SNOWED IN
Until the present moment Rod had forgotten to speak of the mysterious
man-trail he had encountered in the chasm. The excitement of the past
hour had made him oblivious to all other things, but now as they ate
their dinner he described the strange maneuvers of the spying Woonga. He
did not, however, voice those fears which had come to him in the gorge,
preferring to allow Mukoki and Wabigoon to draw their own conclusions.
By this time the two Indians were satisfied that the Woongas were not
contemplating attack, but that for some unaccountable reason they were
as anxious to evade the hunters as the hunters were to evade them.
Everything that had passed seemed to give evidence of this. The outlaw
in the chasm, for instance, could easily have waylaid Rod; a dozen times
the almost defenseless camp could have been attacked, and there were
innumerable places where ambushes might have been laid for them along
the trap-lines.
So Rod's experience with the Woonga trail between the mountains
occasioned little uneasiness, and instead of forming a scheme for the
further investigation of this trail on the south, plans were made for
locating the first fall. Mukoki was the swiftest and most tireless
traveler on snow-shoes, and it was he who volunteered to make the first
search. He would leave the following morning, taking with him a supply
of food, and during his absence Rod and Wabigoon would attend to the
traps.
"We must have the location of the first fall before we return to the
Post," declared Wabi. "If from that we find that the third fall is not
within a hundred miles of our present camp it will be impossible for us
to go in search of our gold during this trip. In that event we shall
have to go back to Wabinosh House and form a new expedition, with fresh
supplies and the proper kind of tools. We can not do anything until the
spring freshets are over, anyway."
"I have been thinking of that," replied Rod, his eyes softening. "You
know mother is alone, and--her--"
"I understand," interrupted the Indian boy, laying a hand fondly across
his companion's arm.
"--her funds are small, you know," Rod finished. "If she has been
sick--or--anything like that--"
"Yes, we've got to get back with our furs," helped Wabi, a tremor of
tenderness in his own voice. "And if you don't mind, Rod, I might take a
little run down to Detroit with you. Do you suppose she would care?"
"Care!" shouted Rod, bringing his free hand down upon Wabi's arm with a
force that hurt. "Care! Why, she thinks as much of you as she does of
me, Wabi! She'd be tickled to death! Do you mean it?"
Wabi's bronzed face flushed a deeper red at his friend's enthusiasm.
"I won't promise--for sure," he said. "But I'd like to see her--almost
as much as you, I guess. If I can, I'll go."
Rod's face was suffused with a joyful glow.
"And I'll come back with you early in the summer and we'll start out for
the gold," he cried. He jumped to his feet and slapped Mukoki on the
back in the happy turn his mind had taken. "Will you come, too, Mukoki?
I'll give you the biggest 'city time' you ever had in your life!"
The old Indian grinned and chuckled and grunted, but did not reply in
words. Wabi laughed, and answered for him.
"He is too anxious to become Minnetaki's slave again, Rod. No, Muky
won't go, I'll wager that. He will stay at the Post to see that she
doesn't get lost, or hurt, or stolen by the Woongas. Eh, Mukoki?" Mukoki
nodded, grinning good-humoredly. He went to the door, opened it and
looked out.
"Devil--she snow!" he cried. "She snow like twent' t'ousand--like
devil!"
This was the strongest English in the old warrior's vocabulary, and it
meant something more than usual. Wabi and Rod quickly joined him. Never
in his life had the city youth seen a snow-storm like that which he now
gazed out into. The great north storm had arrived--a storm which comes
just once each year in the endless Arctic desolation. For days and weeks
the Indians had expected it and wondered at its lateness. It fell
softly, silently, without a breath of air to stir it; a smothering,
voiceless sea of white, impenetrable to human vision, so thick that it
seemed as though it might stifle one's breath. Rod held out the palm of
his hand and in an instant it was covered with a film of white. He
walked out into it, and a dozen yards away he became a ghostly, almost
invisible shadow.
