A TENSE SITUATION
If Curlie’s knees trembled as he heard the heavy bar being lifted from
the door, there was no trace of emotion on his face when at last the door
swung open and he stood facing his three captors.
“Welcome in,” he smiled, coolly. “I was just thinking of calling you.
“You see,” he explained, “I’ve just been talking to your old friend
McGregor of the U. S. Service.”
The men started back to stare about the small room, as if suspecting that
the deputy was hidden somewhere within.
“He’s not here,” smiled Curlie, who in spite of the grave danger which
confronted him was enjoying the situation. “I was just speaking to him
over the phone.”
“Phone!” The half-breed whispered the words.
It was evident that the trio were more bewildered than before. They had
seen telephones and telephone wires in centers of civilization which they
had visited. They knew what they were; knew, too, that there was not a
yard of telephone wire within three hundred miles of their cabin. As for
a telephone, had they not built this cabin? How then could it contain a
telephone without their knowing it?
“Huh!” grunted the older of the two Indians. He uttered a low laugh of
contempt which showed plainer than words that he thought Curlie was
bluffing.
Curlie’s hand went to his side. He lifted a transmitter to his lips, then
touched a button at his belt.
“Are you there, McGregor?” He pronounced the words distinctly.
It was one of those periods of time in which one lives a year in the
space of a moment, a moment tense with terrible possibilities.
Into Curlie’s mind there flashed a score of questions. Was McGregor
there? Would he respond? Would the Indians be frightened to the point of
giving him up if he did? Was the slender aerial still dangling in air and
still working? These and many others sped through his active brain as
breathlessly he waited.
Then, suddenly, with a fervently whispered, “Thank God!” he caught
McGregor’s gruff voice:
“Aye, here! Let me have ’em. Put ’em on.”
The older Indian was so surprised by Curlie’s actions that the receiver
was on his head before he knew it.
The next instant his mouth sagged open, his eyes bulged out, his knees
scarcely supported him. He was hearing McGregor’s voice. He did not know
how nor why, but he heard. It was enough. He was afraid.
For three minutes they all stood there spell-bound. Then apparently the
voice ceased.
“Wha—what do you want?” the Indian quavered.
“Only my reindeer, my sled and a chance to get away from here,” smiled
Curlie.
“Boz Peon, go get ’em.” The Indian spoke to the half-breed. At once he
was away.
“All right, McGregor,” Curlie breathed into the transmitter. “Thanks a
lot. Hope I meet you sometime. If there’s anything further you’ll get my
S. O. S.”
Turning to the window, he began hauling in on the wire and silk cord.
Just as the reindeer arrived at the door, he replaced in his belt the
last bit of apparatus.
“All O. K. for next time,” he whispered to himself. “Trust the old
radiophone to pull you through.”
After leaving the cabin he was obliged to lead his reindeer for the first
two or three miles. Had he not done this the deer might have rebelled
again and gone racing back.
“Wish I’d insisted on their giving me a rifle,” he told himself. “Wish
there was some way of getting that reindeer herd from them,” he thought a
few moments later. “It’s a shame that they should rob the Eskimo that
way. The reindeer are everything to the Eskimo, food, clothing, bedding
and means of travel. It’s a crime to rob them. Of course the rascals will
be caught and punished, but by that time the splendid herd may be
scattered to the four winds.”
Little did he guess the strange circumstances under which he would see
that herd again, nor of the ways in which the herd would assist him in
carrying out the purposes which were already forming in his mind.
An exclamation of joy escaped his lips as he swung back on the trail
running along the ridge.
“They’re after the outlaw! Good old Jennings and Joe! We’ll get him yet.
I’ll catch up with them! Hooray!” He threw his hands in the air and gave
such a lusty shout that the reindeer came near leaping out of his
harness.
He had discovered that while he was being held prisoner by the Indians,
Joe and Jennings in their pursuit of the outlaw had passed him.
“All I’ve got to do,” he told himself, “is to speed up this old white
ship of the Arctic desert and I’ll be with them in twenty-four hours.”
In this he was mistaken, but since he did not know it he went bumping
merrily along over the ridges. Now and then shouting at his reindeer, now
and then bursting forth into snatches of boisterous song, he appeared
filled with quite as much joy as a boy off for a fishing trip.
So, for hours he traveled, until his reindeer was in need of rest and
food, then he turned off into the edge of the scrub-spruce forest. Here,
after tethering the deer in an open spot where there was much moss, he
built himself a rude shelter of green boughs, kindled a fire, roasted
some strips of reindeer meat procured from the Indians, then crept into
his sleeping-bag.
Here for a time, through a crack in his green canopy, he watched the big
dipper in its wide circle about the north star, which blinked down from
nearly straight above him. He at last fell asleep.
In the meantime, in a camp some distance farther down the valley, beneath
a cut-bank at the edge of a frozen river, his two companions were
receiving a strange and startling message. The message was once more from
Munson, the explorer. Again the expedition had met with disaster. Having
attempted the flight to shore in their airplanes they had made but half
the distance when one of the planes became disabled and landed, to crash
into a pile of ice. With the remaining planes much overloaded, they had
been obliged to abandon all food. Two hundred miles from shore the
gasoline had given out. Making fortunate landings on broad ice-pans, they
had at once started on foot for shore. They had been carried to the right
by a strong gale and would doubtless reach land some twenty miles west of
their food depot on Flaxman Island; that is, they would land there if
anywhere. Without food they were well nigh hopeless. Still they had two
light rifles and a hundred rounds of ammunition. There were seals in
water-holes and polar bears wandering over the floes. There was a chance
for life. If anyone listening in on this message were in a position to
come out and meet them they might be the instruments in saving lives.
“That means us,” said Joe. “And it means such a struggle as we have never
experienced before.”
“Means we leave the trail of the outlaw at once,” said Jennings.
“Why—uh—” Joe stammered.
“His trail will lead us twenty miles out of the way. Flaxman Island is
twenty miles to the east of us; these explorers are straight ahead. We
follow this stream straight to the sea. Hard-packed river trail all the
way. The outlaw, unless I miss my guess, will turn off soon to cut across
the hills.”
“We haven’t much food to take to them.”
“We have our dogs,” said Jennings grimly. “Men eat dogs when they are
starving.”
Joe looked at his old leader, Ginger, who lay with feet stretched out
before the fire. The dog rose, stretched himself, then walked over to rub
his cold nose against his young master.
Joe gulped, “Y-e-s, I suppose they do.”
“We’ll unload everything we don’t need, all the radiophone equipment
except the light set, and cache them here. Then we’ll make a flying trip
of it. And,” he said, noting Joe’s discomfort at the thought of
sacrificing his faithful four, the team that had fought with him, starved
with him and carried him so far, “we’ve got rifles and ammunition. Who
knows what game may bob up to take the place of our dogs?”