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BALDY of NOME
by
ESTHER BIRDSALL DARLING
Decorations by Hattie Longstreet
[Illustration: Baldy of Nome]
To My Mother
whose unfailing kindness to all animals is one of my earliest and
happiest memories
Contents
I. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
II. WHERE EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY
III. THE FIRST STEP
IV. THE PLODDER
V. THE WOMAN, THE RACERS, AND OTHERS
VI. TO VISIT THOSE IN AFFLICTION
VII. THE DAWN OF A TO-MORROW
VIII. A TRAGEDY WITHOUT A MORAL AND A COMEDY WITH ONE
IX. WITH THE FLIGHT OF TIME
X. THE SOLOMON DERBY
XI. ONE SUMMER
XII. THE GREAT RACE
XIII. FOR THE SUPREMACY OF THE TRAIL
XIV. IMMORTALS OF THE TRAIL
Illustrations
THE RACING TEAM
"SCOTTY" ALLAN AND BALDY
THE ALASKA OF MEN AND DOGS
June 1st--The steamer "Corwin" at the edge of the ice, five miles
from shore
THE WOMAN
NOME, ALASKA--FROM BERING SEA
THE START OF AN ALASKA DOG TEAM RACE
A TEAM OF SIBERIANS
"SHE HAD BEEN A MEMBER OF ONE OF THE MAIL TEAMS"
Eric Johnson, U.S. mail carrier on the Nome-Unalakleet Route
THE AIR WAS CRISP AND KEEN
THE TRAIL HAD GROWN EXCEEDINGLY ROUGH
KRUZAMAPA HOT SPRINGS
THE RAMSAY SIBERIANS
AN OVATION FOR THE PLUCKY LITTLE SCOTCHMAN
THE CAR COASTED DOWN ALL THE HILLS
"SCOTTY" ALLAN ON THE TRAIL
AN ALASKAN SWEEPSTAKES TEAM
Fay Dalzene, driver
CAPTAIN HAAS OF THE FRENCH ARMY AND HIS ALASKAN SLEDGES
BALDY OF NOME
I
The Parting of the Ways
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Baldy of Nome
CHAPTER I
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
Baldy knew that something was wrong. His most diverting efforts had
failed to gain the usual reward of a caress, or at least a word of
understanding; and so, dog-like to express his sympathy, he came close
beside his friend and licked his hand. Always, before, this had called
attention to the fact that Baldy was ready to share any trouble with the
boy--but to-day the rough and grimy little hand, stiff and blue from the
cold, did not respond, and instead only brushed away the tears that
rolled slowly down the pinched cheeks. Sometimes the slight body shook
with sobs that the boy tried manfully to suppress; but when one is
chilled, and tired and hungry, and in the shadow of a Great Tragedy, the
emotions are not easy to control.
With unseeing eyes and dragging steps, the boy trudged along the snowy
trail, dreading the arrival at Golconda Camp. For there was the House of
Judgment, where all of the unfortunate events of that most unhappy day
would be reviewed sternly, though with a certain harsh justice, that
could result in nothing less than a sentence of final separation from
Baldy. And so when the dog in his most subtle and delicate manner showed
his deep love for the boy, it only made the thought of the inevitable
parting harder to bear.
So completely was Ben lost in his own gloomy reflections that he did not
hear the sound of bells behind him; and it was not until a cheery voice
called out demanding the right of way that he stepped aside to let a
rapidly approaching dog team pass. As it came closer he saw that it was
the Allan and Darling team of Racers, and for the moment his eyes
brightened with interest and admiration as he noticed with a true
dog-lover's appreciation the perfect condition of the fleet-footed dogs,
and the fine detail of sled and equipment.
Then his glance fell upon Baldy--thin, rough coated, and showing
evidences of neglect; upon Baldy to whom he could not now even offer
food and shelter, and a wave of bitterness swept over him.
"Come along, sonny, if you're going our way," and in the kindly little
man at the handle-bars the boy recognized "Scotty" Allan, the most
famous dog driver in Alaska. To the boy "Scotty" represented all that
was most admirable in the whole North, and he stood speechless at the
invitation to ride with him behind a team that had always seemed as
wonderful as Cinderella's Fairy Coach. He hesitated, and then the Woman
in the sled beckoned encouragingly. "Get in with me; and your dog may
come too," she said as she rearranged the heavy fur robes to make room.
