A JOURNEY WELL BEGUN
Two hours before the tardy dawn, Marian and Attatak were away. With three
tried and trusted reindeer—Spot, Whitie, and Brownie—they were to attempt
a journey of some hundreds of miles. Across trackless wilderness they
must lay their course by the stars until the Little Kalikumf River was
reached. After this it was a straight course down a well marked trail to
the trading station, providing the river was fully frozen over.
This river was one of the many problems they must face. There were
others. Stray dogs might attack their deer; they might cross the track of
a mother wolf and her hungry pack of half grown cubs; a blizzard might
overtake them and, lacking the guiding light of the stars, they might
become lost and wander aimlessly on the tundra until cold and hunger
claimed them for their own. But of all these, Marian thought most of the
river. Would it be frozen over, or would they be forced to turn back
after covering all those weary miles and enduring the hardships?
“Attatak,” she said to the native girl, “they say the Little Kalikumf
River has rapids in it by the end of a glacier and that no man dares
shoot those rapids. Is that true?”
“_Eh-eh_,” (yes) answered Attatak. “Spirit of water angry at ice cut away
far below. Want to shoot rapids; boats and man run beneath that ice. Soon
smashed boat, killed man. That’s all.”
It was quite enough, Marian thought; but somehow they must pass these
rapids whether they were frozen over or not.
“Ah, well,” she sighed, “that’s still far away. First comes the fight
with tundra, hills and sweeping winds.”
Patting her reindeer on the side, she sent him flying up the valley while
she raced along beside him.
These reindeer were wonderful steeds. No food need be carried for them.
They found their own food beneath the snow when day was done. A hundred
miles in a day, over a smooth trail, was not too much for them. Soft
snow—the wind-blown, blizzard-sifted snow that was like granulated
sugar—did not trouble them. They trotted straight on. There was no need
to search out a water hole that they might slake their thirst; they
scooped up mouthfuls of snow as they raced along.
“Wonderful old friends,” murmured Marian as she reached out a hand to
touch her spotted leader. “There are those who say a dog team is better.
Bill Scarberry, they say, never drives reindeer; always drives dogs. But
on a long journey, a great marathon race, reindeer would win, I do
believe they would. I—”
She was suddenly startled from her reflections by the appearance of a
brown-hooded head not twenty rods away. Their course had led them closer
to Scarberry’s camp than she thought. As she came out upon the ridge she
saw an Eskimo scout disappearing into the willows from which a camp smoke
was rising.
Marian was greatly disturbed by the thought that Scarberry’s camp would
soon know of her departure. She had hoped that they might not learn of
her errand, that they might not miss her from the camp. For Patsy’s sake
she was tempted to turn back, but after a moment’s indecision, she
determined to push forward. There was no other way to win, and win she
must!
An hour later she halted the deer at a fork in the trail. Directly before
her stood a bold range of mountains, and their peaks seemed to be smoking
with drifting snow. Blizzards were there, the perpetual blizzards of
Arctic peaks. She had never crossed those mountains, perhaps no person
ever had. She had intended skirting them to the north. This would require
at least one added day of travel. As she thought of the perils that
awaited Patsy while alone with the herd, and as she thought of the great
necessity of making every hour count, she was tempted to try the mountain
pass. Here was a time for decision; when all might be gained by a bold
stroke.
Rising suddenly on tip-toe, as if thus to emphasize a great resolve, she
pointed away to the mountains and said with all the dignity of a Jean
d’Arc:
“Attatak, we go that way.”
Wide-eyed with amazement, Attatak stared at Marian for a full minute;
then with the cheerful smile of a born explorer—which any member of her
race always is—she said:
“_Na-goo-va-ruk-tuck._” (That will be very good.)