BIG GAME
“Look! Polar bear tracks!” Dick’s exclamation brought Sandy to his side
in an instant and together they bent over a human-like footprint in the
snow, their rifles clutched tightly in mittened hands that already had
begun to perspire with the excitement of promised big game.
It was three days since the boys had arrived at the Eskimo camp with the
policemen, and the present found them hunting musk-oxen several miles
from camp. Corporal McCarthy and Constable Sloan had gone to a
neighboring Eskimo village, seeking information regarding the lost
Corporal Thalman, and Toma had been left at headquarters to take care of
the dogs and keep a lookout for the “white Eskimo,” whose presence in
the vicinity had been suspected due to the incident of the whalebone
spear, and to the spy who had looked in at the igloo window.
The policemen had not exercised bad judgment in leaving the boys alone.
Dick Kent and Sandy McClaren had proved to the mounted police how
capable they were of taking care of themselves in the savage northland,
and the self-control they evidenced upon sighting the polar bear tracks
was ample proof that the dangers they already had coped with had
strengthened them for even more daring deeds.
“It can’t be very old,” Sandy commented, in a whisper, after inspecting
the bear tracks a few moments.
“Not more than an hour, I’ll bet,” said Dick.
Both boys looked up and scanned the surrounding vicinity. They were on a
long, ice-caked slope strewn with boulders, which led down to shore ice.
In the distance was open sea water, appearing almost black due to the
dim sunlight. There was no sign of life in evidence.
“Let’s try to track him,” Dick suggested.
“Do you think these rifles are of big enough caliber to kill a polar
bear?” Sandy asked, as they began searching for more tracks.
“Yes, that .32 Special of yours and my 45.20 ought to do the trick
easily enough. Remember, try to hit him in the soft spot under his ears,
or right behind the shoulders.”
The bear tracks were hard to follow since at times they led over hard
ice, or boulders, but now and again the huge animal had stepped in soft
snow or loose soil and left signs of his passage.
For nearly a quarter of an hour they followed the trail along the slope.
It finally led them to shore ice, which had been heaped up in huge
mounds by the ocean waves during some Arctic storm.
“We’ve got to go slow here,” cautioned Dick. “The bear may pop out from
behind any of these piles of ice. He’s probably hunting seals or fish
out at the edge of the water.”
Scarcely had Dick spoken when there sounded a faint dog-like bark, and a
puppyish whine.
“Did you hear that, Sandy!” exclaimed Dick. “Those sounds were made by
seals. There must be a small herd of them near here.”
They moved on cautiously toward the open water, rifles held in readiness
for instant use.
A hundred yards from the water they heard the loud bellow of a bull
seal, a number of frightened barks, a blood-curdling growl, and then the
sound of bodies striking the water.
“It’s the bear!” whispered Dick hoarsely. “He’s attacked the seals.”
A moment later an arresting scene met their eyes, as they reached level
ice and saw open water a few yards away. A huge polar bear, his shaggy,
grayish fur dripping wet, was struggling out of the sea, holding in his
jaws a young seal which still was faintly crying. Further out in the
water a dozen seals were swiftly swimming toward an ice floe.
“Get back! He hasn’t seen us,” Dick said quickly, and the boys darted
behind a large ice cake.
Together they peered cautiously around the edge of their barricade. The
ferocious animal was out of the water now, shaking the water from his
fur like a big dog. The young seal had ceased to struggle, and lay very
still at the bear’s feet. In comparison with the tiny animal the polar
bear seemed as large as a horse. Dick and Sandy quailed a little and
pressed more closely together.
When the bear bent his head to nose over his kill, the boys quietly
placed their rifles to their shoulders and took aim. Then followed a
tense moment while they waited for a movement that would expose the
bear’s most vulnerable points. At seventy-five yards they could not
miss.
Slowly the bear picked up the seal in his jaws and paused an instant,
seeming undecided as to what was the most comfortable place in which to
enjoy his meal. Then two rifles cracked almost as one, and the great
beast dropped to his belly, the seal falling from his jaws. Dick fired
again swiftly, but Sandy jerked ineffectually at the reloading lever of
his rifle. His gun had jammed in his haste.
A rattling growl came from the throat of the stricken polar bear, and
with an angry lunge, the great brute started for the point from which
the bullets had come. Dick fired three more times in quick succession,
and a hundred feet from them the bear at last dropped and began to
struggle.
“We got him!” whooped Sandy.
Dick was about to echo his chum’s triumphant cry, when an ominous growl
from behind them froze the very blood in their veins with terror. As one
they whirled about. Down the slope to the shore ice charged another
polar bear, almost a replica of the one they had just shot. The beast
was roaring its rage and was headed straight for the two young hunters.
“Run for your life!” cried Dick, “it’s the bear’s mate!”
As fast as they could run Dick and Sandy set off along the shore ice,
exceeding all previous records. They could hear the rattle of the bear’s
claws on the ice as it came on in pursuit, and with each second the
angry growls sounded nearer.
Presently, Sandy began to fall behind in the race. Frantically, Dick
urged him on, slackening his own pace to equal that of his slower chum,
and while he ran like a frightened deer, all Dick’s narrow escapes ran
through his mind in swift succession, for he believed that he and Sandy
were doomed at last.
In a last desperate effort to save himself and Sandy, Dick determined to
make a stand with the last two cartridges in his rifle. It was a plan
born of despair, he knew, for two shots at a running target hardly could
stop a beast of such massive strength and vitality and in such a
ferocious mood.
It was then that the boys noticed a change in the sounds of pursuit. The
bear seemed to have fallen behind, his growls gurgling strangely in his
throat.