The boy advanced with painful shyness, and awkwardly climbed into the
place assigned him. The Woman laid her hand on Baldy's collar to draw
him in also, but the boy exclaimed quickly, "No, ma'am, don't do that,
please; he ain't really cross, but he won't ride in anythin' as long's
he's got a leg to stand on; an' sometimes he growls if people he don't
know touches him."
"Dogs and boys never growl at me, because I love them; and he does not
look as if he really had a leg to stand on," she replied smilingly. But
the boy nervously persisted. "Please let him go--his legs is all right.
He looks kind o' run down jest now 'cause he"--the boy felt a tightening
at his throat, and winked hard to keep the tears from starting
again--"'cause he ain't got much appetite. But when he's eatin' good his
legs is jest great. Why, there ain't no other dog in Golconda that's got
as strong legs as Baldy when he's--when he's eatin' good," he repeated
hastily. "An' Golconda's plumb full o' fine dogs."
"If that's so," said "Scotty," "I think I shall have to take a look at
those Golconda wonders before the winter fairly sets in; and maybe you
can give me a few pointers."
For a mile or so the boy sat spellbound, drinking in the casual comments
of "Scotty" upon the dogs in the team, as if they were pearls of wisdom
dropping from the lips of an Oracle. He was not so much interested in
the Woman's replies, for they displayed a lack of technical information
that contrasted unfavorably in the boy's mind with the keen and accurate
insight that Allan showed in every word on that most vital subject.
Vaguely the boy remembered having once heard that she had become a
partner in the racing team for mere amusement of the sport, instead of
from a serious, high-minded interest, and that of course did not entitle
her to the same respect you could feel for one to whom the care and
culture of the dog assumed the dignity of a vocation. Then, too, she had
spoken slightingly of Baldy's legs. As a human being he could not but
respond to her friendly overtures, but as a dog fancier she held no
place in his esteem.
As they approached the divide where the trail for Golconda branched from
the main road, an idea suddenly came to the boy. He had watched the
harmony between Allan and his dogs; had noted their willingness, their
affection for "Scotty," and his consideration for them. And as the pace
became slower, and he realized that they were nearly at the end of this
fate-given interview, he tremblingly gasped out the question that had
been seething through his mind with such persistence. "Mr. Allan, would
you like to buy Baldy?"
"Buy Baldy!" exclaimed the man in surprise. "Why, I thought you and
Baldy were chums--I had no idea he was for sale."
"He wasn't till jest now, not till I saw how yer dogs love you; but I
got t' git rid of him. It's been comin' fer a long time, an' I guess
to-day's finished it."
The man leaned over and looked into the tear-stained face. "Are you in
some trouble about him? Perhaps it's not so bad as you think, and maybe
we can help you without taking Baldy."
But the boy went on determinedly. "No, sir, I want you to take him; it'd
be the best thing fer him, an' I kin stan' it someway. A feller has ter
stan' a lot o' things he don't like in this world, but I hope,"
feelingly, "all of 'em ain't as hard as givin' up his best friend."
As if to avoid the sympathy he felt was forthcoming, he plunged hastily
into the details that had led to the unexpected offer. "I'm Ben Edwards.
Maybe you knew my father; he was killed in the cave-in on the June
Fraction. Baldy was only a little pup then, but Dad was awful fond of
him."
"I remember," said the Woman thoughtfully; "and you have been in
difficulties since, and need the money you could get for Baldy. Is that
it?"
"It ain't only the money, but none o' the men at the Camp care much fer
Baldy, an' they ain't kind to him. Only Moose Jones. When he was here he
wouldn't let the men tease Baldy ner me, an' he made the cook give me
scraps an' bones ter feed him. An' once he licked Black Mart fer
throwin' hot water on Baldy when he went ter the door o' Mart's cabin
lookin' fer me. I think Moose Jones is the best man in the world, an'
about the strongest," volunteered the boy loyally.
"And where's Moose Jones now?" asked "Scotty." "I used to see him
prospecting out near the Dexter Divide last winter."
"He was at Dexter first, an' then he was at Golconda fer a while; but in
spring he went ter St. Michael, an' from there up ter the new strike at
Marshall."
"And you miss him very much?" questioned the Woman.
