A SIGN FROM THE MOUNTAIN TOP
The surprise did not come until just before night closed in, shortly
after ten o'clock that night.
A hard, grilling day had been spent on the trail, with little relief
from their labors, which were divided between hauling the ponies up
dangerous slopes, down almost sheer walls, across glacial streams cold
as ice, and last but not least the fighting of giant mosquitoes and
black gnats.
"There is only one thing lacking to make this country the limit,"
declared Stacy after they had made camp and settled down to warm
themselves while the guide was getting supper.
"And what might that be?" questioned the Professor.
"Snakes!"
"Thank goodness there aren't any such things here," exclaimed Rector.
"It is bad enough as it is. Hark! What's that?"
"Him wolf," grunted the Indian.
"I should say there were several of 'him,'" laughed Tad Butler. "They
seemed to be stirred up about something. Are they timber wolves, Anvik?"
The guide nodded and grunted.
"Are you afraid of wolves?" demanded Rector.
"No 'fraid wolves. Mebby 'fraid Ingalik."
Tad drew from this that the Indian had something in mind that he had not
spoken to them about. The freckle-faced boy eyed the Indian keenly, but
Anvik's impassive face told him nothing. The guide had discovered
something else. Tad was sure of that, but what that something was the
boy had not the slightest idea.
Tad's gaze roved about over the landscape, traveling slowly from
mountain to mountain, from peak to peak. Twice he went over the rugged
landscape spread out before them with his searching glances. Suddenly
his gaze halted and fixed on the peak of a low mountain off to the
northwest of them. Butler shaded his eyes, and Anvik, observing the
action, followed the direction of the boy's gaze.
The guide made no move, nor did he change expression, but Tad saw that
Anvik saw. A tiny ring of smoke was rising slowly from the low mountain
peak, swaying lazily as it rose in the quiet air. It was almost white.
One might have taken it for a cloud did he not know better, and only a
mountaineer would have known better.
A moment and a second ring ascended in the wake of the first one, then
after another interval a third ring rose.
"What are you looking at?" demanded the Professor sharply.
"Smoke," answered Tad.
"Where?"
"On that low peak. Where are the glasses?"
Ned hurriedly fetched the glasses. He took the first look, but saw no
smoke. Tad reached for them. By this time another ring was rising. It,
like the first one he had seen, was followed by two others.
"It's a signal!" announced Butler quietly. "Now what can it mean?"
"It means trouble for us," spoke up Stacy. "I can feel it in my bones."
"Who would desire to make trouble for us here?" demanded the Professor.
"I don't know," replied Tad. "I don't believe that smoke has anything to
do with us. It must be an Indian signal."
"No Indian," grunted Anvik. "Him white man smoke."
"How do you know?" questioned the Professor sharply.
"Me know."
"Then perhaps you may be able to tell us whose smoke it is?"
"Him white man. Mebby same man, mebby not. White man all same. Him call
other white man. Him say some along, by jink."
"Let's make a smoke and answer him," suggested Ned eagerly. "That would
be a joke on him, whoever he is."
Tad said "no," and said it emphatically.
"No make smoke," agreed the Indian. "Smoke want white man off
yonder"--pointing to the southwest.
"How do you know that?" asked Butler.
"Smoke him go that way. Want us, smoke him go this way."
"I never knew that before," reflected Tad. "You see, boys, they make
these signal smokes by building a smudge, then holding a blanket over
the smudge. By removing the blanket and replacing it they can make a
definite number of smokes, long smokes or short smokes; in fact, they
can almost make words, like the telegraph. It is a wonderful thing. I
wouldn't be surprised if those signals could be made out twenty or
thirty miles away, if one had eyes sharp enough to detect them."
"But what are they signaling for?" demanded Stacy.
"I don't know. Anvik says it is white men. I can't tell you anything
about that. Smoke is just smoke to me. They are communicating with
someone. We shan't see them, as they must be all of ten miles away."
"Fifteen," corrected the guide.
"That shows how poorly a novice judges distances in this country,"
nodded Butler. "They may see our fire to-night. If they are friendly we
shall no doubt meet them. If they are not, we may never see a sign of
them again. That is the way I reason it out."
Anvik grunted and nodded. The Indian understood a great deal more of
what was being said than one would have supposed. In fact, to look at
him one would not think he had even heard anything of what was being
said about him. He was the silent, impassive-faced stoic of his race.
After darkness had set in the boys scanned the mountains for the light
of a campfire, but there was no light to be seen. The Pony Rider Boys'
campfire, however, was blazing up brightly, they having built up a large
fire on purpose to attract the attention of the men who had made the
smoke signals from the low mountain peak, low in comparison with the ten
and fifteen thousand feet ranges about them. The boys turned in at
midnight, a late hour for them, and were sound asleep within two minutes
thereafter. They were aroused an hour later by the most terrifying roar
they had ever listened to.
"What's the matter?" cried Tad, springing from his tent, trying to
pierce the darkness with his gaze.
"Is--is the world coming to an end?" yelled Ned.
"I guess the mountain is falling down," shouted Stacy.
"Guide, guide!" roared the Professor.
Anvik, drawing his blanket still more closely about him, stepped over
and threw some fresh sticks on the fire. The roaring by this time had
become a thunderous, crashing noise that fairly deafened them. One had
to shout to make himself heard. Fine particles, like sharp stones, began
raining down upon them, stinging the faces, causing the boys to shield
their eyes with their arms. Stacy, in alarm, ran and hid in the tent;
the others stood their ground, yet not knowing what second they might be
caught in what seemed to them to be a great upheaval of nature.
"It's an earthquake," shouted Ned Rector.
Stacy heard the words in a brief lull. The fat boy burst from his tent
yelling like a wild Indian.
"An earthquake! Oh, wow, wow, wow! We'll all be shot to pieces. Oh,
help!"
Tad grabbed the boy by a shoulder, giving him a good shaking.
"Stop that noise!" he commanded. "Don't yell until you are hurt."
"I want to yell now. Maybe I can't yell after I'm hurt," returned
Chunky.
"Guide! What is it?" roared the Professor, the perspiration standing out
over his face, as Tad observed when the fire blazed up.
Anvik finished what he was doing before he answered. Then he spoke
without looking up.
"Him mountain fall down."
"Is it an ice slide?" shouted Tad.
"Ugh!"
"An avalanche, do you mean?"
"Yes; an ice-avalanche," explained the Professor. "I have seen them in
other parts of the world."
"Sun make him ice weak; ice fall down," explained Anvik.
"How about danger for us?" asked Walter.
For answer the Indian shrugged his shoulders and went on poking the
fire. Then, of a sudden, there came a crash like a salvo of artillery. A
crushing, grinding mass shot by them, snuffing out the fire as it
passed.
Darkness and a terrifying silence followed.