When he came back a minute later he brought a load of snow into the
cabin with him.
All that afternoon the snow fell like this, and all that night the storm
continued. When he awoke in the morning Rod heard the wind whistling and
howling through the trees and around the ends of the cabin. He rose and
built the fire while the others were still sleeping. He attempted to
open the door, but it was blocked. He lowered the barricade at the
window, and a barrel of snow tumbled in about his feet. He could see no
sign of day, and when he turned he saw Wabi sitting up in his blankets,
laughing silently at his wonder and consternation.
"What in the world--" he gasped.
"We're snowed in," grinned Wabi. "Does the stove smoke?"
"No," replied Rod, throwing a bewildered glance at the roaring fire.
"You don't mean to say--"
"Then we are not completely, buried," interrupted the other. "At least
the top of the chimney is sticking out!"
Mukoki sat up and stretched himself.
"She blow," he said, as a tremendous howl of wind swept over the cabin.
"Bime-by she blow some more!"
Rod shoveled the snow into a corner and replaced the barricade while his
companions dressed.
"This means a week's work digging out traps," declared Wabi. "And only
Mukoki's Great Spirit, who sends all blessings to this country, knows
when the blizzard is going to stop. It may last a week. There is no
chance of finding our waterfall in this."
"We can play dominoes," suggested Rod cheerfully. "You remember we
haven't finished that series we began at the Post. But you don't expect
me to believe that it snowed enough yesterday afternoon and last night
to cover this cabin, do you?"
"It didn't exactly _snow_ enough to cover it," explained his comrade.
"But we're covered for all of that. The cabin is on the edge of an open,
and of course the snow just naturally drifts around us, blown there by
the wind. If this blizzard keeps up we shall be under a small mountain
by night."
"Won't it--smother us?" faltered Rod.
Wabi gave a joyous whoop of merriment at the city-bred youth's
half-expressed fear and a volley of Mukoki's chuckles came from where he
was slicing moose-steak on the table.
"Snow mighty nice thing live under," he asserted with emphasis.
"If you were under a mountain of snow you could live, if you weren't
crushed to death," said Wabi. "Snow is filled with air. Mukoki was
caught under a snow-slide once and was buried under thirty feet for ten
hours. He had made a nest about as big as a barrel and was nice and
comfortable when we dug him out. We won't have to burn much wood to keep
warm now."
After breakfast the boys again lowered the barricade at the window and
Wabi began to bring small avalanches of snow down into the cabin with
his shovel. At the third or fourth upward thrust a huge mass plunged
through the window, burying them to the waist, and when they looked out
they could see the light of day and the whirling blizzard above their
heads.
"It's up to the roof," gasped Rod. "Great Scott, what a snow-storm!"
"Now for some fun!" cried the Indian youth. "Come on, Rod, if you want
to be in it."
He crawled through the window into the cavity he had made in the drift,
and Rod followed. Wabi waited, a mischievous smile on his face, and no
sooner had his companion joined him than he plunged his shovel deep into
the base of the drift. Half a dozen quick thrusts and there tumbled down
upon their heads a mass of light snow that for a few moments completely
buried them. The suddenness of it knocked Rod to his knees, where he
floundered, gasped and made a vain effort to yell. Struggling like a
fish he first kicked his feet free, and Wabi, who had thrust out his
head and shoulders, shrieked with laughter as he saw only Rod's boots
sticking out of the snow.
"You're going the wrong way, Rod!" he shouted. "Wow--wow!"
He seized his companion's legs and helped to drag him out, and then
stood shaking, the tears streaming down his face, and continued to laugh
until he leaned back in the drift, half exhausted. Rod was a curious and
ludicrous-looking object. His eyes were wide and blinking; the snow was
in his ears, his mouth, and in his floundering he had packed his coat
collar full of it. Slowly he recovered from his astonishment, saw Wabi
and Mukoki quivering with laughter, grinned--and then joined them in
their merriment.
