IN THE MIDST OF THE PACK
"I think," said the Major, on the third morning after their strange
landing, "that we would make a great mistake to set out again at this
time. We are not likely to have the luck of our last landing a second
time. Then too, if we remain here until the lakes and rivers are frozen
over, we can find a safe landing place every few miles.
"And now," the Major continued, stirring the fire thoughtfully, "now I
think it would be right that I tell you something of the purpose of
this journey."
The boys leaned forward, eager for the story.
"Even now," he said slowly, "I do not feel like confiding to you what I
may consider my great secret plans--plans for which this journey is but a
trial-trip into the frozen North. That may follow in good time. But, as
for this present journey, you are perhaps aware that an illegal wireless
station has been operating somewhere in these woods and hills?"
"Yes--yes; we saw the offer of reward!" exclaimed Barney.
"The reward is a small matter," smiled the Major. "Should we be so
fortunate as to capture the culprit, or be able to certify to his death,
I will gladly turn over the reward to you boys."
"Thanks," said Barney, who already had his share of the prize in
his purse.
"First I shall tell you the purpose of that wireless and why it is so
important to locate it," the Major went on. "It is one of the links in a
chain around the world--a chain that threatens to bind civilization to a
burning stake of sedition, anarchy and bloodshed. The operator is an
anarchist, or, at least, belongs to an allied organization, and these,
one and all, have for their purpose the destruction of the present order
of things. Now, there is not one of us but believes that there are many
evils possible--yes, and put in operation under the present order, but we
do not believe that matters are going to be bettered by a
world-revolution. We believe that in time justice will come very much
nearer being done under the old system; therefore, we are fighting to
maintain it. That is why I volunteered to attempt to hunt out and if
possible destroy this powerful wireless station, which is relaying
revolutionary messages direct from Russia to all important points in
North America. My long experience in the North seemed to fit me for that
task; and it is a task that I am determined to accomplish.
"It is my theory that this wireless is located on the shores of Great
Bear Lake. In fact, I believe it is run by an independent trader
operating at the east end of that lake, on Conjurer's Bay. A year ago he
brought in a small electric plant, to light his trading post, he said.
Now this plant is capable of producing an almost unlimited amount of
electrical power, provided only time is given. Batteries of great power
might easily be produced on the spot. Chemicals for producing acids are
found in abundance; so also are copper and zinc for the plate. All he
would have to do then would be to make wooden boxes for the chemicals,
erect his wires--he could string them from spruce poles--and the thing is
done. It was impossible to reach the station by water after I had guessed
its location, and there was of course the possibility that I was wrong,
that it was nearer civilization. In that case I might be able to locate
it, providing I made the trip by plane."
"That explains why we circled three times during our first day's flight?
You were looking--"
"For the wireless tower," smiled the Major.
"And now," he went on, "I think we will just rest easy on our wings for a
few weeks. You will get the engines in shape; take a few trial flights,
if you wish, but be careful to conserve gasoline. We must have enough to
carry us to Great Bear Lake. There we will find a sufficient supply to
carry us on any other journey we may decide on. The trader uses gasoline
to run his electric plant and will have a supply. It will not be of very
high test, but with two engines I think we will make it answer our
purpose. If we find that my theory regarding the location of the tower is
not correct, we will buy a supply from him, and if it _is_ correct--" He
did not finish, but smiled and poked the fire again.
"Take it all in all," said Barney to Bruce some time later, "I think our
trip promises to be dangerous enough to satisfy even a bloodthirsty young
savage from the Canadian army."
"Or a young Cherokee from the wilds of Boston Commons," laughed Bruce,
heaving a wrench in the general direction of his companion.
But, though they went about their work in a playful mood, they did it
with great care. After they had taken the two little Timmies for several
rides, they declared the airship quite ready for further voyaging. "And
as for gasoline," said Bruce, "we still have two hundred and forty
gallons in the tank which will give us a-plenty for the trip, and
several hours to spare; but coming back--that's another matter."
