THE END OF THE TRAIL
Troops of conflicting hopes and fears waged battle in Marian’s brain when
she realized that the pack approaching them on the run up the trail in
the teeth of the storm were not wolves, but dogs. There are two types of
dogs in Alaska; one, more wolf than dog, is the native wolf dog. This
type, once he is loosed, leaps at the throat of the first reindeer he
sees. A pack of these dogs, in such a crisis as the girls were now
facing, would not only destroy many of the feebly struggling, worn-out
and helpless younger deer, but beyond doubt would drive the remainder of
the herd into such a wild panic as would lose them to their owners
forever.
Were the dogs of this or the other type—white men’s dogs, who treat the
reindeer as they might cattle or sheep, and merely bark at them and drive
them forward? If they were white men’s dogs they might save the day; for
the barking of such a pack, as fresh for the struggle they appeared to
be, would doubtless drive the exhausted deer to renewed efforts and carry
them on over the top.
With bated breath and trembling heart Marian watched their approach. Once
hope fell as she thought she caught the sharp ki-yi of a wolf dog. In
this she must have been mistaken, for as they came closer she saw that
they were magnificent shaggy-coated fellows, with an unmistakable collie
strain in their blood.
“Oh!” she cried, “‘the chariots of the Lord, and the horsemen thereof.’”
It was a strange expression, but fitted the occasion so well that Patsy
felt her heart give a great leap of joy.
Indeed the steeds of the Arctic, if not the horsemen, had come to their
aid in a time of great need, and, passing them with a wild leap, the dogs
burst upon the deer with a rush and roar that sent them forward by leaps
and bounds.
Staggering forward, the girls followed as best they could. Now they were
a thousand yards from the summit, now five hundred, now three, now two.
And now the first deer were disappearing over the top. Enheartened by
this, the others crowded forward until with one final rush they all
passed over the top and started down on the other side.
Just as the girls reached the crest and were peering over the summit, a
shrill whistle smote their ears. It sounded again, and yet again. There
was a movement just before them. Then the snow-covered pack of dogs
rushed pel-mel past them on the back trail down hill.
“Someone whistled to them. They are going back. How wonderfully they must
be trained!” exclaimed Patsy.
“They were someone’s team,” Marian said slowly, as if for the first time
realizing they had not really been sent direct from Heaven to save them.
“They’re somebody’s team. He knew we were in trouble and turned the dogs
loose to help us. I wonder who he could have been?”
For the present the question must remain unanswered. The herd had gone on
before them. It was all important that they join them. So, having
straightened out the draw-straps to their sleds, they began making their
way down the hard packed and uncertain descent.
It was not long before they came upon the herd feeding on a little
mountain plateau. Terogloona was already busy making camp, and Attatak
thawing out food over a fire of tiny scrub fir trees.
“Isn’t it wonderful to think that the great struggle is over?” whispered
Marian, contentedly, as they lounged on their sleeping bags an hour
later. “This is really the worst of it, I hope. Fort Jarvis can’t be more
than four days away now, over a smoother down trail.”
“If only we are in time!” sighed Patsy.
“We must be. Oh, we must!” exclaimed Marian passionately. “Surely it
would be too much to struggle as we have, and then lose!”
Before Marian fell asleep she set her mind to meet any outcome of their
adventure. She thought of the wonderful opportunities the sale of the
herd would bring to her father and herself. Near some splendid school
they must rent a bungalow. There she would keep house for him and go to
school. In her mind she saw the wonderful roses that bloomed around their
door-step, and pictured the glorious sunsets they would view from their
back door.
“Perhaps, too,” she told herself, “Patsy could live with us for a year or
two and attend my school.”
When she had pictured all this, she saw in her mind that the race had
been lost; that Scarberry had sold his herd to the Canadian officials;
that she was to turn the heads of her leading reindeer toward the home
tundra.
With great difficulty at first, but with ever increasing enthusiasm, in
her imagination she drove the herd all the way back to enter once more
upon the wild, free, life of the herder.
“It really does not matter,” she told herself; “it’s really only for
father. He is so lonely down there all by himself.”
In her heart of hearts she knew that it did matter, mattered a very great
deal indeed. Brave girl that she was, she only prepared her mind for the
shock that would come if the race were really lost.
Four days later the two girls found themselves approaching a small
village of log cabins and long, low-lying buildings. This was Fort
Jarvis. They had made the remainder of the journey in safety. Leaving
their herd some ten miles from the Fort, where the deer would be safe,
they had tramped in on snowshoes.
Marian found her heart fluttering painfully as her feet fell in the
hard-packed village path. Had Scarberry been there? Was the race lost?
