THE LONE CABIN
The days that followed proved arduous for the guide. No longer, in
lordly, domineering manner, was he permitted to ride on one of the
sledges and point out the way. His hours of leisure were at an end. He
took his turn in breaking trail, drove dogs, chopped wood, assisted in
putting up and taking down the tents, and in many other ways became a
useful and valuable member of the expedition.
His presence, distasteful as it was, had brought a quick change in the
spirits of the party. Hope rose again in Dick’s heart, and his
enthusiasm and energy were unbounded. He had ceased to worry about
getting lost or even wandering from the trail. Threatened with the most
dire punishment, Lamont was forced to set their course.
Shortly after the return of the guide, they came upon the first log
cabin they had seen since leaving Mackenzie River. It stood in a thick
clump of trees, and had been recently built judging from the
freshly-scored logs and its general appearance of newness. A flutter of
interest, not unmixed with awe and wonderment and curiosity, stirred the
party. Necks craned suddenly, drivers deserted their teams to go forward
to talk to other drivers, even the huskies raised their tawny heads, as
if to sniff out this new mystery.
In the lead at the time, breaking trail, Sandy gave the cabin the
benefit of one swift look of appraisement, then started forward on the
run. He proceeded very rapidly for fifty or sixty yards, then stopped
short so abruptly that the point of one snowshoe became entangled in the
other and he fell headlong.
Dick and Dr. Brady both started to laugh, but the sound died on their
lips. They watched Sandy rise and start back, waving his arms
frantically. The driver of the first team pulled up short. The second
team, close behind the first, also pulled up short, but not soon enough
to prevent an entanglement, which led to a furious fight among the
malemutes.
Dick and Dr. Brady ran to the driver’s assistance, reaching the scene of
trouble just a moment before Sandy arrived breathless. White-lipped, the
young Scotchman waited until the commotion had subsided.
“Dr. Brady,” he began, “I guess you——”
His words trailed off to a mumbling incoherence. He sat down on the
sledge, gesturing a little wildly, his expression difficult to describe.
“Did you——” he inquired in horror-struck tones, “I say, did you see—see
it, too?”
Dr. Brady nodded gravely. Dick stared, moistening his lips.
“A red flag,” said the physician. “We weren’t quite sure. There was
something there just outside fluttering—— A cloth. A rag of some sort.
Looked red.”
“Exactly,” Sandy spoke tersely with a deep intake of breath. “Smallpox!”
“Smallpox!” Dick echoed the word.
“I’ll go over,” announced Dr. Brady quite calmly. “Get my case, Dick.”
The case was brought. The physician took it smiling.
“Shall we go with you?” asked Dick.
“No; it isn’t necessary. You’d better stay here.”
The news quickly spread. Smallpox! Faces grew gray and anxious. One by
one, the drivers slunk back to their places, while all talk ceased.
Finally, Sandy jerked his hand back in the direction of the cabin.
“We’ll see lots of that sort of thing before we return to the
Mackenzie.”
“Yes, when we get to Keechewan. But I doubt if we’ll find another
smallpox case this side of the Barrens,” said Dick. “Terrible business,
isn’t it?”
Both, as if by a common impulse, looked up and stared over at the cabin.
The red cloth fascinated them. It furled and fluttered softly, yet
ominously, in the light breeze.
The boys wondered what Dr. Brady was doing. He had entered the cabin,
closing the door after him. They both started as the door opened and
their friend emerged. They saw him raise one arm, beckoning them to come
closer. A little fearfully, Dick and Sandy obeyed. They were strangely
excited. Stalking up before the door, they observed that the physician
was very grave indeed.
“Well?” said Dick, the first one to speak.
Brady stepped away from the door and came toward them, his eyes evasive.
“There’s only one thing to do,” he announced in a curiously soft and
gentle voice. “Set fire to the cabin. We’re too late.”
“Too late?” repeated Sandy.
“Yes, too late.”
“How—how many inside there?” whispered Dick.
“Two half-breed trappers—one young and one old.”
“And they both had it?” the boys asked in unison.
“Yes,” Dr. Brady’s mouth twitched at the corners. “They’re gone. We came
too late. As I just said, there’s only one thing to do: Set fire to the
cabin. Burn it down.”
“Burn it,” asked Sandy. “What for?”
“As a matter of precaution. To protect the lives of others. Now and
again, some lone wanderer might chance this way.”
Sandy and Dick stood looking at the physician during an odd interval of
silence. Of course, he knew best. They realized that. And it would save
time. Dick touched Sandy’s shoulder and together the two friends moved
toward the timber at the back of the house. They carried dry bark and
branches, soon gathering a large pile, which they threw down in front of
the door. Soon a fire was started. It mounted slowly at first,
smouldering and cracking, but presently it leaped up, quickly spreading
to every part of the building.
“That’s done,” Sandy sighed relievedly. “Let’s go back.”
It was a little awkward joining the party again. Yet no one questioned
them. They were greeted with curious stares and frightened glances. At
noon they were miles away and halted for a midday meal in the shelter of
a spruce grove, through which there ran the wandering course of a tiny
stream.
