KOBUK
Boreland and Kayak Bill searched the beach below the cabin for
footprints while Harlan took the trail across the Island toward his
Hut. Ellen and her sister hoping that the boy had returned during
their absence, ran home to look into every nook and corner. . . . The
silence drove them once more into the open.
Ellen, her throat tightening with unshed tears, stood on the porch and
called:
"L-o-l-l-i-e! . . . S-o-n!"
The only answer was the mocking cry of a gull floating high in the
sunlight. . . .
Boreland came hurriedly up the trail from the beach.
"There are no tracks in the sand toward Sunset Point, El, but Kayak is
going along Skeleton Rib toward the cliffs."
At the stricken look in the mother's face, Jean turned quickly to her
brother-in-law.
"He must have found Kobuk and gone off adventuring again, Shane. . . .
But he can't have gone far with the dog so crippled. Perhaps he's
picking flowers," she suggested hopefully.
Ellen had started down toward the dilapidated hut where Loll had
surprised the swallows on his first morning exploration. Lying on the
doorsill she found some fragrant spikes of late-blooming orchis tied
with a grass blade. Calling to the others she picked up the flowers.
Boreland answered her with a gesture and after running back into the
cabin for his rifle, followed.
"He loved the yellow flowers best, Jean," Ellen said thoughtfully.
"Perhaps he has gone to the gulch where they grow thickest."
Toward the steep depression in the hillside some two hundred yards
distant the coarse grass of the tundra was flattened in spots as if
something had passed that way. The women seized upon this clue and
eagerly followed the signs.
Where the land sloped upward toward the hill they came upon a grave.
It was old, so old that the Greek cross at the head was moss-grown,
broken and decayed. Once before Ellen and her son had stood there,
touched with the gentle speculative melancholy that a wilderness grave
always brings. Before leaving they had placed a cluster of flowers
upon it in memory of the bold Russian sailor of long ago, whose body
lay beneath. Now there was a fresh bunch of blossoms at the foot of
the cross. . . . At the sight of them quick, hot tears welled up in
Ellen's eyes. It hurt her to remember Loll's quaint way of talking to
the flowers he had picked.
Boreland, rifle in hand, overtook them just as they entered the gully
that ran upward to the flat top of the Island.
During the rainy season the gulch undoubtedly cradled a small stream of
water but now it was only slightly damp, and on each side, untouched
yet by frost, grew a golden profusion of flowers. Here and there
freshly broken stems indicated that Ellen had not been amiss in her
surmise as to the boy's route.
Halfway up they came upon Loll's cap swinging from a dried celery
blossom. With a cry Ellen caught at it and clasped it to her breast
while she called his name again and again. Jean joined her; then
Boreland took up the name. . . .
There was no answer.
When the voices died away at last it seemed strangely, ominously still
in the sunny, flower-scented hollow. . . . With a sickening fear that
she might never hear her boy's call again Ellen continued to stand
straining her ears for the sound of it. On either side of her a wall
of yellow bloom arose, shutting her in. A breath of air stirred the
fragrance of it,--clean, sweet. Suddenly, on its scent, there flashed
before her baby-pictures from the realm of her mother-memories--Loll,
curly-headed, grey-eyed and laughing, holding out chubby arms as he
took his first unsteady steps; Loll's plump, diminutive legs, dancing
"tippy-toe" with comical baby joyousness before he would consent to be
buttoned into his nightie; Loll asleep, his little tousled head on the
pillow beside that of "Shut-eye" an absurd and dilapidated doll dear to
his infant heart. . . . And once, when she had impatiently slapped his
fat little hand as it closed on a forbidden object, Loll's baby face
looking up at her with hurt, astonished eyes and quivering chin. . . .
This last bought stabbed her with poignant regret wounding her heart
with such anguish and self-reproach and longing that she burst into
sobs as she climbed blindly to the top of the gulch.
On the crest of the hill all three stopped for a moment, out of breath
from the steep ascent.
Spread out like a vast beautiful meadow the top of the Island lay flat
as the palm of a hand. The tundra, softly green and brown, was
splashed with the yellow and rose and purple of late-blooming wild
flowers. Small brown pools of water bordered with moss were sunk here
and there. To the north and east not a tree or bush broke the level
but southward the tundra rose gently toward the top of the cliffs a
mile or more away, where the air was thick with seabirds. A narrow
path, suggestive of heavy padded feet, ran from north to south along
the edge of the hill.
Despite this gentleness, this softness of contour characteristic of the
tundra meadows of the North, there was a feeling of wind-swept spaces.
The air was exquisitely pure. Jean, looking about her, involuntarily
drew a deep, long breath. Midway between her and the edge of the
distant cliffs stood the one lone tree of Kon Klayu--a small gnarled
spruce, its branches all growing from one side of the trunk, bearing
mute testimony to the velocity of the prevailing gales. There was
about this tree an air of almost human loneliness and--waiting. On the
brow of the hill it faced the sea like a woman with long, wind-blown
hair. Near it rose a dome-shaped mound like an Eskimo hut in form but
many times larger.