Had the man of the purple flame been there? Had he anything to do with
the deal?
Twice they asked directions of passing Indians. At last they knocked at a
door. The door swung open and they found themselves inside a long, low
room. At a table close to an open fire sat a man in uniform. He rose and
bowed as they came toward him.
“You—you are the agent for the Canadian Government?” Marian faltered,
addressing the man in uniform.
The man nodded his head and smiled a little welcome.
“You wish to buy a reindeer herd?” Marian asked the question point-blank.
“I believe,” the man answered quietly, “that I have already agreed to
purchase one—”
“You—you—” Marian sank to a chair. The shock was too much.
“You see, the truth is,” smiled the Major, as though there had been no
interruption, “I believe I have agreed to purchase your herd.”
“My herd!” exclaimed Marian, unable to believe her ears. “But how did you
know of my herd—how did you know I was on the way? Who told you—”
“One question at a time, young lady,” laughed the Major. “I think I have
a number of surprises for you. As to your first question, I will say that
I have never heard of your herd until two days ago. That day, two days
after the great storm, a half famished Indian reached Fort Jarvis,
driving a splendid team of white men’s dogs. They had been hard driven.
“After we had fed him, he jerkily told us the story of your race against
a man named Scarberry. He told us of the treatment you had given him; of
your kindnesses to his people. Then he told of Scarberry. Told how
Scarberry’s herd had been delayed and held up along the trail, and how he
had tried to be of help to you. Then he told of your battle against the
storm, and how, once you were safely over the pass, he had driven night
and day to reach here. His hope was to get here ahead of any other herd
and intercede for you. Such loyalty is not to be denied. And I told him
that should your herd reach here in good shape, that I would give it
preference, even should Scarberry get here ahead of you. I believe that
answers one of your questions.”
“But how in the world did this Indian know that the Government had agreed
to purchase a herd?” asked Marian.
“In the North,” answered the Major, “rumor flies fast, even over
seemingly uninhabited places. And you may depend upon it that the Indian
will know what is going on; even if he does have but little to say. Now,
to business. I understand you have brought the herd with you?”
“Yes,” answered Marian, “they are at our camp about ten miles out.”
“Then we may consider the deal closed. There remains but to count the
deer; to weed out those that are too old or too weak for the final drive,
then to make out your order on our Government. We have Lapland herders
who will assist in the work. You may rest here with us until the count is
completed. After that I will see that you have guides and dog-teams for
the passage south to the rail head.”
“Oh! how wonderful!” exclaimed Patsy, impulsively leaping to her feet.
“But Bill Scarberry,” she asked suddenly, “did he really win?”
“No,” smiled the Major, “he has not yet been heard from. So you won the
race after all.”
“Good!” exclaimed Patsy, “I could never have been happy again if we had
lost, even if Marian did sell her herd.”
After a night’s rest at the post, Marian and Patsy felt like they had
come into a new life. They had lain awake long into the night, exchanging
excited whispers over their good luck. The next morning, as Marian was
passing down the street, she noticed a dog team. There was something
about the leader that looked familiar. One glance at the driver brought
an exclamation of surprise to her lips. He was none other than the Indian
she had saved from starvation, and who in turn had served as her guardian
angel.
“That is the dog team that came to our rescue in the blizzard,” was her
mental comment.
While she had been told the rest of the story by the Major, she preferred
to have the story from the man’s own lips. She found him very reluctant
to talk, but after his heart had been warmed by a splendid meal of boiled
reindeer meat and coffee, he told his story from the time she had given
him three of her reindeer until the present moment. Shortly after leaving
her, he had come in with some of his own people who were well fed and
prosperous. Knowing that the girls were headed straight for trouble, and
feeling very grateful to them, he had persuaded one of these, his
kinsmen, to go with him and to follow the reindeer herd with his team of
white men’s dogs. It had been they who had driven the wolf-pack away and
had left a rifle and ammunition for the girls. It was their dog team that
had been released from the sled and had assisted in driving the reindeer
herd over the mountain.
“But why did you do all this?” Marian asked.
The man looked at her for a moment in silence, then he asked: “Why did
you give reindeer?”
“Because you were in need.”
“And you,” a faint smile played across his face, “you too were in need.
Indian all same white man.”
Then Marian understood, and her heart was filled with a new love for all
those strange people who inhabit the White Wilderness.
The next day, Marian and Patsy, together with the Major and his Lapland
herders, went out to Marian’s camp and there began the business of
sorting and counting the deer. This work continued for three days, and on
the evening of the third day, leaving the herd in charge of the Lapland
herders, Marian, Patsy and the Major, together with Terogloona and
Attatak, started for Fort Jarvis by way of deer sled.