It occurred to Dick that this stream might be one of the tributaries of
the Wapiti River, which they must cross ere long. He was discussing this
possibility with Toma, shortly after lunch, when Sandy came up shaking
his head.
“A pretty business! A pretty business!” he muttered, taking a place
beside them. “They’re as frightened as sheep. Too bad we had to come
across that cabin. Hope nothing serious grows out of this.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dick.
“Just look at them.”
Dick turned and looked toward the place Sandy indicated. The dog drivers
were assembled there in an excited, gesticulating group.
“I overheard part of it,” said Sandy. “They’re telling each other that
they don’t want to go on, that they’re afraid, that no white man’s
medicine can save them from the horror of the plague.”
“But all of them have been vaccinated,” Dick protested.
“Sure. But they don’t realize what that means. They have guessed,
somehow, that the men who lived in that cabin died. They know the
meaning of that red cloth, and it has struck terror into their hearts. I
heard Fontaine say that he, for one, intended to turn back.”
“Mere talk,” objected Dick. “They’ll get over it. The thing is fresh in
their minds now and, of course, they’re worried. By tomorrow or the next
day they’ll have forgotten all about it.”
“Do you think so. I can’t help feeling that in some way Lamont is at the
bottom of this. He’s stirring them up.”
“I believe you’re right.” Dick stared moodily into the fire. “Come to
think about it, I saw Lamont talking to them.”
“Well,” said Sandy, “we’d better watch him. And the others, too. You
know what it will mean if they decide to leave us.”
Dick’s face shadowed, then brightened quickly. Such a possibility seemed
remote. Surely, they’d do nothing of the kind. They wouldn’t dare.
“They’ll soon forget,” he said.
But in this, as it subsequently proved, he was mistaken. That night a
deputation came to him. The face of each of the drivers was set and
determined. Altogether they were an ominous crew. They gathered around
him and abruptly Fontaine, who acted as their spokesman, spoke up:
“M’sieur Dick, these fellow,” indicating his following, “they tell me no
want to go any farther. No want to die. Smallpox get ’em sure. You know
that. You know everybody die pretty soon jus’ like them fellow in
cabin.”
“Nonsense,” said Dick. “You’re all vaccinated.”
Fontaine shook his head with great emphasis.
“No good that. Nothing stop smallpox. Very bad. Make ’em all die, these
fellow.”
“But you know better yourself, Fontaine. You know that isn’t true. We’re
all safe enough. Tell them not to worry. They need not be afraid.”
A mutter of defiance ran around the little circle. Fontaine’s voice rose
to a higher pitch.
“No good tell ’em that. They understand what you say. They know better.”
Dick was rapidly losing ground. In desperation, he raised one arm,
calling for silence.
“But wait! Just wait!” he beseeched them. “I will bring the white doctor
to you and he will explain. Dr. Brady will repeat what I have told you.
There is no danger. If you do not believe me, surely you will believe
him. He is a great medicine man.”
“That doctor him very much mistake,” a new voice broke into the
discussion.
Turning quickly, Dick perceived Lamont standing at his elbow.
“Who asked _you_ for _your_ opinion?” Dick demanded hotly. “Lamont, keep
out of this.”
The guide’s defective left eye rolled up in a way that made Dick shiver.
The man stepped back, leering.
“Lamont know all about this,” Fontaine cut in quickly. “He tell me his
father, two brothers die from smallpox four years ago. White doctor him
there, too. Try help. No good. What you say about that?”
Dick had nothing to say. It was a lie, of course, A story to feed these
frightened and credulous fools. He could see the purpose in it all.
“I tell you another thing,” Fontaine took up the thread of his plaint,
now speaking triumphantly. “One of these fellows,” he pointed to a
half-breed, who stood directly opposite, “think mebbe already he get
sick. All afternoon his head hurt. Him feel very hot—deezzy.”
“Faugh!” grunted Dick. “It isn’t the smallpox. He wasn’t within three
hundred yards of the cabin. And even if he were exposed, he wouldn’t get
sick less than ten hours later.”
But the drivers were obdurate. Sandy, Toma, and later, Dr. Brady himself
took turns in pleading and arguing with them, but to no avail. Fontaine
insisted that one of their party had already contracted the disease, so
the physician examined the man while the rest of the drivers went to
their tents. Outside Brady’s tent, Dick, Sandy and Toma waited
impatiently.
“Well,” asked Sandy, when the doctor finally appeared, “what is your
verdict?”
“I’m not quite sure yet,” answered the physician. “But the symptoms
are—smallpox.”
“How can that be? He’s vaccinated,” Dick protested.
“Yes, on several different occasions, but the vaccine took no effect.
There are cases like that.”
Dick moved over to one of the sledges, too discouraged and alarmed to
trust himself to speak. For several minutes he stood, gazing off across
the white bleak waste of snow and wilderness. Back near one of the
campfires, the drivers had come together again to discuss the
all-important topic.
“You see what we’re up against, doctor,” Dick turned suddenly. “If they
won’t listen to reason, we’re beaten.”
“Yes,” echoed Sandy, “we’re beaten. Licked. We can’t go on without
drivers.”
The doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“The situation may not be quite as serious as you think,” he attempted
to cheer them. “Before morning they’ll probably change their minds.”