PLANNING A PERILOUS JOURNEY
The house in which the girls lived was a cunningly built affair. Eight
long poles, brought from the distant river, had been lashed together at
one end. Then they had all been raised to an upright position and spread
apart like the pole of an Indian’s tepee. Canvas was spread over this
circle of poles. That there might be more room in the tent, curved willow
branches were lashed to the poles. These held the canvas away in a
circle. After this had been accomplished the whole inside was lined with
deerskins. Only an opening at the top was left for the passing of smoke
from the Yukon stove. The stove stood in the front center of the house.
Back of it was a platform six by eight feet. This platform was surrounded
on all four sides and above by a second lining of deerskin. This platform
formed the floor and the deerskins the walls of a little room within the
skin house. This was the sleeping room of Marian and Patsy.
A more cozy place could scarcely be imagined. Even with the thermometer
at forty below, and the wind howling about the igloo, this room was warm
as toast. With the sleeping bag for a bed, and with a heavy deerskin rug
and blankets piled upon them, the girls could sleep in perfect comfort.
In this cozy spot, with one arm thrown loosely about her cousin’s neck,
Marian lay that night for a full five minutes in perfect silent repose.
“Patsy,” she said, as her arm suddenly tightened about her cousin’s neck
in an affectionate hug, “would you be terribly afraid to stay here all by
yourself with the Eskimos?”
“How—how long?” Patsy faltered.
“I don’t know exactly. Perhaps a week, perhaps three. In the Arctic one
never knows. Things happen. There are blizzards; rivers can not be
crossed; there is no food to be had; who knows what may happen?”
“Why, no,” said Patsy slowly, “with Attatak here I think I shouldn’t
mind.”
“I think,” said Marian with evident reluctance, “that I should take
Attatak with me. I’d like to take old Terogloona. He’d be more help; but
at a time like this he can’t leave the herd. He’s absolutely
faithful—would give his life for us. Father once saved him from drowning
when a skin boat was run down by a motor launch. An Eskimo never
forgets.”
“How strangely you talk,” said Patsy suddenly. “Is—is the purple flame as
serious an affair as that?”
“Oh, no!” answered Marian. “That may become serious. They may be killing
our deer, but we haven’t caught them at it. That, for the present, is
just an interesting mystery.”
“But what are you—where are you going?”
“Listen, Patsy,” said Marian thoughtfully; “do you remember the radio
message we picked up three days ago—the one from the Government Agent,
sent from Nome to Fairbanks?”
Patsy did remember. She had spent many interesting hours listening in on
the compact but powerful radio set her father had presented to her as a
parting gift.
“Yes,” she said, “I remember.”
“When did he say he was leaving Nome?”
“The 5th.”
“That means he’ll be at the Siman’s trading station on about the 12th.
And Siman’s is the spot on the Nome-Fairbanks trail that is nearest to
us. By fast driving and good luck I can get there before him.”
“But why should you?” persisted Patsy.
Then Marian confided to her cousin the new trouble they were facing, the
almost certain loss of their range, with all the calamities that would
follow.
“If only I can see the Agent before he passes on to Fairbanks I am sure
he would deputize someone to come over here and compel Scarberry to take
his herd from our range. If I can’t do that, then I don’t see that we
have a single chance. We might as well—as well—” there was a catch in her
voice—“as well make Scarberry a present of our herd and go on our way
back to Nome. We’d be flat broke; not a penny in the world! And
father—father would not have a single chance for a fresh start. But we
will be ruined soon enough if we try to put up a fight all by ourselves,
for Scarberry’s too strong; he’s got three herders to our one. The Agent
is our only chance.”
For a long time after this speech all was silence, and Marian was
beginning to think that Patsy had gone to sleep. Then she felt her soft
warm hand steal into hers as she whispered:
“No, I’m not afraid. I—I’ll stay, and I’ll do all I can to keep that
thief and his deer off our range until you get back. I’ll do it, too! See
if I don’t!”
Patsy’s southern fighting blood was up. At such a time she felt equal to
anything.
“All right, old dear; only be careful.” Marian gave her a rousing hug,
then whispered as she drew the deerskins about her:
“Go to sleep now. I must be away before dawn.”