Topping a hill some two miles from Fort Jarvis, they suddenly came upon a
tent. Just before they reached it, the interior became suddenly lighted
with a strange purple flame. Marian halted her deer with an exclamation
of surprise.
“The purple flame!” she gasped, and turning to the Major said: “I can
stand this mystery no longer. Do you know who is in that tent?”
“Why yes, I think so,” said the Major. “I think it is Mr. Montgomery, an
old prospector. He is well known throughout the North. Why do you ask?”
“I want to meet him,” said Marian. “Will you please come with me to his
tent?”
A moment later a hearty old man came to the door of the tent in response
to their call, and with a cheery smile acknowledged the Major’s
introduction of Marian and Patsy, at once inviting them in.
Imagine Marian’s surprise, when upon entering the tent she saw a young
girl of about her own age, seated at a radio sending set. And there,
under the deft fingers of the girl operator, a crackling purple flash
jumped back and forth across a wide spark gap.
“The girl of the purple flame,” gasped Patsy.
At sound of her voice the girl turned around and smiled a welcome. Marian
turned to Mr. Montgomery:
“So you are the people of the purple flame.”
“Are we, indeed!” laughed the old Prospector.
“Yes,” said Marian, “and I thought all the while, back there in Alaska,
that you were dogging our footsteps, and, to speak honestly, we feared
you.”
“Well, well,” laughed the old gentleman. “So that was your reindeer camp.
We thought all the while that _you_ were dogging _our_ footsteps.”
Then the old prospector launched into a long story that cleared up the
entire mystery of the purple flame.
It appeared that in his youth he had been a prospector in Alaska and had
found a very rich vein of gold. Ill health had overtaken him and he had
been forced to return to the States. Years passed, and fortune and wealth
had come to him, but the lure of searching for gold was still in his
veins, and in the end he had come again to Alaska, thinking to find his
mine. The years had somewhat dimmed his memory, and he had searched in
vein for the lost mine. Moving from day to day, he had been just as
surprised to note that Marian’s camp moved with him as was Marian to
discover that his camp moved with hers. In time he had become suspicious,
fearing that they were dogging his footsteps. He knew that he had been
well known throughout the North in the past, and he feared that others
knew of his lost mine.
“And that,” concluded Mr. Montgomery, “is the reason I never called at
your camp.”
“And that radio set,” said Marian, “with its flash of purple flame, is
the reason that I never called at your camp. There was something so
mysterious about it all.”
The old prospector smiled. “I suppose,” he said, “that my having a
sending and receiving radio set is a bit strange and perhaps a little
mysterious. Certainly the set is a bit strange, for to my knowledge there
is not another set like it in the country. It is very compact and yet
most powerful. You see, my interests in the outside are very extensive,
and it is necessary for me to keep in touch with them. By the use of this
set, I can keep in touch with my agent in Nome, and he, in turn, can keep
in touch with the States by use of the cable.
“It was the spark of my set, while sending, that made the purple colored
flash which kept you so mystified. You know, most mysterious things
become quite simple when you find out all about them.
“This radio has made it possible for me to come back and look for my lost
mine. It’s the lure of the thing that draws me, not the desire for the
gold.”
And then it was that Marian, remembering the treasures that she had found
in the cave on the enchanted mountain, and feeling that she had something
in common with this old prospector, told him her story.
As she told of the carved ivory, the old man’s eyes glowed with delight,
and in the end he insisted that he go into Fort Jarvis with them that he
might at least see the piece they had brought along and hear Terogloona’s
story.
At the post old Terogloona, in a halting way, read the pictured
inscription on the four sides. Other bits of information furnished by
Terogloona convinced the old prospector that Terogloona’s great-uncle had
been his guide in the days when he was first prospecting and had found
the mine. Mr. Montgomery wanted to set out at once with Terogloona and
Attatak for the cave on the mountain.
“Why,” he exclaimed, “that’s very near my lost mine, for I remember that
my old guide, Terogloona’s great-uncle, spoke of the cave as a place
where we might winter in safety, should winter come down upon us before
we expected it.”
“How wonderful!” said Marian. “We have just completed the count and sale
of our deer. Patsy and I are going back to the States, and I am sure
Terogloona and Attatak will go with you. And you will be in good hands,”
she added, giving both of the faithful servants a glowing smile.
The sale of the deer was successfully completed. After a much needed
rest, the girls began the long journey to the “Outside.” So far were they
from the strange cabin of the recluse musician, they were unable to
return for the treasure they had taken from the mountain cave.