Barney realized that this was, indeed, another matter, and, though he
shared the Major's hope of securing a supply at the trading station, his
face grew grave at thought of being stranded more than a thousand miles
from civilization at the beginning of winter, and with only a few days'
supply of provisions. What if this trading station was one of those myths
that float down from the North? Or, what if it had been abandoned?
Barney shook himself free from these thoughts, and seizing his mandolin,
went to join Bruce and Timmie on saxophone and rudely-devised Indian
kettledrums in a wild-woods symphony, while the children danced wild
steps the boys had never seen.
* * * * *
"Well, we're off!" Barney said this, as he buckled on his harness and
touched the starting lever. The wheels of the starting gear bumped over
the thin-crusted snow and jolted through Timmie's wheat stubble, then
the great bird began to rise.
Winter had set in. Now they glided over dark forests of spruce, and now
swept above great stretches of barren lands. The air was biting cold.
They were thankful enough for their face-protectors, their electric hand
and foot warmers, their fur-lined leather union-alls. But best of all was
the glorious freedom of it. Soaring on and on over untrodden
wildernesses, with no thought of dangers known and unknown, made them
feel like explorers of a new world. The engines worked in perfect
harmony. A gentle breeze from the south urged them on their way. The sun
soon set and a long night began, but what of that? The moon and snow
lighted the earth as if by day, and with a silvery glory. And now the
Northern Lights began to flicker, flash and shoot across the sky.
Now they passed over a wide expanse of white, which they knew to be
Dismal Lake. This was frozen over; then surely Great Bear Lake, two
hundred miles farther north, would be frozen, too. Their safe landing
would be assured.
But as they neared their goal the boys' minds could scarcely escape
misgivings. If the Major's suppositions were correct; if, indeed, this
trader was the hired agent of a fanatical clan, would he not be armed and
on the alert? Would he not, perhaps, have Indians and half-breeds hired
to help guard his secret? They were but three. The enemy might number a
score. As Barney thought of all this, he was thankful for one thing: by
some strange chance, a small machine-gun and two thousand rounds of
ammunition had been shipped north with the plane. Their first thought had
been to leave this behind, but after a discussion, they had decided to
bring it; and there it was now, hanging in its swivel before him. In an
emergency there remained but to load it and go into action. But it was
quite an unexpected emergency that soon made him bless that bit of
equipment.
They were now well into the Arctic. The air cut like a knife and chilled
them to the marrow. Barney began to long for warmth, food and sleep. He
held his electric glove to the glass of the small clock before him. When
the frost had thawed he noted the hour.
"Twelve o'clock! Midnight!" he muttered. "And no landing in sight yet."
There remained but to "carry on."
But what was this? Far to the North there showed a small, red ball of
light. And it was not the Aurora Borealis! They were traveling fast. The
ball of fire seemed to roll toward them along the earth at terrific
speed, growing larger and more lurid. And now, beside it, wafting from
it, like the tail to a comet, they could discern a swirling cloud, black
in the moonlight.
"It's a fire!" Bruce gasped through his mouthpiece.
"But what?--" began Barney.
Just at that moment he caught the faint white line that marked the shore
of Great Bear Lake. They were, then, nearing their destination. Tilting
the plane upward, that they might get a better panorama of the region,
and so direct their course, Barney gave the great engine more gas. On
they swept. Presently the outlines of bays and frozen streams, of scrub
forests and barren lands were plainly visible. A map under glass was just
before him. Brushing the frost from it, Barney examined it by the light
of a small electric bulb. Then he looked away at the fire which was now
clearly visible. His heart sank. The trading post was, indeed, a reality,
or had been. At the present moment it was a ball of fire.
"It's the trading post!" He barked to the Major.
"'Fraid so," grumbled the Major, hoarsely.
"And the gasoline for our return--"
"There it goes," sang Bruce, with a note of despair.
At that instant the whole ball of fire seemed to rise in air to burst
like some gigantic rocket. There was no question in the boys' minds but
that the supply of gasoline had been reached by the flames.
After the great flash came blackness. The fire seemed for a time to have
been extinguished. Gradually here and there, far below, bits of burning
tinder gleamed, fiery stars in an inverted heaven. Soon the ruins were
again blazing. They soared close, but high, avoiding the dangerous
pockets of smoke gas. Did they see dark figures dancing about the ruins?