It was not difficult now for the boys to force their way through the
drift and they were soon standing waist-deep in the snow twenty yards
from the cabin.
"The snow is only about four feet deep in the open," said Wabi. "But
look at that!"
He turned and gazed at the cabin, or rather at the small part of it
which still rose triumphant above the huge drift which had almost
completely buried it. Only a little of the roof, with the smoking
chimney rising out of it, was to be seen. Rod now turned in all
directions to survey the wild scene about him. There had come a brief
lull in the blizzard, and his vision extended beyond the lake and to the
hilltop. There was not a spot of black to meet his eyes; every rock was
hidden; the trees hung silent and lifeless under their heavy mantles and
even their trunks were beaten white with the clinging volleys of the
storm. There came to him then a thought of the wild things in this
seemingly uninhabitable desolation. How could they live in this endless
desert of snow? What could they find to eat? Where could they find water
to drink? He asked Wabi these questions after they had returned to the
cabin.
"Just now, if you traveled from here to the end of this storm zone you
wouldn't find a living four-legged creature," said Wabigoon. "Every
moose in this country, every deer and caribou, every fox and wolf, is
buried in the snow. And as the snow falls deeper about them the warmer
and more comfortable do they become, so that even as the blizzard
increases in fury the kind Creator makes it easier for them to bear.
When the storm ceases the wilderness will awaken into life again. The
moose and deer and caribou will rise from their snow-beds and begin to
eat the boughs of trees and saplings; a crust will have formed on the
snow, and all the smaller animals, like foxes, lynx and wolves, will
begin to travel again, and to prey upon others for food. Until they find
running water again snow and ice take the place of liquid drink; warm
caverns dug in the snow give refuge in place of thick swamp moss and
brush and leaves. All the big animals, like moose, deer and caribou,
will soon make 'yards' for themselves by trampling down large areas of
snow, and in these yards they will gather in big herds, eating their way
through the forests, fighting the wolves and waiting for spring. Oh,
life isn't altogether bad for the animals in a deep winter like this!"
Until noon the hunters were busy cleaning away the snow from the cabin
door. As the day advanced the blizzard increased in its fury, until,
with the approach of night, it became impossible for the hunters to
expose themselves to it. For three days the storm continued with only
intermittent lulls, but with the dawn of the fourth day the sky was
again cloudless, and the sun rose with a blinding effulgence. Rod now
found himself suffering from that sure affliction of every tenderfoot in
the far North--snow-blindness. For only a few minutes at a time could he
stand the dazzling reflections of the snow-waste where nothing but
white, flashing, scintillating white, seemingly a vast sea of burning
electric points in the sunlight, met his aching eyes. On the second day
after the storm, while Wabi was still inuring Rod to the changed world
and teaching him how to accustom his eyes to it gradually, Mukoki left
the cabin to follow the chasm in his search for the first waterfall.
That same day Wabi began his work of digging out and resetting the
traps, but it was not until the day following that Rod's eyes would
allow him to assist. The task was a most difficult one; rocks and other
landmarks were completely hidden, and the lost traps averaged one out of
four. It was not until the end of the second day after Mukoki's
departure that the young hunters finished the mountain trap-line, and
when they turned their faces toward camp just at the beginning of dusk
it was with the expectant hope that they would find the old Indian
awaiting them. But Mukoki had not returned. The next day came and
passed, and a fourth dawned without his arrival. Hope now gave way to
fear. In three days Mukoki could travel nearly a hundred miles. Was it
possible that something had happened to him? Many times there recurred
to Rod a thought of the Woonga in the chasm. Had the mysterious spy, or
some of his people, waylaid and killed him?
Neither of the hunters had a desire to leave camp during the fourth day.
Trapping was exceptionally good now on account of the scarcity of animal
food and since the big storm they had captured a wolf, two lynx, a red
fox and eight mink. But as Mukoki's absence lengthened their enthusiasm
grew less.