"Yes, ma'am, I miss him a lot, an' so does Baldy. He was awful good ter
animals an' kids. He had a pet ermine that 'ud come in ter see him every
night in his cabin, an' he wouldn't let Mart an' some o' the fellers set
a trap fer the red mother fox that was prowlin' round the place t' git
somethin' fer her babies. Said he'd make trap-bait fer bears o' the
first feller that tried t' git 'er."
"Excellent idea."
"Oh, he didn't really mean it serious. Why, Moose is so kind he hates
ter kill anythin'--even fer food. Sometimes when he's been livin' on
bacon an' beans fer months, he lets a flock o' young ptarmigan fly by
him 'cause he says they look so soft an' pretty an' fluttery he don't
like ter shoot 'em; an' Moose is a dead shot. He's mighty handy with his
fists too, an' next ter Mr. Allan I guess Moose knows more about dogs
than any man in Alaska; an' he said he'd bet some day there'd be a
reg'lar stampede ter buy Baldy."
"A prophet," exclaimed the Woman. "You see we are the forerunners. But
who is Black Mart?"
"Oh, he's a miner that's workin' the claim next ter Golconda. He's a
friend o' the cook there, an' comes over ter eat pretty often. Him and
Moose had some trouble once over some minin' ground, an' Mart kinda
takes it out on all Moose's friends, even if they's only boys an' dogs,
don't he, Baldy?" And Baldy wagged that he certainly did. "Now the cook
says they've got work dogs enough belongin' ter the claim ter feed,
without supportin' my mangy cur in idleness. Mr. Allan," earnestly, "he
ain't mangy, an' he's the most willin' dog I ever seen fer any one that
loves him. But he ain't sociable with every one, an' he don't like bein'
handled rough."
"Scotty" looked at Baldy with a practiced and critical eye. "Those are
all points in his favor," he remarked. "You can't do much with a dog
that gives his affection and obedience indiscriminately."
"Besides, he ain't no cur--he's one o' them Bowen-Dalzene pups, an' you
know there ain't a poor dog in the lot. They give him to me 'cause he
wasn't like any o' the others in the litter, an' would 'a' spoiled the
looks o' the team when they was old enough ter be hitched up," continued
Ben breathlessly. "He was sort o' wild, too, an' he wouldn't pay
attention t' any of 'em when I was round, an' they said I might as well
take him fer keeps as t' have him runnin' away t' git t' me all the
time."
"And your mother does not like him, and thinks it would be best not to
keep him now?"
"She really does like him; but she does the washin' fer the Camp, an'
helps with the dishes, an' sews when she kin git a job at it. But there
ain't none of 'em reg'lar, an' sometimes there ain't more'n enough fer
us two t' live on. Then she gits pretty tired an' discouraged like, an'
says Baldy's a useless expense, an' keeps me from doin' my chores,
'cause I like t' play with him, an'--"
"Yes, yes, I see," broke in the Woman hastily, anxious to spare him any
further revelations of a painful nature. "I know exactly how it is; but
maybe we could make some arrangement with your mother about the dog. We
will take a sort of an option on him; you can keep him with you, and we
will pay a certain sum for the privilege of being permitted to buy him
outright before the stampede actually begins."
The boy looked at her suspiciously, but there was no smile on her lips,
and she rose a notch in his estimation. She evidently did realize, in a
slight degree, what an unusual bargain was being offered in his
heart-breaking sacrifice.
"An' it ain't 'cause his appetite's gone that makes him thin. I wasn't
tellin' the truth about that," he stammered desperately; "he's jest
_hungry_." The child's mouth quivered and he hesitated, yet he was
determined to tell the whole of the sordid little tragedy now that he
had begun. "But spendin' too much time with him when I should be workin'
ain't the worst. To-day I done somethin' that mebbe she'll think ain't
exac'ly square; an' my mother believes if you ain't square in this world
you ain't much worth while."
"You're not, son," agreed "Scotty" heartily. "Your mother's right."
"My father was allers called Honest Ben Edwards out here on the Third
Beach Line, an' Mother says she'd ruther have that mem'ry o' him than
all the fortunes that's been made in Alaska by lyin' an' steal-in' an'
jumpin' other people's claims."
"Right again, Ben. Nothing can take that from her, and a name like that
is the best thing a man can leave his son."