As the girl's eyes followed the trail south she suddenly became aware
of a small, slowly-moving object, . . . then another.
"Oh, Ellen!" There was glad relief in her voice. "_There_ he is!
There they are--Loll and Kobuk! See! Their heads are bobbing just
above the grass toward the tree!"
At the first exclamation Boreland had started hurriedly along the
trail. The two women followed him calling to the boy as they ran. But
Loll, evidently deeply interested in his own small adventures, did not
hear their shouts. Kobuk was now hobbling on ahead and despite his
bandaged leg, was tacking hither and thither woofing in the manner of
the huskie when he wishes to bark. As Loll neared the tree they saw
him branch off the trail and a few minutes later disappear around the
hummock.
But Kobuk did not follow.
With short staccato woofs he was limping forward toward the crest of
the hill and back again. There was a strange note in the sound.
Presently he stood still, his long nose raised, wolf-like, as if to
catch a scent.
At this point Boreland stopped in the trail.
"El," he said hurriedly, "you and Jean stay right here. I'm going to
make a short-cut to the hummock. I'll bring Loll back. Mind what I
tell you, _stay_ here!"
He started swiftly across the deceptively smooth-looking tundra, his
face drawn and ashen. While Jean watched him, he slipped his rifle to
the hollow of his arm. The movement brought the thought of the bear to
the girl. Her heart thumped against her side. She glanced at Ellen,
but her sister was standing with hand-shaded eyes following the
progress of Shane who had covered nearly half the distance to the
mound. Jean turned again to the crest of the hill where Kobuk had
been. He was hobbling toward her. Even as she looked the dog stopped,
glanced behind him, then stiffened, every hair along his neck
bristling. He stood as if sniffing the wind which was blowing toward
her. Then he came on.
"Kobuk, what's the matter, Kobuk----"
The girl broke off with a gasp of terror. In a fascination of fright
her gaze became fastened on a spot beyond the advancing Kobuk.
Out of the bushes that crowned the edge of the hill a great, hairy head
was slowly rising. Followed the massive arches of shoulders, the whole
powerful body. An instant later the vast bulk of a Kodiak bear, with
low-hung swinging head, was outlined against the growth behind. A
moment it stood, looming huge, brown, fearful--the most dangerous beast
that roams the Alaskan wilderness. Then deliberately it came to its
haunches, its immense paws dangling in front, its monstrous head and
neck turning from side to side. . . . Dropping to earth again it
slouched heavily in the direction of the hummock where Lollie had
disappeared.
Jean turned swiftly to see if Boreland were aware of the proximity of
the creature, now making for the opening to its den on the other side
of the mound--a den which Loll no doubt was at that moment exploring.
Her brother-in-law was preparing to spring across one of the little
brown pools. . . . Then, to her despair, he stumbled, and one leg went
down in the soft muck of the farther edge. As he fell, he tried to
throw his rifle to the bank, but the heavy, metal-stayed butt jammed
against his hand.
Jean held her breath. For a long moment he did not move. Had he
broken his leg? Had he--? She sobbed with relief. He was beginning
to struggle out; but, even in her excitement, she noticed that he did
not use his right hand. It hung limply from the wrist.
Ellen must have seen the beast as soon as Jean for as her husband fell
she was dashing away across the tundra to him. Jean's mind wrestled
with the situation. With his right hand useless, Boreland, good shot
though he was, could never send the single bullet that must kill the
grizzly. They could risk no fight at close range with a wounded and
infuriated Kodiak bear. Jean remembered her sister's unusual skill at
target practice on the _Hoonah_. Jean herself was a good shot but
Ellen could, unfailing, hit a bull's eye at twenty paces, though she
could never be persuaded to shoot at a living thing. Would she have
the courage, the coolness, to face the monster in that critical moment
which meant life or death to her son? Would she _be_ in _time_?
Now the bear had traversed more than half the distance to the hummock
and was still lumbering along. She must stop him, must at least delay
him--she and Kobuk--so that Ellen might reach the other side of the
mound before him.
She ran to meet the dog. Snatches of hunting tales Kayak Bill had told
came to her--tales of northern huskies hamstringing wild beasts. She
did not know what the term meant, but Kobuk could do it. Kobuk, the
powerful, the swift, the beautiful. . . . Then she remembered--Kobuk's
right foreleg was crippled and still tightly bandaged. . . . Kobuk
crippled stood no chance against a Kodiak bear!
She came up to him. At her approach, as though reinforced by her
presence, the dog turned clumsily on three legs to face the beast.
Low, savage growls issued from his throat. His lips curled away from
his sharp fangs; spasms serrulated his nose; the hair along his spine
rose and fell.
Jean patted his side. Sick at heart she urged him forward. She
pointed desperately to the monster.
"Mush, Kobuk! Sick 'im, old boy!" She forced enthusiasm into her
tones. "Go head him off!"