With renewed hope they ran on until a loud, familiar shout pierced the
icy air from a point behind them. They looked back over their shoulders
and came to a staggering halt. A hundred yards behind, the bear lay
struggling his last, the shaft of a harpoon protruding from its side,
while above on the slope stood an Eskimo beckoning to them.
The gratitude of Dick and Sandy could not be expressed as they hurried
toward the Eskimo who had doubtless saved their lives.
Coming closer to the native, they recognized him as Sipsa, who had
proved so exceptionally friendly at the village. He seemed to understand
when the boys tried to thank him, and conveyed by means of many signs
how he had been scouting for walrus and seal when he had discovered the
danger Dick and Sandy had fallen into.
The boys followed Sipsa to the dead polar bear, and watched him draw out
the harpoon. So forcibly had the weapon been driven that it had passed
almost entirely through the bear’s thick body. Dick and Sandy shivered
as they examined the mighty jaws and terrible claws that but for Sipsa’s
timely intervention might have crushed and torn them to shreds.
“Angekok, Angekok,” Sipsa began repeating, while pointing at the dead
bear.
Sandy looked blankly at Dick, who was searching his mind for the meaning
of the word. At last he recalled it.
“He means ‘devil.’ Angekok is the Eskimo word for ‘almighty devil.’ They
believe in evil spirits, and he’s trying to tell us there was a devil in
this bear.”
“I guess he’s not far from right,” Sandy declared with genuine
sincerity.
Presently the Eskimo managed to convey to the boys that they must return
to the village and get sledges with which to haul in the meat of the two
bears.
Feeling they had had plenty of hunting for that day, the boys were glad
to consent to this, and all three started back toward camp, led by
Sipsa, who had gained the great respect of Dick and Sandy.
Tired, hungry and cold, the chums at last reached the Eskimo village,
only to find all in a state of confusion and uproar. Toma met them with
an explanation of the excitement tumbling from his ordinarily reticent
lips.
“Somebody steal um dog team an’ sledge,” said Toma. “I in igloo, get um
meat cooked for supper. All Eskimo down by big water, ketch um seal.
When I come out I see not so many dogs, an’ one sledge not there. I
hurry up, tell um Eskimos. They take dog team an’ go after this fella
who steal dog team.”
“And you didn’t see the thief at all?” asked Dick, gravely concerned.
Toma shook his head vigorously. “Him come an’ go like bad spirit. No
hear, no see. I no like that kind thief.”
Dick was puzzled at first, then spoke: “Sandy, I have an idea this is
more of the white Eskimo’s work. He could have got away pretty quietly
if he was a good hand with dogs, as I suppose he is. I’m certain now
that Fred Mistak and the ‘white Eskimo’ are the same person. We’ll find
out.”
“In the meantime, let’s eat,” said Sandy.
Dick discovered that he had as keen an appetite as Sandy when in their
cozy igloo he found a tasty meal prepared by Toma. Both boys were too
tired to join the Eskimos, who in spite of the theft of the dog team,
set out to skin and cut up the polar bears, leaving the camp deserted
except for the three boys. Dick and Sandy were later to learn that not
even a funeral could stand between an Eskimo and his hunting. When there
was meat to be had the natives dropped everything until the last bit of
it was safely stored away. For wild meat was their only staple diet—all
that kept them from starving to death, and during the real winter they
could hunt but little.
The boys had finished their supper and were relating to Toma, in detail,
their narrow escape from the mad polar bear, when the barking dogs and
the sound of familiar voices interrupted them. They tumbled out of the
igloo to find Corporal McCarthy and Constable Sloan. The policemen had
just returned from a long, fruitless trek eastward, and the Corporal had
frosted his feet.
What the boys had to say about the stolen dog team was of especial
interest to the officers.
“Without a doubt Fred Mistak is hiding near here,” commented Corporal
McCarthy, when comfortably seated in the boys’ igloo, with his bare feet
in a pan of snow to draw out the frost. “So far, I’ll have to admit
we’ve done little better than nothing, but we’ll hope for better luck
tomorrow——” Corporal McCarthy did not finish his sentence.
A hoarse cry at the entrance of the igloo was the interruption, and into
their midst tumbled an Eskimo, gibbering in a frightful manner, and
groveling on the floor as if he had lost his mind.
In the jumble of native words was audible the frequent ejaculation:
“Angekok! Angekok!”
“Him one them three go after fella what steal dog team!” Toma suddenly
exclaimed.
“What!” cried Corporal McCarthy. “Sloan,” he wheeled toward the
Constable, “go out and see if the other two have returned alright.”
Constable Sloan was out and back in a few moments. “Not a sign of anyone
around—no dog team either,” the Constable reported quietly.
McCarthy’s face took on a grave expression, and his jaws hardened. “Ask
the Eskimo what scared him?” he directed Constable Sloan.
By this time the Eskimo had somewhat recovered his natural calm, yet he
frequently looked fearfully toward the igloo entrance, as if he feared
something was coming in to get him.
The Constable’s questions were brief and the Eskimo’s answers prompt,
though his voice trembled from fright.
“The Eskimo says it was the ‘white Eskimo’ that attacked them,”
Constable Sloan reported presently. “He says his two companions were
killed and the dogs taken.”
A deep silence fell upon all who had heard Constable Sloan’s words. It
was several seconds before Corporal McCarthy spoke rapidly:
“Get ready for the trail. We leave here just as soon as we get a few
hours’ sleep. I’m going to enlist Sipsa as a guide, and I’ll get my man
if I have to trail him clear to the North Pole!”