A KNOTTY PROBLEM
Joe Marion and Jennings were facing a problem. They had returned to their
camp after following what they thought was the trail of some other person
than Curlie. You will remember that they had discovered the marks of a
reindeer which had apparently been tied in the brush. This reindeer, they
had concluded, belonged to some herder who had camped in the other clump
of willows for the night. It was in fact the very reindeer which Curlie
had found tangled in the brush. But this they did not know. And since
they did not know it they supposed they had lost all trace of their
companion and were more than half convinced that he had been frozen to
death in the blizzard.
Now, under the circumstances, what were they to do? They had come a long
and dangerous way to capture a man, the air outlaw. To get his man had
been Curlie’s constant thought. He was doubtless getting farther and
farther from them as the hours passed. They now had meat to last them
three or four days. What should they do? Press on as rapidly as they
could, leaving Curlie to find their trail and follow if he were still
alive, or should they continue the search for him, circling the hills and
the tundra with the dogs in the hopes of again picking up his trail?
“Might be still alive but with frozen feet, unable to travel,” suggested
Joe.
“Yes, that has happened often in the Arctic!” said Jennings.
“But he has his belt radiophone set,” said Joe thoughtfully. “The air is
quiet now. His balloon aerial would work beautifully. Why don’t—”
Suddenly he started. In his eager search for his companion he had
neglected the radiophone.
Now he turned his attention to it. Tuning it to 200, their agreed wave
length, he listened in while Jennings fried caribou steak.
“That’s a rare treat,” said Jennings as he set his teeth in a juicy
morsel. “It’s surprising how you can keep a liking for caribou and
reindeer meat. In ’98 we came in four or five thousand strong over the
trail from Valdez. We each had sixteen hundred pounds of kit and grub
which cost us about four hundred dollars. With that food and the fish and
game we got, we lived up here a year and a half. Think of it; a year and
a half on a sled load of grub.”
“Did you find much gold?” asked Joe.
“Not many of us did. Most of us went back to the States poorer than when
we came. That is, we did as far as money goes, but in other ways we had
gained much. We had learned how to live without the white man’s luxuries.
We had learned to face danger, hardship and even death with a smile. We
had lived hundreds of miles from doctors, drugs and nurses, and yet most
of us came out of it, brown, sturdy, hard-muscled, keen of nerve and of
mind, ready for anything that life might hand us. That’s the pay men get
for daring a wilderness.”
“Sh—”
Joe held up a warning finger. He was getting something out of the air.
He knew at once that it was not Curlie speaking, yet he felt sure it was
important. It came from the north.
“Steamship Torrentia. Munson, the explorer, speaking.” Joe thrilled at
the sound of that name.
“Torrentia - crushed - by ice,” the voice went on. “Sinking - by - the -
bow. Position about - one - thousand - miles - due - north - of - Flaxman
- Island. All supplies - unloaded - on floating - ice pans. Shall attempt
- pole - by plane. Later - return - by plane - to Flaxman. Must - have -
transportation - for thirty - men from - Flaxman. Authorize - any
necessary expense.”
The message ended, Joe sat wrapped in deep thought.
“I don’t see how he hopes to get transportation for thirty men from
Flaxman Island. That spot, why that’s off the map—all but off the earth.
Nobody there. No one near. We can help him some with our dogs if we
happen to be there when he arrives but our teams are but a sample of what
he needs.”
“Ought to have left dogs and a native or two with his supplies at
Flaxman,” said Jennings.
“Yes, but he didn’t.”
“No. That’s the real point.”
“Say!” exclaimed Joe suddenly, “there must be a reindeer herd somewhere
near here, otherwise that fellow with the sled deer wouldn’t be wandering
around so close.”
“Probably. But you can’t be sure of it. Those little brown folks think a
lot of their reindeer. I have known them to trail a deer that had run
away in company with wild caribou, for more than five hundred miles.
Anyway, it’s worth looking into. If there is a good-sized herd close to
us, the Eskimo who owns it will have enough sled deers to bring Munson’s
whole party out to civilization. I think we ought to look into that at
once.”
“I’d agree with you but for one consideration,” said Joe thoughtfully.
“What’s that?” said Jennings sharply.
“The outlaw.”
“What’s he got to do with it?”
“He’s going north, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Toward Flaxman Island?”
“Probably. But what of that. What little food he and his companion, if he
has one, will eat, won’t amount to anything.”
“No, it won’t; not if he stops at that. But as Curlie and I have said to
you before, everything goes to indicate that he is sore at Munson; that
he’d like to do him an injury. What greater injury could he do him than
to load down his sled with supplies from Flaxman Island, then touch a
match to the rest? Why, man, the whole thirty of them would starve just
as Sir John Franklin’s hundred and fifty men did in that same region two
or three generations ago!”
“Yes, if the outlaw’s that kind of a bird.”
“Who knows about that? The only way to find out is to go after him. I
think it’s mighty important that we get him and get him quick.”
“Then we’ll have to leave Curlie to make the best of things, to shift for
himself?”
“We-l-l,” said Joe, speaking very slowly, “I—I’m not sure what we should
do. Let’s leave that discussion until morning.”
“Agreed,” said Jennings as he began unlacing his felt shoes, preparatory
to creeping into his sleeping-bag.