ABE
"Come on, Ike," said Alex. "Let's go back to the boat. There won't be
anything worth seeing and I'm getting sick of this smelly place. Better
fun to go down and fish with Clay.
"All right," agreed Ike, willingly. "I got the only good fur in camp, so
I guess we don't need to stay. Understand me, though, that Shaman is a
thief and a robber. We got a bargain all fixed up once and then he
backed out and wants one more plug of tobacco. My, but he is a rascal."
"You poor fellow," said Alex in mock pity. "I don't believe you made
over 1000 per cent on that deal."
Ike grinned joyously. "There is some little profit," he admitted.
"Enough to help pay the expenses. I wish we could find more Shamans with
pretty fox skins."
"He has got something prettier than a fur skin," exclaimed Alex, as they
paused by the Shaman's igloo. "Say, did you ever see anything like that
team of dogs?"
Inexperienced as they were with the toilers of the North, the two lads
recognized that these dogs were no common breed of huskies like those
they had seen at Nome. They were bigger and lacked much of the wolf-like
features of the usual husky, nor was there the usual husky's bearing of
white fangs at their approach. They were lean and gaunt, as scantily-fed
Indian dogs always are, but there was strength and endurance written on
their broad chest and lithe muscles. Even their coats of thick, black,
glossy hair did not resemble a husky's in the least. They were stretched
out in a line basking in the sun. One, apparently the leader, for he was
by far the biggest and most powerful of the lot, attracted Alex
strangely. The large, noble head and big eloquent eyes seemed strongly
familiar to the boy. He approached the magnificent animal cautiously and
held out his hand warily, ready to snatch it back if he was greeted by
the silent snap of the wolf-bred dog. Instead, he was met by a wag of
the bushy tail and the dog reached out and smelt of the extended hand. A
second smell, and Alex felt the soft, warm caress of a licking tongue.
The boy stooped and patted the dog's head and the dog responded with a
short, joyous bark and lifted up his eyes, eloquent with love and
reverence. Alex was now examining him closely. "Ike," he cried. "He's
Newfoundland, clear bred Newfoundland."
"Well," said Ike, indifferently. "What of that? He's just a dog, ain't
he?"
"But just think of it," Alex cried, angered by his friend's lack of
interest. "A dog from God's country up in these desolate wastes." A
recollection of a dog of whom he had read, in "The Call of the Wild,"
swept into his memory. "Buck," he called softly, "Buck." The animal with
one magnificent leap covered the space between them, while the rest of
the pack crowded around him, wagging their tails and looking at him with
curious eyes.
The Shaman seeing his interest in the dogs, approached him to be greeted
by a volley of questions by Alex.
"Yes," he admitted. "They were his dogs." "Would he sell? Perhaps, but
the price must be large for they were the best dogs on the Yukon. Yes.
they were the best dogs in all Alaska. They could go faster and further
than any other dogs in the country. Yes, he knew where they came from
but the big one, the leader, was no doubt a gift of the good spirits
sent to him, the Shaman, for his great goodness and virtue. He, the big
dog, had come into their camp one stormy night in the blackness of
winter and had made it his home. He, the Shaman, had with his own hands,
harnessed him with the other sled dogs, but, at first, there had been
trouble. The new dog was a born leader. One by one he had fought and
whipped the other huskies for he had ways of fighting new to the North
and he always won. Lastly, he had whipped the leader and become by the
law of the North, the leader himself. Later he had mated with a huge
husky and there had been five puppies. The strange dog had trained them
himself in the ways and laws of the trail. No, they were not bad dogs.
Never did they snarl or fight amongst themselves like the huskies. But
one thing one must never do. He must never lift a stick to the big dog.
One man had done so and like a flash the big dog's teeth had met in his
throat.