The dog limped a few feet. He looked back at her, his ferocious look
softened. His crippled leg hung useless. He raised clear, questioning
eyes to her face.
"Oh, Kobuk, darling, I know--I _know_--" the girl's voice broke. She
knelt and threw her arms about him. "But you must do _something_!
Kobuk, you must!" She pleaded with him as if he were human.
Once more the dog looked at her, his dark, intelligent eyes fearful and
sad. He gave a half-hearted little woof, shifted on his three legs and
rested his head a moment against her knee.
She sprang up and ran a short distance ahead of him. Again she pointed
to the bear.
"Mush, Kobuk! Oh, go after him, boy!"
He started. Once more his hair bristled ferociously. Then suddenly,
to Jean's dismay, he turned and instead of heading the bear off, began
to make a detour behind it. Forgetful of all else but the necessity of
delaying the beast, she ran after the dog shouting encouragement.
As he left her behind he gathered speed. He swerved, making straight
for the back of the bear. His woofing sounds had ceased now. He was
grimly silent. The instincts of his wolf ancestors at the sight of
quarry must have awakened in his heart making him forget his bodily
pain, for as he sped on in his desire to maim and kill, he put his
bandaged leg to the ground with increasing frequency. By the time he
reached the animal, gone was the friendly, gentle Kobuk Jean had always
known. In his place rushed a new and terrible Kobuk--a snarling,
leaping devil-dog, with blazing eyes, white fangs gleaming in a
dripping mouth, little ears laid back against a lean, wolf-like head.
He attacked the bear from behind, nipping it slightly. The huge beast
stopped and whirled in clumsy astonishment. For a moment it looked
almost curiously at the white-fanged fury leaping away. Then turning
lumbered on again toward the mound. The monster had lived so long on
Kon Klayu undisturbed by man or beast that it was apparently
indifferent to both.
But Kobuk, cripple though he was, would not be ignored. Again he
dashed at the bear, seeking to nip it from the rear. Again he
retreated. Repeating his maneuvers he kept on, until suddenly Jean saw
the beast whirl viciously. Its cumbersome bulk stiffened, its little
eyes gleamed with rage. It rose on its hind feet, its monster head
swaying from side to side. Then the girl stopped, horrified, dazed at
the unequal battle that ensued.
She had a confused memory of a huge upstanding creature laying about it
like a fiend with great furry arms. She saw her dog, crippled, but
dauntless, ever dodging, wheeling, leaping, circling and attacking from
behind the moment the bear's back was toward him. She saw Kobuk catch
glancing blows from the mighty claw-barbed paws and roll five feet, ten
feet. She saw him battered, bleeding, panting, struggling to his feet
again and again to renew his losing fight. Backward and forward over
the tundra they fought, swiftly, savagely, yet despite it all ever
nearing the mound. Then all in a moment--they disappeared around the
edge of the hummock. To the girl it was as if the earth had swallowed
them. She stood for a moment bewildered. But remembering, she turned
to where she had last seen Ellen and Shane. Her sister was not in
sight, but Boreland was limping around the opposite end of the mound.
He carried no gun. Then he, too, disappeared. . . . A second later a
shot rang out--then another. After that was silence.
The sound of the rifle galvanized the girl into action. With wildly
thumping heart she sped toward the scene of the shooting, dreading what
she might find there. Rounding the hummock she stopped, staring at the
scene before her.
A few feet from the cave-like opening in the hillock, lay the great
bear dead, but with limbs still twitching. It had been shot fairly
through the shoulder and into the heart. Ellen, the rifle at her feet,
stood sobbing against her husband's breast. His sound hand patted her
back mechanically, but his eyes were fixed on something beyond.
Jean's followed them.
Loll was sitting flat on the ground beside the prostrate body of Kobuk,
holding the dog's head on his knees. Kobuk's great dark eyes, swimming
in tears of pain, were raised to the child's face, in a look so sad,
and withal so full of love that Jean started forward, a cry breaking
from her heart. From shoulder to thigh the dog was a bleeding horror
where one whole side of his faithful body had been raked by the iron
claws of the bear.
"Oh, my Kobuk! My dear doggie!" The little boy sobbed and laid his
cheek against Kobuk's head.
The dog moved slightly, and his pink tongue went out weakly to lick his
small comrade's face.
"I won't let him hurt you no more now, Kobuk," crooned Lollie,
protectingly.
Jean sank on her knees beside him.
"Kobuk--dear old--Kobuk--" she murmured brokenly, stroking a limp, hot
paw.
The dog's dimming senses must have caught the sound of his name, for
his tail moved feebly as if, with the last beat of his brave heart he
was trying to wag goodbye. . . . He lifted his head, . . . a shudder
passed through him. Then he lay still, his wide, glazing eyes fixed on
the little boy's face.
Jean buried her head in her arms oblivious to everything but the wild
grief that shook her. But Lollie, not realizing that Kobuk was dead,
sat patting the relaxed bandaged leg, while he whispered childish words
of comfort in the unheeding ears.