Or was it merely the flickering shadows of posts and tree stumps.
"Indians!" murmured Barney.
Instantly his mind mirrored to him pictures he had seen in histories of
painted savages burning a settler's cabin. His blood ran cold. Here they
were, three men in the frozen wilderness, with little gasoline for their
machine, with scant provisions and ammunition, and rushing toward perils
they could not even guess. To kill and to escape would both be easy for
these desperadoes.
"Go along down the lake and back again. Use as little gas as possible,
but keep in the air. We better not land at present." The very steadiness
of the Major's tone told Barney that this experienced man of the North
expected the worst.
As they rushed down the white expanse, many thoughts raced through
Barney's mind. It seemed that hunger and cold grew upon him with every
whirl of the engine-shaft. He thought of Bruce and La Vaune. Would they
ever return to La Vaune with the money which was rightfully hers? And
Timmie? Would they ever be able to help him blot the stain from his name?
Barney's friend, Dave Tower, who had gone North in a submarine on a
mission as mysterious as their own; would they ever meet?
They had now turned and were making their way slowly back. The fire had
burned down to a dull red glow. The forest about had escaped the flames,
and this was fortunate. Should the Indians leave them unmolested, they
might possibly find a means of sustaining life by hunting and trapping.
"When we get to the bay, might as well land," grumbled the Major. "It's
mighty tough up here!"
Barney assured him that it certainly was tough. He was glad they were to
land, being very sure that if an Indian did shoot him he would not feel
it, so thoroughly benumbed was he with cold.
Then, suddenly, he gave a cry of surprise. They were nearing a point
where Conjurer's Bay should appear. Instead of the bay he saw what
appeared to be merely a broad shoulder of frozen water, and beyond that,
perhaps two miles, was a small lake lined by the forest. It was on the
edge of this small lake that the fire smouldered. The boy rubbed his
eyes, then looked again. Had the cold benumbed his senses? Was he seeing
things? Was he asleep and dreaming?
Apparently not, for from Bruce through the receiver came a groan, then;
"What's happened? The whole shape of the lake has changed within an
hour!"
Barney shut off the engines. In the welcome silence which followed, as
they drifted downward in a slow spiral, not a man spoke. Their eyes were
focused upon the earth.
But now there came to their ears a sound like the distant rush of many
waters. This grew rapidly louder, and finally divided itself into
rattling and snapping sounds.
Presently the Major let out a roar of laughter.
"Caribou!" he exploded. "They pass south from the barren lands in herds
of hundreds of thousands, so thick they look like land! Tip her nose up
for another circle. See! There is the end of the herd away there in the
distance. We'll be able to land where they have passed in fifteen
minutes, an ideal landing-place--tramped hard."
With a grin Barney obeyed orders, and, as his engines began to revolve,
felt himself shooting skyward.
"Now it's clear," roared the Major.
Barney did not respond on the instant. He was thinking of something he
had read about the "camp-followers of the barren-ground caribou." A chill
not of the wind and cold crept into his heart. But what was to be done?
He felt that another hour aloft would so benumb his senses that a crash
would be inevitable. To land at a point other than that trampled by the
caribou involved great risk, for there was undoubtedly a thick coating of
drifted snow on the lake's surface. So he stopped the engines and they
spiraled once more toward the earth.
Now they were nearing the surface of the lake. The distance was a
thousand feet; now eight hundred. Did he see shadows flitting across the
ice? At five hundred feet he was sure that he did. He said nothing. So
intent on landing was he that no risk seemed too great. At three hundred
feet he saw them distinctly--gray streaks scooting across the trodden
snow or resting on haunches, their shadows stretching before them.