In the afternoon, as they were watching, they saw a figure climb wearily
to the summit of the hill.
It was Mukoki.
With shouts of greeting both youths hurried through the snow toward him,
not taking time to strap on their snow-shoes. The old Indian was at
their side a couple of minutes later. He smiled in a tired good-natured
way, and answered the eagerness in their eyes with a nod of his head.
"Found fall. Fift' mile down mountain."
Once in the cabin he dropped into a chair, exhausted, and both Rod and
Wabigoon joined in relieving him of his boots and outer garments. It was
evident that Mukoki had been traveling hard, for only once or twice
before in his life had Wabi seen him so completely fatigued. Quickly the
young Indian had a huge steak broiling over the fire, and Rod put an
extra handful of coffee in the pot.
"Fifty miles!" ejaculated Wabi for the twentieth time. "It was an awful
jaunt, wasn't it, Muky?"
"Rough--rough like devil th'ough mountains," replied Mukoki. "Not like
that!" He swung an arm in the direction of the chasm.
Rod stood silent, open-eyed with wonder. Was it possible that the old
warrior had discovered a wilder country than that through which he had
passed in the chasm?
"She little fall," went on Mukoki, brightening as the odor of coffee and
meat filled his nostrils. "No bigger than--that!" He pointed to the roof
of the cabin.
Rod was figuring on the table. Soon he looked up.
"According to Mukoki and the map we are at least two hundred and fifty
miles from the third fall," he said.
Mukoki shrugged his shoulders and his face was crinkled in a suggestive
grimace.
"Hudson Bay," he grunted.
Wabi turned from his steak in sudden astonishment.
"Doesn't the chasm continue east?" he almost shouted.
"No. She turn--straight north."
Rod could not understand the change that came over Wabi's face.
"Boys," he said finally, "if that is the case I can tell you where the
gold is. If the stream in the chasm turns northward it is bound for just
one place--the Albany River, and the Albany River empties into James
Bay! The third waterfall, where our treasure in gold is waiting for us,
is in the very heart of the wildest and most savage wilderness in North
America. It is safe. No other man has ever found it. But to get it means
one of the longest and most adventurous expeditions we ever planned in
all our lives!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Rod. "Hurrah--"
He had leaped to his feet, forgetful of everything but that their gold
was safe, and that their search for it would lead them even to the last
fastnesses of the snow-bound and romantic North.
"Next spring, Wabi!" He held out his hand and the two boys joined their
pledge in a hearty grip.
"Next spring!" reiterated Wabi.
"And we go in canoe," joined Mukoki. "Creek grow bigger. We make
birch-bark canoe at first fall."
"That is better still," added Wabi. "It will be a glorious trip! We'll
take a little vacation at the third fall and run up to James Bay."
"James Bay is practically the same as Hudson Bay, isn't it?" asked Rod.
"Yes. I could never see a good reason for calling it James Bay. It is in
reality the lower end, or tail, of Hudson Bay."
There was no thought of visiting any of the traps that day, and the next
morning Mukoki insisted upon going with Rod, in spite of his four days
of hard travel. If he remained in camp his joints would get stiff, he
said, and Wabigoon thought he was right. This left the young Indian to
care for the trap-line leading into the north.
Two weeks of ideal trapping weather now followed. It had been more than
two months since the hunters had left Wabinosh House, and Rod now began
to count the days before they would turn back over the homeward trail.
Wabi had estimated that they had sixteen hundred dollars' worth of furs
and scalps and two hundred dollars in gold, and the white youth was
satisfied to return to his mother with his share of six hundred dollars,
which was as much as he would have earned in a year at his old position
in the city. Neither did he attempt to conceal from Wabi his desire to
see Minnetaki; and his Indian friend, thoroughly pleased at Rod's liking
for his sister, took much pleasure in frequent good-natured banter on
the subject. In fact, Rod possessed a secret hope that he might induce
the princess mother to allow her daughter to accompany himself and Wabi
to Detroit, where he knew that his own mother would immediately fall in
love with the beautiful little maiden from the North.
