A MYSTERIOUS ATTACK
After a moment of indecision the man driving the team of powerful dogs,
who, as you remember, was standing looking down at the two columns of
vapor which marked the spot where Curlie Carson slept, spoke to his dog
team. He had been debating the advisability of descending the hill and
entering that clump of willows. What he now said to his dogs was:
“You mush!”
The dogs leaped forward and, since he had given them no order as to
direction, they raced away straight along the ridge and not down to the
willows.
A hundred yards farther on he dug his heels in the snow as he clung to
the handle of the sled and shouted: “Whoa!”
Again he appeared to debate the question. This time he was more prompt in
his decision.
Again the team followed the ridge, while away in the willow clump, all
unarmed and defenseless, Curlie Carson slept and his newly acquired
reindeer munched on at the dead willow leaves. The deer was sleek and
fat. He would have made prime feed for the traveler’s dogs as well as for
him and his companion. And as for Curlie; well, perhaps the man might
have rejoiced at meeting him alone and unarmed. Of that we shall learn
more later.
Curlie slept longer than he had intended doing. His weary brain and tired
body yearned for rest and once this was offered to them they partook of
it in a prodigal manner.
At last he awoke, to poke his head out of the sleeping-bag and to stare
up at the stars.
“Where am I?” he asked himself. “Ah, yes, now I remember; in a clump of
willows. I have a mysterious reindeer but no rifle. I have some frozen
fish. This clump of willows, where is it? Where is our camp? Joe Marion,
Jennings, where are they? Who can tell?” He sat up and scratched his
head.
“Well, I’m here. That much is good.” He caught the sound of the reindeer
stamping the ground. “So’s the reindeer here. That is better. Only hope I
learn to drive him.”
He did learn to drive the reindeer and that quite speedily. He found that
a long rope of rawhide was fastened to the deer’s halter. This was long
enough to run back to the sled. It was, he concluded, used as a
jerk-line, such as was once employed by drivers of oxen.
The harness he found to be of very simple construction. Two wooden
affairs fitting closely to the shoulders and tied together at top and
bottom with stout rawhide thongs, served as both collar and harness. From
the bottom of these ran a broad strap which connected directly with the
sled. This strap was held up from the ground by a second broad strap
which encircled the animal’s body directly behind its forelegs.
“Now,” he told the reindeer, “we’re going to try it over again. We got a
bad start last time. Fact is, you were away before the starter’s whistle
blew.
“You see,” he said, straightening out the jerk strap, “I’m going to hold
on to this. If you get excited and speed up a little too much I’ll pull
your head over on one side and make you go in a circle. That’ll slow you
up. Then I’ll pile off the sled and dig in my heels. That should stand
you on your head. You don’t weigh much; not over three or four hundred.
When I’ve put you on your head a few times I shouldn’t be surprised if
you’d turn into a very good, obedient little reindeer.”
It took but three try-outs to convince the reindeer that Curlie was not
an ill-meaning sort of fellow but that he was one who meant to have his
own way. Then, like all other creatures who have been trained, he settled
down to business and carried his newly acquired master wherever he wanted
to go; that is, he did up to a certain moment. After that moment things
changed and Curlie was carried straight into trouble.
When he left the clump of willows Curlie drove his reindeer up the slope
to the crest of the ridge. He did this that he might get a better view of
the surrounding country, to determine if possible the direction in which
their former camp lay.
Imagine his surprise on coming to a patch of soft, freshly blown snow at
the crest of the ridge, to find the tracks of dogs and sleds.
“Fresh tracks!” he whispered breathlessly, “not ten hours old.”
He bent over to study these tracks. For a moment, he examined each
imprint of a dog’s foot in the snow, each trace of sled runner and every
footprint of the driver, then with a sudden bound he stood up again.
“It is!” he exclaimed. “It is the outlaw! Passed while I slept. Why must
a fellow be everlastingly sleeping his life away?
“But then,” he thought after a moment’s deliberation, “perhaps it was
just as well. What could I have done without help and without weapons of
any kind?”
Seating himself on his sled while his reindeer pawed deep into the snow
in his search for reindeer moss, he thought things through.
“Joe Marion and Jennings,” he told himself, “will sooner or later give up
their search for me and will get back on the outlaw’s trail. They realize
the importance of capturing him. They are brave fellows. They will not
hesitate to undertake it without me. The surest way to get in with them
again is to stay on this trail. Only question is, shall I turn back to
meet them, shall I camp right here, or shall I follow up the outlaw at
once?”
After some deliberation he concluded that going back over the trail would
be risky; he might miss his companions. They might get back on the
outlaw’s trail after he had passed the spot on which they entered the
trail. Remaining inactive did not suit him; he was not that kind of a
boy.
“I’ll follow the outlaw,” he told himself. “I believe I’ve got a speedier
outfit than he has. White men seldom drive reindeer, so the outlaw won’t
suspect me even though he sees me at a distance. I can shadow him and,
even unarmed as I am, may be able to prevent a disaster.”
Having come to this conclusion he led his reindeer to the crest of the
ridge, faced him north, leaped upon the sled, slapped him on the hip with
the jerk rein and was away.
For ten miles to the crack-crack of the reindeer’s hoofs, he shot away
over the snow. As the keen air cut his cheek, as the low, flat sled
bobbed and bumped beneath him, Curlie thought he had never known another
such mode of travel. Surely a reindeer, when well broken, was the ideal
steed of the Arctic.
“And the beauty of it is,” he told himself, “you don’t have to go hunting
out feed for him when the day is done. He finds it for himself under the
snow. You—
“Hey, there!” he exclaimed suddenly. “What you doing?”
The reindeer had suddenly paused in his flight to sniff the air. The next
instant he had gone plunging down the snow-covered ridge.
This was no time to think of stopping or turning him. Should either be
accomplished, Curlie and his sled would have gone spinning in a circle,
at last to go rolling over and over in the snow, in which event Curlie
would beyond doubt find himself at the foot of the ridge, very much
bruised and minus both sled and reindeer.
The most he could do was to hold back the sled with his foot to prevent
its overtaking his mad steed, and to allow the deer to continue in his
wild race.
The ridge here was long and steep. A half mile away it ended in a forest
of scrub spruce trees which beyond doubt lined the bank of a stream.
But what was this he saw as they neared the dwarf forest?
“A herd of reindeer!” he murmured in astonishment. “Five hundred or a
thousand of them. Old Whitie, my friend here, smelled them and yearned
for company. So he—”
What was that? From the edge of the forest there leaped a tongue of fire,
a rifle cracked, a bullet sang over his head, then another and another.
“Say! Do they think I’m a reindeer rustler?” he groaned. “Want to kill
me?”
Instantly he dropped from the sled to hide behind a snow bank.
“Not much use,” he told himself, “but it’ll give a fellow time to think?
Maybe those fellows are rustlers themselves and they think I’m an officer
or something.” His blood ran cold at the thought.