IN THE MOUNTAINS OF ALASKA
"Sam, I think we are in for a heavy snow to-day."
"I think so myself, Dick. How much further do we go?"
"About two miles," came from Jack Wumble. "I reckon I got a bit off
the trail yesterday, but I know I am right now, boys."
"But where is Tom?" came from Sam.
"He must be right ahead of us--if what we have been told is true,"
answered his brother.
The conversation recorded above took place just ten days after Dick and
Sam arrived in Dawson City. During that time the Rover boys and Jack
Wumble had spent two days in buying the necessary outfit, to follow Tom
and his strange companion to the wild region in Alaska known as Lion
Head. The start had been made, and now the three found themselves on a
narrow mountain trail in a country that looked to be utterly
uninhabited.
For three days they had been close behind Tom and Ike Furner, this
being proven by the remains of campfires and other indications. Once
they had met some prospectors returning to the Klondyke and these men
had told of passing the pair ahead, and that Furner had said they were
bound for a spot not many miles from Lion Head called Twin Rocks.
"I never heard o' Twin Rocks before," said Jack Wumble. "But if it is
nigh Lion Head we ought to be able to locate it."
"Provided we don't get snowed in before we reach it," returned Sam.
On and on trudged the three. They had left the last supply depot
behind. They had passed only a handful of white folks and a band of
five Indians.
"Do you know, I didn't like the looks of those Indians we passed
yesterday," remarked Dick, as they went forward over the rough, upward
trail.
"They looked pretty sharply at our outfits," said Sam. "I guess
they'll like to own them," he added.
"We have got to keep our eyes open," said Jack Wumble. "Them Injuns
ain't above stealin' if they git a chanct."
"In such an out-of-the-way place as this, we can't afford to lose our
things," asserted Dick.
"Maybe we had better set a guard, at night," suggested his brother.
"Oh, we don't want to lose any sleep, if we don't have to."
It had grown colder and colder, and now the wind swept around them in
anything but a pleasant fashion. About noon came a flurry of snow.
"I don't like that," said Dick, shaking his head and looking up at the
darkening sky.
"Oh, let's hope it won't amount to much, Dick," replied Sam.
The traveling was steadily upward, for they had to pass over a high
hill to get into the valley leading to Lion Head. There was something
of a trail, made by wild animals originally and now used by
prospectors. This wound in and out among the rock and bushes. The
footing was uncertain, and more than once one or another would go down
in a hole.
"Talk about walking!" gasped Sam, after pulling himself out of a hole
well concealed by bushes. "I'm thankful I didn't break a leg that
time."
"An' ye can be thankful ye didn't stir up no snakes," came from Jack
Wumble.
"Are there snakes up here, Jack?"
"So they say--although I never see none."
"It's pretty cold for snakes," remarked Dick. "They only come out in
the summer time."
"I wish we were on horseback," said Sam, with a sigh.
"Hosses would be fine, if we could feed 'em," answered Jack Wumble.
"But ye can't do thet when the ground is covered with snow."
"The outfits are so heavy, Jack."
"True, my boy, but thet can't be helped. We'll be lucky if our grub
holds out."
It was after four o'clock when they reached the top of the hill. Had
it been clear they might have seen for many miles around them, but now
the dullness in the sky hid what was in the distance from view.
"Lion Head is over thar," said Jack Wumble, pointing with his hand.
"An' Twin Rocks can't be far off."
"And how far is Lion Head from here?" questioned Sam.
"Betwixt twenty an' thirty miles, Sam."
"Then maybe we'll reach there by to-morrow night."
"Let us hope so, lad. O' course you must remember we've got the wust
part o' this journey to go."
"Perhaps we'll catch Tom before we get to Lion Head," suggested Dick.
"Not by the way he has been traveling," answered his brother. "It does
beat the nation how he and that Furner have been able to get over the
ground."
On the top of the hill the wind was blowing a regular gale and the boys
and the old miner were glad enough to go down on the other side, where
they would be somewhat sheltered. But even below it was cold, and the
air seemed to strike to their very backbones.
"Winter is comin' all right enough," announced Jack Wumble. "We'll be
lucky if we git out o' here afore it catches us."
They trudged along until all were too weary to walk another step. They
were keeping their eyes open for a spot where they might camp for the
night, when Dick uttered a cry.
"Look! They must have remained here last night!"
The others gazed to where he pointed and saw, in a shelter of the
rocks, the remains of a campfire. Beside the ashes lay a part of a
broken strap and also some fine shavings from a stick.
"Ike Furner's mark," remarked Wumble, pointing to the shavings. They
had been told by several men that one of Furner's habits was to whittle
a stick. He never rested and talked but what he got out his jackknife
and started to cut on a bit of wood. At another campfire, two days
back, they had come across a heap of just such whittlings.
"How new is that campfire?" asked Dick, of the old miner.
Jack Wumble examined the heap of dead ashes with care.
"I should say not more'n a day--maybe not thet," he answered. "Boys, I
reckon we're close on 'em."
"Oh, if only it wasn't so dark and we weren't so tired!" murmured Sam.
"We can't do much in the darkness, and with a storm coming on,"
returned Dick. "We'll have to wait until morning. But we had better
start out directly it is daylight."
While the others were preparing supper, Dick commenced to arrange the
shelter for the night. While he was doing this he noticed something
white fluttering on the ground in the wind. He picked it up. It was a
sheet of paper, evidently a page torn from a notebook.
"Look what I found," he said, coming close to the light of the
campfire. He gazed at the sheet with deep interest. "Well, I never!
Sam, look at this!" he cried.
"What is it, Dick?"
"I think Tom wrote this. Poor fellow! Isn't it too bad!"
The sheet of paper had been scribbled on with a lead pencil. The
writing was in all sorts of curves, and was largely as follows:
_To To To To Ro Ro Ro To
Ro To Bri To Ro Bri
Nel Nel Nel Di S S
To Ro To Ro Tover Tomer
Nel Nel Nel Nel Neltom_
"Oh, Dick, what do you make of this?"
"What do I make of it? Can't you see, Sam? Tom was trying to think.
He wanted to get something that was hidden away in his memory--his own
name, and mine and yours, and Nellie's, and the name of Brill. Maybe a
flash of his real self came back to him."
"Oh, if it only would, Dick! Yes, you must be right. First he tried
his best to write Tom Rover, but all he got was To Ro, and then he went
to Bri for Brill and Nel for Nellie, and Di and S for Dick and Sam.
It's as plain as day. It's just like a little child trying to write."
"And it's enough to make a fellow cry," was the sober response.
The two boys studied the paper for a long time and let Jack Wumble look
at it. Then, somewhat silently, all sat down to supper. Their hard
walk had made them hungry and they ate every scrap of what had been
prepared.
By the time they were ready to turn in, it had begun to snow. The had
found a shelter under a cliff of rocks, with some brushwood to keep off
the most of the wind. They rolled themselves in their blankets and
soon all were in the land of dreams.
Dick had slumbered the best part of several hours, when he suddenly
awoke with a start. Some furry body had swept across his face. He sat
up in bewilderment and looked around the camp, lit up only by the
flickering rays of the dying fire. Then he gave a gasp. From beyond
the dying fire two savage eyes were gazing at him intently. Without
hesitation he reached down under his blanket, brought out the pistol he
carried, and fired.