In the third week after the great storm Rod and Mukoki had gone over the
mountain trap-line, leaving Wabi in camp. They had decided that the
following week would see them headed for Wabinosh House, where they
would arrive about the first of February, and Roderick was in high
spirits.
On this day they had started toward camp early in the afternoon, and
soon after they had passed through the swamp Rod expressed his intention
of ascending the ridge, hoping to get a shot at game somewhere along the
mountain trail home. Mukoki, however, decided not to accompany him, but
to take the nearer and easier route.
On the top of the mountain Rod paused to take a survey of the country
about him. He could see Mukoki, now hardly more than a moving speck on
the edge of the plain; northward the same fascinating, never-ending
wilderness rolled away under his eyes; eastward, two miles away, he saw
a moving object which he knew was a moose or a caribou; and westward--
Instinctively his eyes sought the location of their camp. Instantly the
expectant light went out of his face. He gave an involuntary cry of
horror, and there followed it a single, unheard shriek for Mukoki.
Over the spot where he knew their camp to be now rose a huge volume of
smoke. The sky was black with it, and in the terrible moment that
followed his piercing cry for Mukoki he fancied that he heard the sound
of rifle-shots.
"Mukoki! Mukoki!" he shouted.
The old Indian was beyond hearing. Quickly it occurred to Rod that early
in their trip they had arranged rifle signals for calling help--two
quick shots, and then, after a moment's interval, three others in rapid
succession.
He threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired into the air; once,
twice--and then three times as fast as he could press the trigger.
As he watched Mukoki he reloaded. He saw the Indian pause, turn about
and look back toward the mountain.
Again the thrilling signals for help went echoing over the plains. In a
few seconds the sounds had reached Mukoki's ears and the old warrior
came swinging back at running speed.
Rod darted along the ridge to meet him, firing a single shot now and
then to let him know where he was, and in fifteen minutes Mukoki came
panting up the mountain.
"The Woongas!" shouted Rod. "They've attacked the camp! See!" He pointed
to the cloud of smoke. "I heard shots--I heard shots--"
For an instant the grim pathfinder gazed in the direction of the burning
camp, and then without a word he started at terrific speed down the
mountain.
The half-hour race that followed was one of the most exciting
experiences of Rod's life. How he kept up with Mukoki was more than he
ever could explain afterward. But from the time they struck the old
trail he was close at the Indian's heels. When they reached the hill
that sheltered the dip his face was scratched and bleeding from contact
with swinging bushes; his heart seemed ready to burst from its
tremendous exertion; his breath came in an audible hissing, rattling
sound, and he could not speak. But up the hill he plunged behind Mukoki,
his rifle cocked and ready. At the top they paused.
The camp was a smoldering mass of ruins. Not a sign of life was about
it. But--
With a gasping, wordless cry Rod caught Mukoki's arm and pointed to an
object lying in the snow a dozen yards from where the cabin had been.
The warrior had seen it. He turned one look upon the white youth, and it
was a look that Rod had never thought could come into the face of a
human being. If that was Wabi down there--if Wabi had been killed--what
would Mukoki's vengeance be! His companion was no longer Mukoki--as he
had known him; he was the savage. There was no mercy, no human instinct,
no suggestion of the human soul in that one terrible look. If it was
Wabi--
They plunged down the hill, into the dip, across the lake, and Mukoki
was on his knees beside the figure in the snow. He turned it over--and
rose without a sound, his battle-glaring eyes peering into the smoking
ruins.
Rod looked, and shuddered.
The figure in the snow was not Wabi.
It was a strange, terrible-looking object--a giant Indian, distorted in
death--and a half of his head was shot away!
When he again looked at Mukoki the old Indian was in the midst of the
hot ruins, kicking about with his booted feet and poking with the butt
of his rifle.