It was a week before the wounded could be moved. At close range though
the fight had been, none had been killed. When the boys exclaimed in
amazement at this, Art shrugged his shoulders.
"More bullets fly in a fight than ever reach their mark," he said. "I've
seen men, tough fellows, regular two-gun men, shoot at each other in
Alaskan saloons in the old days without anybody being killed. When a man
sees red, he don't take no good aim."
The majority of the wounded were not hit in vital spots, but
Thorwaldsson had been shot in so many places that his recovery at first
was a matter of doubt. It was he who had been the last of his party to
keep firing, he whom Bob had rescued in the nick of time.
From Farrell and others of Thorwaldsson's five companions, however, the
story of what had occurred had been obtained. They had been on their way
down the Coppermine when they, too, had been overtaken in the fog. They
had landed in the little beach to wait for the fog to lift. There the
half-breeds, survivor's of Lupo's gang, who had been dogging the trail
of Mr. Hampton and his party, had come upon them.
The surprise had been mutual, for the half-breeds had been looking for
the Hampton party and not for Thorwaldsson. However, they had attacked,
the majority from the canoes, and three who had been scouting along
shore, from the land. Surprised thus, Thorwaldsson's party had put up a
game fight, but one after the other had been shot down until only the
leader was left. He, barricaded behind the canoes, had held off the rest
of the attackers until the final rush and Bob's timely arrival.
As the days passed by, with the twilight deepening into short nights,
Art and Farnum both grew increasingly anxious to be on their way for the
outside. They knew their North, and they realized that the time
remaining to them before Winter set in was narrowing down to a
perilously small edge.
"We'll have a mighty hard job of it, Mr. Hampton," Farnum pleaded. "What
with wounded on our hands, and prisoners to guard, it looks almost
hopeless as it is for us to get out. But, anyway, we can't afford to
waste time. Can't Thorwaldsson be moved? He'll be all right in a canoe."
"As long as the traveling is easy, yes," said Mr. Hampton. "He will be
all right. But how about at the portages? He's lost lot of blood
already. He can't afford to lose any more. However, I expect that with
care we can prevent his wounds from reopening. We'll start tomorrow."
Accordingly, on the day appointed, camp was broken, and the party got
under way. Frank's shoulder was healed sufficiently to permit him once
more to wield a paddle, although still a trifle stiff, and he took his
place in the canoe with Bob and Jack. They had another passenger this
time in Farrell, whose right arm had been broken by a shot in the
sanguinary fight on the river beach. Thorwaldsson was taken in the canoe
occupied by Mr. Hampton and Farnum, Art going in one of the other craft
with members of Thorwaldsson's party. Several of the latter had been
creased by rifle bullets and one shot through a leg, but all could wield
paddles.
And so the long trip out of the wilderness began, with the half-breeds
in three canoes, deprived of arms and closely watched by their captors
in the four canoes bringing up the rear. With reasonable care, it was
felt, the prisoners could be controlled until they should near
civilization. Without weapons they would be in a hopeless plight in the
wilderness, unable to defend themselves against wild animals, unable to
provide food for themselves. Therefore, no attempt on the part of their
captives to escape was looked for by the others, until they should near
the outlying settlements of the inhabited country.
"When that time comes," Mr. Hampton had warned the boys, "we must be on
the lookout, for the half-breeds, unless closely watched, will try to
get back their weapons and make a break for it. And I am determined to
take them into civilization as witnesses to prove my statement of the
murderous conspiracy against us on the part of an eminent gentleman in
faraway New York."
Mr. Hampton spoke bitterly, for from all that had occurred and from the
accounts, first of Long Tom and of the dying Lupo, and again of Farrell
and the surviving members of Thorwaldsson's party, he had pieced
together the story of the conspiracy against them.
To the boys he confided this tale, the main theme of which was that when
Farrell had told his story to Mr. Otto Anderson concerning the discovery
of the oil-bearing region in the Arctic, Mr. Anderson's confidential
secretary had gone to a New York financier and sold him the information.
He had not been able to tell definitely, however, the location of the
oil region, for the very good reason, as before related, that Farrell
was not certain of it himself, his vicissitudes in getting out of the
country having unsettled his mind. Therefore, this financier had sent
his agents westward with word that Thorwaldsson be tracked.
"Perhaps this financier, Old Grimm, ordered the mere tracking of
Thorwaldsson," said Mr. Hampton. "But I doubt it. The attacks on
Thorwaldsson's expedition, the disappearance of his ship and crew, all
look like parts of a deep-laid plan to attain Grimm's ends at whatever
cost in human life. And, on top of it all, the attack on us by Lupo, who
was paid a handsome sum down in Dawson by Anderson's former secretary,
acting as agent for Grimm, show the latter aimed to put us all out of
the way."
"And all for money," said Jack. "It's hard to believe."
"Ah, you don't know Grimm," said his father. "The man who develops this
Arctic oil region may become the richest in the world. Grimm is
ambitious for that position. He's got a lot of money so far, in one
crooked way or another. But he's not one of the big ones yet, not one of
the richest. And he wants to be supreme. Well, he has overreached
himself this time, for I've got the evidence, and I'll see that we get
more in Dawson and Seattle and New York. Mr. Grimm will no longer have
the power or freedom to toy with men's lives when I get through with
him."
Although Thorwaldsson lay as in a stupor and could not be questioned,
the full account of what had befallen his expedition since it set out
from Seattle was learned from the others. First of all, they had
succeeded in retracing Farrell's earlier footsteps, and had found the
oil region and the river running through it. A thorough survey of the
country had been made, with maps showing the outlet by water to the
Arctic Ocean.
In fact, the party had made its way out the river into the Arctic Ocean
and around the coast into the Coppermine. There they had encountered and
made friends with a tribe of Eskimo. They had started down the
Coppermine, or rather up, as it flows north into the Arctic, but had
been attacked, losing half the members of their party and a large part
of their equipment, including the radio. It was after this that the
aviator of the expedition had attempted to fly to the outside with news
of Thorwaldsson's plight, the latter meanwhile being cared for through
the following Winter by the friendly Eskimo at the mouth of the
Coppermine, to which they had put back. The death of the aviator, near
the MacKenzie, of course, was not known to the Thorwaldsson party until
the news was imparted by the boys.
The course followed as they struck southward was not that pursued by
Farrell when he had made his way back to civilization. On that occasion
he had frequently been light-headed, and it was felt it would be unwise
to trust now to his guidance. Instead, Mr. Hampton and Farnum decided to
retrace their own trail back to the island in the lake where MacDonald
had been encountered, and thence follow his course to the Fort of the
Northwest Mounted Police.
Day after day they pushed ahead, the nights ever growing longer and
colder, with frost on the ground in the mornings. The honking of the
wild geese overhead, as they made their way south, also was a warning
that the mantle of Winter soon would settle down.
"You see," Art said to the boys one day, "Winter in this country not
only means dreadful cold for which we ain't prepared in the matter of
clothing or snowshoes or nothing, but also it means there ain't no food
to be had. Yes, there's plenty of game now, geese and duck everywhere
along the streams, caribou plentiful. But you notice they're all going
south. When Winter strikes, there'll be nothing in this wilderness but
rabbit and beaver. Beaver's all right--if you can dig 'em out o' their
huts. But rabbit--huh! Well, you can starve fine on rabbit."