Many months passed, and then one day as the two girls returned from an
afternoon of shopping in Chicago, Marian found a registered package
awaiting her. From its bulk, and from the many post-marks upon it, she
knew at once that it contained the long awaited ancient treasure.
Her fingers trembled as she undid the many wrappings. When at last she
came to the treasure she found each piece separately wrapped. The copper
instruments and the old ivory pieces were just as she had found them,
tarnished and blackened with age.
“But what’s this?” she held up before Patsy’s astonished eyes a green
bowl which gleamed in the light like a crystal.
“Why!” exclaimed Patsy, as she saw her cousin unpack another and another
and yet another, “he has thought your old dishes were useless and has
sent you some of his exquisite glassware instead.”
“How strange!” murmured Marian, ready to cry with disappointment. She had
so hoped to surprise Mr. Cole, the Curator of the Museum, with rare
pieces of ancient pottery such as had never before been brought from the
Arctic; and here were only four pieces of glassware. How they had ever
come to be here, she could not guess; but here they were.
“Look!” cried Patsy, “What a strange appearance they have when you hold
them to the light! And see, two of them are blue and two are a tawny
green, like huge cat’s eyes.”
“Wait!” said Marian, “here is a note from our aged friend.”
She unfolded it and read it aloud:
“Please pardon an old man’s fancy. I could not resist the temptation of
polishing these up a bit. The very sight of them makes me envious. They
are indeed a rare find. I have a guess as to what they are made of, but
your friend the Curator will know.”
“So,” exclaimed Patsy, “they are the very dishes you found in the cave!”
“How very, very strange! We must have Mr. Cole come over at once,” said
Marian, half beside herself with curiosity.
She raced to the telephone and a moment later had the Curator on the
wire. If you have read our other book, “The Cruise of the O’Moo” you will
remember that Marian, with her two friends, Lucile and Florence had once
made a rare find for the Museum, so you will not wonder that so great a
man should hurry right over in answer to their call.
When he arrived, Marian placed one of the bowls in his hand with the
single comment: “From a cave in a mountain in Alaska.”
For three minutes he turned the bowl about before the light.
“What do you want me to tell you about it?” There was a strange light in
his eye.
“Almost everything!” exclaimed Marian. “What it’s made of, who made it,
how long ago, how—”
“Wait a bit. Not so fast!” the Curator held up a hand for silence.
“You should know what it’s made of,” he smiled. “What was the Blue God
made of?”
“Jade.”
“And this.”
“Is that jade, too?”
“Blue and green jade.”
“Then—then the bowls should be valuable.”
“Quite decidedly. As for your other questions, much more information is
needed before we can know who made them and when. So far as I know,
nothing of this kind has ever before been discovered. Were there any
other pieces?”
Marian held out a handful of ivory pieces.
For ten minutes there was silence in the room, save for the click of
specimens as the Curator turned them over. Then, turning suddenly, Mr.
Cole put out his hands to the girls.
“I want to congratulate you,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “upon your good
fortune in discovering the finest collection of specimens ever brought
from Alaska. From its discoloration this ivory should be at least five
hundred years old. The bowls are doubtless of the same period. That makes
them priceless.”
On hearing these words Marian’s joy knew no bounds. As for Patsy, her
unselfish pleasure in the success of her cousin was quite as great as if
it had been she who had made the find.
It was arranged that Mr. Cole should take charge of the specimens, and
should advise Marian in regard to their disposal.
Marian’s dream came true. She and her father secured the bungalow, rose
bush and all, and owned it free from debt. There was money enough left
for her education. As for Patsy, she was glad enough to hurry back to
rejoin her classmates in Louisville, Kentucky.
An unfortunate part of having plenty of money is that it is likely to
shut out from one’s life the thrills that come with a struggle for an
existence. For the time being Marian’s life lost most of its thrills.
Not so, however, with her friend, Lucille Tucker. You will remember her
from reading “The Blue Envelope,” “The Cruise of the O’Moo” and “The
Secret Mark.” Life for her continued to have thrills a-plenty. Our next
book, “The Crimson Thread,” will have to do with the adventures which
came to her during a Christmas vacation. If you think that two weeks’
time can contain but few adventures, this book will prove that you are
mistaken.
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this e-text
is public domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos, leaving a few amusing ones
unchanged.
Amusing Typo/Puns
--“searched in vein for the lost mine”—Shouldn’t that be the other way
around?
--“looking for some stray fauns”—a long way from Greece!
--“hours spent pouring over books”—a bit more drastic than throwing cold
water on ideas...