was beginning todespair of being able to follow much farther, when, with a startledgesture, she came to a sudden halt.
"The purple flame!" she said in an awed whisper.
It was true. As she stared down at a little willow lined valley, she sawthe outline of a tent. From the very center of it there appeared to burstthat weird purple light.
"Well," she concluded, "I am at least sure that they've killed one of ourdeer; killed several, probably. No doubt they have been living off ourherd."
For a moment she stood there undecided; then, with reluctant feet, sheturned back. It was the only wise thing to do. She was alone and unarmed.To follow that trail further would be dangerous and foolhardy.
But what should she do, once she had reached her own camp? She wasconvinced in her own mind that the slain creature was one of their deer;yet she could not prove it. Should she lead her armed herders to thestranger's tent and demand an explanation? Oh, how she did wish thatMarian was here!
As she walked homeward she felt terribly depressed. There was a girl inthat tent of the purple flame. She had seen her. She had hoped thatsometime, in the not too distant future, they might be friends. Such afriend in this lonely land, especially since Marian and Attatak weregone, would be a boon indeed. Now she felt that such a thing could neverbe. It was as if a great gulf had suddenly yawned between them.
After reaching her camp and sipping a cup of tea and munching at somehard crackers, she sat for hours thinking things through. Her finaldecision was that for the present she could do nothing. Marian mightreturn any day now. In such matters her judgment would be best and Patsydid not feel warranted in starting what might prove to be a dangerousfeud.