"Great Scott!" he muttered, "must be hundreds of them! Oh well, they're
cowards!" He tilted the machine for the final glide. There came a sudden
exclamation from the Major, then from Bruce. They, too, had seen. It was
too late now, for their landing wheels were almost touching the surface
as they glided on. And now, strangely enough, some of the gray streaks
began to chase the plane. As if imagining it a bird with flesh to eat and
bones to gnaw, they came on. Then, all at once, Barney realized what they
followed--the scent of fresh meat. Timmie had killed a reindeer in honor
of their departure and had presented them with a hind-quarter. This was
now roped on the fuselage behind the Major. They would have a fight. He
knew that now. He thought of their weapons--two rifles. They were almost
useless against five hundred gaunt, hungry wolves. And they were gaunt;
he could see that as he flew by them. Evidently camp-following this year
had not given them an over-abundant supply of food. The season's calves
were fleet and strong by now, and every herd had its thousands of
antlered bulls that formed bristling hedges to defend their own.
Bump! The plane struck the ice and bounded, then struck again. Barney's
mind was now working fast. Yes, there were other weapons--the
oxy-acetylene torch--yes, the machine-gun. He shouted to Bruce to get
the torch, and, as soon as the plane slowed down, freed his hands from
his gloves and began fumbling at the gun before him. The Major was
unstrapping the two rifles. The wolf-pack was crowding around in a
grinning circle. Barney caught his breath as his eyes swept the circle.
Five hundred if one, dripping-jawed, red-eyed, gray creatures-of-prey,
they waited, as ever, for the coward's chance to fight with great odds in
their favor.
"Don't shoot until forced to," said Bruce, turning to the Major. "If you
do you may bring the whole pack down upon us."
In this emergency, Bruce took the lead, and, assuredly, that was the
wise plan; for, reared as he had been in the forests and plains of the
Northland, he knew wolves. Just now he was dragging from their
hiding-place in the fuselage two iron tubes, perhaps eighteen inches
long and six in diameter. One tube contained oxygen, the other acetylene
gas. The tubes were connected by a set of registering valves. To these,
in turn, was fastened a wire-wound rubber hose with a long brass
nozzle. Once the valves were turned, the acetylene gas forced out by a
pressure of a thousand pounds and united with oxygen as an accelerator
would produce a shooting flame that burned metals as if they were
sun-dried pulp.
The machine stopped and the pack crowded in. With an electric flash lamp
in one hand and the rubber hose in the other, Bruce stood watching. With
aching, clumsy fingers and bleared eyes, Barney worked on the
machine-gun that, with oil fairly frozen in its parts, seemed about to
refuse to respond.
"Hurry!" exclaimed Bruce, as a gaunt form with patches of brown, and
double nose, telling of mixed blood, sprang forward, eager to drag the
fresh meat from the fuselage.
Instead of firing, the Major beat the beast over the head, and with a
snarl he resumed his place in the ever-narrowing circle.
And now the time for concerted action on the part of the pack seemed to
have come; for, with one savage snarl, the first row rushed straight on.
There came a flash, then the hiss of a white-tongued fiery serpent. As
the first wolf reared on his haunches, the smell of burning hair and
roasting flesh halted the half-maddened pack, and, falling over one
another, again they retreated.
It was a tense moment. Slapping his hands to warm them, Barney adjusted
cartridges and swept the circle with an imaginary volley. What if the
machine-gun jammed? There could be but one result. The torch would not
long hold the beasts off. Besides, the gas would not last.
"Well, shoot if you can!" exclaimed Bruce. "This gas is precious stuff.
We can't waste it."
At that, there came the staccato music of the machine-gun. With steady
eye Barney swept the inner circle. They went down like grain before a
gale. With strange wild snarls they bit at their wounds, at one another,
at the snow. The gun swept again with its merciless fire. The furthermost
members of the pack began to slink away. Then as Barney raised his gun
and sent a rain of bullets pattering about them, the whole snarling pack
fled in yelping confusion.
The battle was won. Bruce cut off the gas. Barney ceased his fire. The
Major, loosing his harness, stood up and stretched himself. Then they
looked at one another and laughed.
"Some fight!" exclaimed Barney.
"Some fight!" agreed Bruce.
"Some fight!" reechoed the Major. "And the next thing is to put the
injured out of their misery. After that we must skin 'em and make a cache
for the meat."
"Meat?" the boys questioned.
"Sure," smiled the Major. "Wolf meat isn't bad at all. You perhaps forget
that we have not a hundred miles of gas in the tank. We may be here quite
some time!"