"This mornin' she gave me some money fer a new pair o' mittens fer her,
an' shoes fer me; an' the cook asked me t' buy a kitchen knife an' a few
pans fer him. I walked inter town t' git 'em, an' Baldy come with me,
though she said I was foolish t' be bothered with him. But I told her it
was awful lonesome on the trail, an' she said I could take him this
time." He paused for breath, visibly embarrassed.
"And you forgot all about your errands," hazarded the Woman.
"No, ma'am, I didn't exac'ly forgit, but when I was passin' the Court
House an' I seen a big crowd inside, I went in, too, ter listen a
minute.
"That lawyer Fink, that got up the Kennel Club, an' has the bully dog
team, an' Daly, the feller with the smile that makes you feel like
there's sunshine in the room, was a-talkin' agin each other; an' their
fightin' was so excitin' an' so smooth an' perlite too, that everybody
was a-settin' on the edges o' their chairs a-waitin' fer what was
a-comin' next."
"So you were interested in what the lawyers had to say?"
"Yes, sir. Ever since my mother told me the story about President
Lincoln a while ago, I been wantin' t' be a lawyer when I grow up. He
didn't have no more book-learnin' than me at first, but he wouldn't let
nothin' stop him, an' jest see what he done."
"Lincoln is to be your model, then? Well, you're right to aim high, Ben.
You can practice his simple virtues of being honest and kind and
industrious every day, and anywhere. And the education must be managed
someway," added the Woman thoughtfully.
"After Mother read me that speech o' Mr. Lincoln's at Gettysburg, when
all the people was jest dumb from their feelin's bein' so solemn an'
deep; an' some o' his other speeches that was fine, I begun t' go t'
town whenever there was t' be any good speakin', even when I had t' walk
both ways."
"Shows your determination, as a starter," replied "Scotty"
encouragingly. "And were you always repaid for your tramp?"
"Most allers, Mr. Allan. Last Fourth o' July I heerd Judge Tucker tell
in his pleasant voice 'at sounds like he likes talkin' t' you all that
Virginia's done fer our country, an' I wished I was from Virginia too.
But mebbe some day I'll make some boy wish he was from Alaska by bein'
fine an' smart an' gentle like Judge Tucker."
"Virginia or Alaska, Ben--it's all the same, so long as you're proud of
your state, and give your state a chance to be proud of you."
"Yes, ma'am; that's what Mother says. Then I heerd Tom Gaffney recitin'
Robert Emmett's last speech, on St. Patrick's day, at Eagle Hall, an' I
near cried at the end; an' I don't cry easy. It takes somethin' pretty
bad t' make me cry," and he looked furtively toward Baldy.
"I'm sure it does, sonny; any one can see that you're game, all right;
but that speech always makes me cry too."
The boy regarded "Scotty" appreciatively. Here was a typical Alaskan, a
sturdy trailsman, touched by the tender, pitiful things of life, just
like a little boy that hasn't had time to become hardened. Ben felt that
they would be friends.
[Illustration: SCOTTY AND BALDY]
"I like all kinds o' speakin', too; not jest the fiery sort that makes
you want t' fight fer your country, an' mebbe die fer it like Robert
Emmett; but the kind that jest makes you want t' be good ter folks an'
dogs, an' do the best you kin when things is agin you, an' you don't
see much ahead--"
The Woman nodded gravely. "Yes, I know. It's the most difficult sort of
bravery--the sort without flags, and music, and cheers to keep you up to
the firing line."
"That's the kind, ma'am. Mebbe you know Bishop Rowe. That's what he
preaches--jest doin' your best all the time, like you was in some big
race. When he's in Nome I allers go t' St. Mary's. He talks plain an'
simple, an' cheers you up--I guess kinda the way Lincoln talked--jest
like he knew all about people's troubles an' didn't blame 'em fer
mistakes, but wanted t' help 'em t' do better. Sometimes his talks don't
sound smooth, an' made up beforehand, but you never forgit 'em."
"Eloquence of the heart instead of the tongue," murmured the Woman.
"An' last August I went every night fer near a week, when Mr. Wickersham
was talkin' men inter sendin' him t' Washington, no matter what they
felt an' said agin his goin' when he wasn't before 'em."
"You have certainly had a variety of orators, and a wide range of
subjects."