Buck's eyes, now mistily wistful, met Alex's. "Good Lord, Buck, you can
almost talk," Alex said reverently. "I understand what you are trying to
say. You got sick of running with the wolves, their ways were not your
ways. So you sought out your own kind again. They are not like the white
gods you used to serve, though you have served them faithfully. But you
want to leave them. Your sensitive nostrils that can catch the faintest
odor in the air are sick of the scent of blubber, seal oil, and stinking
furs and you want to be gone from it all serving men with white bodies,
clean from much washing, big men who will smile at you kindly and like
you because you are brave, strong and fearless." Buck wagged his tail as
if to show that he was understood.
"Lord," said Alex, again reverently. "You can do all but talk. Say," he
demanded of the Shaman, "how much do you want for that team, leader and
all?"
"Nine hundred dollars, said the Shaman firmly.
"We can't buy them," Alex said sadly. "We haven't got that much money.
Besides, it would be an awful expense to feed them the balance of the
summer. I sure would like to own that Buck dog though."
"We get him when we come back," Ike whispered. "I trade for him and get
him cheap. I talk to that robber, now, so he will not sell him 'till we
get back."
"We go up the river 'You Never Know What' in our steamer that travels by
fire," he explained, with many gestures of his hands. "Before the big
cold we come back to trade with our new friends. Our hearts are big and
we pay big for everything we buy. The eyes of the Indians have never
beheld such wondrous things as we have on board our fire boat. Cloth
like fresh gold from the ground, warm like the blue of the sky in
summer, and others so rich of color that they dazzle the eye. Of tobacco
we will have hundreds of plugs. Of the ice that never melts and shows a
man his face like still clear water, we will have great quantities. And
of many other things new and strange we will have a plentiful supply. We
have a little box filled with spirits that talk or sing or laugh as it's
owner commands."
"All white men are liars," said the Shaman calmly. "How do I know you
have such a wonderful box?"
"Come down and see it tonight," Ike invited.
"I will," accepted the Shaman, "but it will be much better if I come
alone. It is bad for the people to know too much about spirits."
"Your dog team is as good as yours already," whispered Ike as they
turned away. "He will hold that team for you if he has to wait all
winter, you understand. Once he hears that spirit box he's going to want
it badly."
Alex grinned. "Put me next," he begged. "I'm not wise to that spirit box
stunt."
"Say, you remember that cheap phonograph you boys bought for one of your
trips and the heap of old cracked up records too? In Chicago the lot
might be worth $5.00, but I doubt it. Here it's worth a dog team, which
costs nine hundred dollars, if you boys let me do the bargaining, you
understand," Ike enlightened him.
"Go to it," exclaimed Alex joyously. "Hello, there's something going on
around that ant-hill over there. Let's run over and see what the trouble
is. Maybe it's a fight."
The two boys pushed through the little circle in front of the igloo just
in time to see a litter carried by old men pass up from the burrow-like
entrance. On the litter lay a skeleton-like figure of a young boy. His
large, mournful-looking eyes looking out of a face on which the skin was
pulled tightly over the bones.
"What's the matter?" Alex demanded of a native, who happened to be
Nicholas, the story teller.
"He plenty sick," Nicholas replies. "He die pretty soon."
"But why don't they leave him in the hut?" Alex persisted.
"Esquimaux no stay in house where one has died," said Nicholas.
"What are they going to do with him?" the boy insisted.
"Put him in a thicket and stuff moss in his mouth so he make no noise to
keep people awake," said Nicholas calmly. "By and by Luna come and get
him spirit."
"What's Luna?" Alex demanded.
"Him the great spirit of the Yukon," said Nicholas with a shiver. He
live down under the ice. Him the greatest spirit of the Yukon."
"What are we going to do about it, Ike?" Alex asked, helplessly. "It's
their law and custom. Has been for hundreds of centuries, I guess, but
we can't let that little fellow die like that. Of course we could pick
him up and carry him off but it might mean a fight with these old men
and old women and we might kill some of them. It wouldn't be right to
kill a live person for the sake of saving one who is dying. I don't know
what to do."
