Elliot and Holt left Kusiak in a spume of whirling, blinding snow. Theytraveled light, not more than forty pounds to the dog, for they wantedto make speed. It was not cold for Alaska. They packed their fur coatson the sled and wore waterproof parkas. On their hands were mittensof moosehide with duffel lining, on their feet mukluks above "German"socks. Holt had been a sour-dough miner too long to let his partnerperspire from overmuch clothing. He knew the danger of pneumonia froma sudden cooling of the heat of the body.
Old Gideon took seven of his dogs, driving them two abreast. Six werehuskies, rangy, muscular animals with thick, dense coats. They were inthe best of spirits and carried their tails erect like their Malemuteleader. Butch, though a Malemute, had a strong strain of collie in him.It gave him a sense of responsibility. His business was to see that theteam kept strung out on the trail, and Butch was a past-master in thematter of discipline. His weight was ninety-three fighting pounds, andhe could thrash in short order any dog in the team.
The snow was wet and soft. It clung to everything it touched. The dogscarried pounds of it in the tufts of hair that rose from their backs.An icy pyramid had to be knocked from the sled every half-hour. Thesnowshoes were heavy with white slush. Densely laden spruce boughsbrushed the faces of the men and showered them with unexpected littleavalanches.
They took turns in going ahead of the team and breaking trail. Itwas heavy, muscle-grinding work. Before noon they were both utterlyfatigued. They dragged forward through the slush, lifting their ladenfeet sluggishly. They must keep going, and they did, but it seemed tothem that every step must be the last.
Shortly after noon the storm wore itself out. The temperature had beensteadily falling and now it took a rapid drop. They were passing throughtimber, and on a little slope they built with a good deal of difficultya fire. By careful nursing they soon had a great bonfire going, in frontof which they put their wet socks, mukluks, scarfs, and parkas to dry.The toes of the dogs had become packed with little ice balls. Gordon andHolt had to go carefully over the feet of each animal to dig these out.
The old-timer thawed out a slab of dried salmon till the fat began tofrizzle and fed each husky a pound of the fish and a lump of tallow.He and Gordon made a pot of tea and ate some meat sandwiches they hadbrought with them to save cooking until night.
When they took the trail again it was in moccasins instead of mukluks.The weather was growing steadily colder and with each degree of fall inthe thermometer the trail became easier.
"Mushing at fifty below zero is all right when it is all right,"explained Holt in the words of the old prospector. "But when it isn'tright it's hell."
"It is not fifty below yet, is it?"
"Nope. But she's on the way. When your breath makes a kinder cracklingnoise she's fifty."
Travel was much easier now. There was a crust on the snow that held upthe dogs and the sled so that trail-breaking was not necessary. Thelittle party pounded steadily over the barren hills. There was no signof life except what they brought with them out of the Arctic silence andcarried with them into the greater silence beyond. A little cloud ofsteam enveloped them as they moved, the moisture from the breath of ninemoving creatures in a waste of emptiness.
Each of the men wrapped a long scarf around his mouth and nose forprotection, and as the part in front of his face became a sheet of iceshifted the muffler to another place.
Night fell in the middle of the afternoon, but they kept traveling. Nottill they were well up toward the summit of the divide did they decideto camp. They drove into a little draw and unharnessed the weary dogs.It was bitterly cold, but they were forced to set up the tent and stoveto keep from freezing. Their numbed fingers made a slow job of the camppreparations. At last the stove was going, the dogs fed, and theythemselves thawed out. They fell asleep shortly to the sound of themournful howling of the dogs outside.
Long before daybreak they were afoot again. Holt went out to chop somewood for the stove while Gordon made breakfast preparations. The littleminer brought in an armful of wood and went out to get a second supply.A few moments later Elliot heard a cry.
He stepped out of the tent and ran to the spot where Holt was lyingunder a mass of ice and snow. The young man threw aside the brokenblocks that had plunged down from a ledge above.
"Badly hurt, Gid?" he asked.
"I done bust my laig, son," the old man answered with a twisted grin.
"You mean that it is broken?"
"Tell you that in a minute."
He felt his leg carefully and with Elliot's help tried to get up.Groaning, he slid back to the snow.
"Yep. She's busted," he announced.
Gordon carried him to the tent and laid him down carefully. The oldminer swore softly.
"Ain't this a hell of a note, boy? You'll have to get me to Smith'sCrossing and leave me there."
It was the only thing to be done. Elliot broke camp and packed the sled.Upon the load he put his companion, well wrapped up in furs. Heharnessed the dogs and drove back to the road.
Two miles farther up the road Gordon stopped his team sharply. He hadturned a bend in the trail and had come upon an empty stage buried inthe snow.
The fear that had been uppermost in Elliot's mind for twenty-four hoursclutched at his throat. Was it tragedy upon which he had come after hislong journey?
Holt guessed the truth. "They got stalled and cut loose the horses. Musthave tried to ride the cayuses to shelter."
"To Smith's Crossing?" asked Gordon.
"Expect so." Then, with a whoop, the man on the sled contradictedhimself. "No, by Moses, to Dick Fiddler's old cabin up the draw. That'swhere Swiftwater would aim for till the blizzard was over."
"Where is it?" demanded his friend.
"Swing over to the right and follow the little gulch. I'll wait till youcome back."
Gordon dropped the gee-pole and started on the instant. Eagerness,anxiety, dread fought in his heart. He knew that any moment now he mightstumble upon the evidence of the sad story which is repeated in Alaskamany times every winter. It rang in him like a bell that where tough,hardy miners succumbed a frail girl would have small chance.
He cut across over the hill toward the draw, and at what he saw hispulse quickened. Smoke was pouring out of the chimney of a cabin andfalling groundward, as it does in the Arctic during very cold weather.Had Sheba found safety there? Or was it the winter home of a prospector?
As he pushed forward the rising sun flooded the earth with pink andstruck a million sparkles of color from the snow. The wonder of it drewthe eyes of the young man for a moment toward the hills.
A tumult of joy flooded his veins. The girl who held in her soft handsthe happiness of his life stood looking at him. It seemed to him thatshe was the core of all that lovely tide of radiance. He moved towardher and looked down into the trench where she waited. Swiftly he kickedoff his snowshoes and leaped down beside her.
The gleam of tears was in her eyes as she held out both hands to him.During the long look they gave each other something wonderful to bothof them was born into the world.
When he tried to speak his hoarse voice broke. "Sheba--little Sheba!Safe, after all. Thank God, you--you--" He swallowed the lump in histhroat and tried again. "If you knew--God, how I have suffered! I wasafraid--I dared not let myself think."
A live pulse beat in her white throat. The tears brimmed over. Then,somehow, she was in his arms weeping. Her eyes slowly turned to his,and he met the touch of her surrendered lips.
Nature had brought them together by one of her resistless andunpremeditated impulses.