Another period of uneventful canoe travel followed, corresponding in
time to the passage of a day, although there was nothing to mark the
lapse except the slightly-deepened twilight preceding the reascension of
the sun. Camp was pitched on an island in the stream which was small and
compact and could be easily defended in case attack on them was renewed.
Of the latter contingency, however, Mr. Hampton felt there was little
danger. With Lupo gone, the rascals composing his party would no longer
be held to their purpose, and start to make their way out of the
wilderness and back to their accustomed haunts.
When travel was resumed after an undisturbed camp, everybody felt rested
and in a more cheerful frame of mind.
"We ought to be reaching the Coppermine soon," Farnum exclaimed, as they
set out.
His words were prophetic, because at the end of two hours, on rounding a
bend, they discerned not far ahead a broad and rapid river, into which
emptied the stream they had been following.
"The Coppermine beyond a doubt," said Farnum.
In this diagnosis, Mr. Hampton and Art agreed. And, before long, all
question of doubt was conclusively settled by the discovery of great
rocks of a dull reddish color lining the banks. These were the copper
deposits from which the river took its name.
"Sometime, when the transportation problem has been solved, this region
will be supplying copper to the world," Mr. Hampton observed.
The canoe containing the boys was close alongside, as the older men had
let their paddles swing idly to enable Bob and Jack to catch up with
them.
"Why can't it be taken out now, Dad?" asked Jack.
"Because," explained Mr. Hampton, "the only method would be by ship
through the Arctic, and even in the short Summer that is a passage often
blocked by ice. No, development of the copper resources of this
wilderness, as well as of the oil we hope to find, will have to wait on
the building of a railroad."
"But ice and snow will block the railroad."
"Not nearly to the same extent," Mr. Hampton said. "Throughout the
Summer, such a road could be in continuous operation. Even in Winter,
with properly designed equipment, the road could be kept open--perhaps.
That, however, is doubtful, for of the continuous severity of Winter
here you boys can have no conception."
"Well, if we don't turn back soon, they'll get some idea of it, all
right," said Farnum, grimly.
"You mean we'll be caught by Winter before we can get out?" asked Mr.
Hampton.
"When the old North Pole starts sliding south, she slides fast," said
Farnum, sententiously.
As if spurred by the specter of approaching Winter, all dug their
paddles into the stream with renewed vigor, and the two canoes swept on
between the dismal, rocky banks hour after hour.
That night there was real twilight, and a sharpness in the air to which
the party was not accustomed. Art pointed skyward, as he and the boys
worked at building the campfire. Their gaze followed whither he
indicated.
"The moon," he said. "Sure sign the season's getting late. That's the
first time you could see it real good."
"How late in the Summer is it, anyway?" asked Frank. "I, for one, have
kept no track of time. And I don't see how anybody else could with the
continuous daylight we have had."
"Dad religiously checks off the days every twenty-four hours," said
Jack. "I've seen him do it."
Over the evening meal, Mr. Hampton explained that from Long Tom, the
Indian they had taken captive on the island in the lake, he had gotten
directions as to where the latter believed Thorwaldsson and his men to
be. The explorer, according to Long Tom, was making his way along the
Coppermine, in an endeavor to get out to the south before caught by the
Winter. He had started late, and in all likelihood, Mr. Hampton's party
was still to the south of Thorwaldsson.
"From now on, however," said Mr. Hampton, "we must keep our eyes open as
we proceed for any signs along the way which would indicate Thorwaldsson
already had passed, going south. Not that I consider that to be likely,
however," he added. "On the contrary, if Long Tom wasn't lying, and I
believe he was telling the truth, Thorwaldsson should be close at hand,
and we ought soon to encounter him."
Camp again was uneventful, but when the boys awoke in the morning they
found a thick wet fog over all. Their blankets were wet with it, the
rocks were wet, and the river which had lain spread out before them
under the moonlight when they turned in for the night, now could not be
seen. Only a gray wall of fog greeted them, blurring the outlines even
of Mr. Hampton, Farnum and Art, who stood in anxious conversation.
When the boys joined their elders, they found the question up for
discussion was the question of whether to proceed or remain where they
were until the fog lifted.
"We've had unexampled good weather so far, Mr. Hampton," said Farnum.
"But this fog may mark the breaking-up. We may be in for it from now
on."
"I realize all that," Mr. Hampton said, his slight impatience mute
evidence to Jack, at least, that his Father was worried. "What I'd like
to know now, is whether to move on or wait till the fog lifts."
"Why not move on, Dad?" asked Jack.
"Oh, you boys up, hey? Well, for one thing, if we travel in this fog we
run the danger of being caught in rapids and sucked forward before being
able to reach the bank. For another, we might--just might--pass
Thorwaldsson, in the fog, without knowing it. He might be traveling,
too."
After some further discussion, it was decided the party should remain
until the fog lifted, and that all should be on guard to catch any sound
of movement out of the fog which would indicate somebody, presumably
Thorwaldsson, was passing. Following breakfast, in fact, all but Mr.
Hampton, who remained in camp, as a guide in case the others blundered
and lost their way in the fog, took up positions along the bank of the
river, some twenty yards apart to maintain "listening posts."
An hour passed, and then another, with no indication that the fog was
thinning out, and with no sound coming to straining ears except the lap
of the water along the rocks at their feet. It was nerve-trying work in
a way, to sit there for so long a period, isolated, as if entirely alone
in an unpeopled world. The boys, at their various stations, felt the
strain considerably, more so, indeed, than did Farnum or Art who were
old hands at the wilderness game.
In assigning all their stations, Mr. Hampton had decided, because of the
greater experience of the two older men, that they should take up their
positions at the south end of the line. If any party south-bound along
the Coppermine escaped the attention of the boys, Farnum and Art would
be pretty likely to remedy the oversight.
To Bob fell the most northerly position. And, as he sat there, hunched
up on a rock, staring out into that thick greasy wall of mist, he felt,
if anything, more lonely than his companions. Jack and Frank, at least,
had the consolation of knowing there was someone to either side. But,
with none of his friends beyond him on the north, Bob felt very much
alone, indeed.
All sorts of reflections entered his mind, reflections that had no
bearing whatsoever on the situation in which he found himself. He
thought of sunny days on Long Island, of flights in his airplanes or
zipping trips along the coast in his speed boat. He thought of one thing
and another, classroom, Mexican mountains, that strange city of another
world found immured in the Andes, and--of Marjorie. Ever since his first
meeting with his sister's friend, Miss Faulkner, she had occupied a
position of growing importance in Bob's scheme of things. Someday----
"Some girl," Bob said to himself. "I'll have to see more of her."
He leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees, eyes staring into the
fog. In reality, his thoughts, as can be seen, were far, far away. But
presently, a sound, muffled and faint, pierced his consciousness and he
sprang into instant alertness. He listened, holding his breath,
straining to hear.
It came again.
Bob started on a stumbling run for Jack, the first man to the south.