"I'll fix it up all right," said Ike. "Don't you worry your head none."
"Him got father?" he demanded of Nicholas. "Father him die. Winter
famine catch him." "Mother," Ike questioned.
"She die too--famine."
"Ain't he got no relations at all?" Ike inquired. An old man, shaky with
age, stepped out from the group. "I'm his uncle," he quavered.
"Now we are getting down to business, you understand," said Ike with
satisfaction. "Your nephew no good to you now?" The old man shook his
palsied head. "Him dead plenty soon," he said stolidly.
"You no want nephew then?" Ike persisted, and the old man shook his head
decidedly.
"Then I buy him," Ike said promptly. "For him I give two plugs of
tobacco, of red cloth 20 yards, and of big tallow candles three. Does
the uncle accept?" The uncle did with eagerness. It was more than the
boy was worth when well. He was little and it would be many seasons
before he could become a skillful hunter. Clearly these pale faces, not
yet the size of men, were crazy, crazy as wolf-dogs when the moon is
full. A fear seized him that this crazy young pale-face, who waved his
hands so wildly when he talked, might repent of his bargain and demand
all this wealth back. He was starting for his igloo as fast as his shaky
legs would carry him, when Ike sternly commanded him to stop. "Take me
to where you put the boy," he said, "and explain to him that hereafter I
am his father, mother and uncle, and when I speak he is to obey."
They found the little fellow in the middle of a bunch of willows, a
handful of dirty moss stuck in his mouth. He was lying perfectly quiet
looking up at the skies with his black, beady eyes. He was only a child,
but he knew the laws and custom of his people, many had he seen during
the great cold, dragged out to die alone in the deep snow.
Alex pulled out the gag of dirty moss and threw it away, while the old
man in quavering tones, told him what Ike had directed him to say.
The child looked up at Ike with grateful eyes. "All right, fadder, me do
what you say."
Ike strove to hide his pity for the sick, deserted little fellow. He
bent down and put his arms around the shrunken shoulders. "Put your arms
around my neck and hang on as tight as you can," he commanded sternly.
"Here, Alex, grab him around the legs and we will have him down to the
boat in no time, you understand."
Clay was still fishing contentedly, a number of large salmon flapping
helplessly on the deck around him.
"For goodness sakes, what have you there?" he cried as he spied the limp
burden.
"This is my son," said Ike, solemnly. "He is sick, very sick. Come help
us with him, Clay."
A bunk was hastily made up on the floor, and on this the little Esquimau
was placed.
"He's got no fever," Clay said, after examining the little thermometer
he had been holding under the lad's tongue. The way I size it up is that
he starved so long last winter that his stomach rejected the greasy
heavy blubber with which they broke their long fast in the spring. I
believe that he will come out all right with careful feeding and good
care. The first thing to do is to take off those filthy furs he has got
on, give him a good bath, and find something clean and warm for him to
wear."
"I find him some clothes what gets too small for me, but which I can pin
up a little for him," said Ike. "Say, I think I call him after a good
friend of mine, a fellow named Abe. I think Abe a pretty name for him."
When the last of the mangy furs were removed from the little lad, the
boys stood back and viewed him pitifully, wondering how the spark of
life had managed to keep alight in such a wasted and shrunken skeleton.
Abe objected as much as his feeble strength would permit, to the awful
bath, but when he was, at last, rubbed clean and dressed in a suit of
Ike's pajamas, he drank a bowl of warm soup greedily and in a few
minutes was sound asleep. Alex had been cooking supper while his chums
had labored over the lad and they now sat down to a meal of delicious
fried salmon, coffee, and mealy potatoes. They had but finished, when
the Shaman appeared, slipping in softly like a cat. The boys had had no
time to separate the good records from the bad. All they could do was to
wind up the wheezy old machine, start it going, and trust to luck, which
proved to be in their favor, for the Shaman listened like one entranced,
to songs, minstrel jokes and music.