"You kin see I ain't missed a single chanct t' hear any of 'em since I
made up my mind t' be a great man"--and then appalled by his lengthy
burst of eloquence the child colored violently and concluded in
confusion--"an' this mornin' I got so interested in them speeches o'
Daly's an' Fink's, I must 'a' lost all track o' time, fer when I come
out it was noon, an' Baldy was gone."
"You must indeed have been absorbed to forget Baldy. Where did you find
him?"
"One o' the school kids told me the pound-man had got him, so I went
over t' the pound on the Sand Spit as fast as I could run. I explained
t' the man that Baldy wasn't a Nome dog; that we live five miles out at
Golconda--but he said he was gittin' pretty sick o' that excuse. That no
boy's dog ever really lived in Nome, so fur's he could find out; that
all of 'em was residin' in the suburbs, an' only come in t' spend a day
now an' then."
"It's a strange thing," mused the Woman, "that all pound-men are
sarcastic and sceptical. It seems an inevitable part of their
occupation. They never believed me when I was a little girl, either.
Then what?"
"He said the only thing that concerned him was that Baldy was in town
when he found him, and hadn't no license. Besides, he thought the dog
was vicious 'cause he growled when the wire was around his neck. Pretty
near any dog 'ud do that ef he had any spirit in him; an' Baldy's jest
full o' spirit."
Both the Woman and "Scotty" looked involuntarily at Baldy who stood,
dejected and uneasy; and then exchanged a glance in which amusement and
pity struggled for expression.
"The pound-man said ef I didn't pay the $2.50 t' git him out, an'
another $2.50 t' git him a license, he'd sell the dog along with a lot
o' others he'd ketched durin' the week. I tuk Mother's money, an' what
the cook give me, an' got Baldy out, an' bought him a license so's he'd
be safe nex' time. Now," sadly, "there ain't goin' t' be any nex' time."
"There really did not seem to be any other way out of it for the
moment," observed the Woman sympathetically.
"No, ma'am, but it wasn't very honest t' use the cook's money, ner
Mother's; it'll take a long time t' pay 'em back, an' I guess Mother
won't have much patience with Baldy after this. I wouldn't mind gittin'
punished myself, but I don't want him blamed. He'd be a lot better off
with you, Mr. Allan; an' mebbe ef you'd feed him up, an' give him a
chanct, he'd be a racer some day. He'd never lay down on you, an',"
almost defiantly, "he's got good legs."
"Scotty" felt the dog's legs, and noted the breadth of his chest. "What
do you want for him, Ben?"
"Would ten dollars be too much?" asked the boy, eagerly.
"Ten dollars would be too little," quickly exclaimed the Woman. "You see
we are getting ahead of all the others who do not know his fine points
yet, and we should be willing to pay something extra for this
opportunity. Do you think that twenty-five dollars would be fair,
considering that we are in on the ground floor?"
"Yes, ma'am, that's lots more'n I expected. But it ain't so much the
money I'm gittin' as the home he's gittin' an' the trainin' an' all."
"Well, that's a bargain, then; come to my husband's office--Darling and
Dean, on Front Street, you know--the first time you are in town, and we
will give you a check; and you can bring Baldy with you then."
"I guess," slowly, "you'd better take him now. It 'ud be easier fer me
t' let him go while I'm kinda worked up to it. Mebbe ef I thought about
it fer a few days I wouldn't be able t' do it, an' he mightn't have
another chanct like this in his whole life."
He drew a frayed bit of rope from a torn pocket, and tied it to the old
strap that served as Baldy's collar--handing the end to "Scotty."
In the deepening shadows of the chill November dusk the boy's face was
ashen. He stooped over as if to see that the knot in the rope was secure
at the dog's neck--but the Woman knew in that brief instant the
trembling blue lips had been pressed in an agony of renunciation against
Baldy's rough coat.
"Thank you both very much," he said in a tone that he tried to keep
steady. "Thank you fer the ride and fer--fer everything."
He did not trust himself to look at the dog again, but stepped quickly
into the Golconda Trail.
"You must come to see Baldy often," the Woman called to him.
"Yes, ma'am, I'll be glad to--after a while," he replied gratefully.
And then as "Scotty" gave the word to the impatient Racers, and the team
swung round to return to Nome, there came to them out of the grayness a
voice, faint and quavering like an echo--"Some day you'll be glad you've
got Baldy."
[Illustration]
II
Where Every Dog Has His Day
[Illustration]
[Illustration]