A MAD DREAM
It was with a feeling of great astonishment that Curlie, early in the
afternoon of the next short Arctic day, came upon the pile of radiophone
instruments and other articles which had been piled beside the trail by
his companions.
“Now what does this mean?” he said, addressing his reindeer. “Can’t be
they’ve been ambushed and robbed. Things are piled away too carefully for
that.”
“Hello!” he exclaimed a moment later, “they’ve left the trail of the
outlaw! Of all the unbelievable things! What could have induced them to
do that? Can’t be trying to outflank him. Trail they’ve taken is a lot
longer than his.”
He returned to sit down on the sled and scratch his head.
“Traveling light, they are. I’d never catch them now.”
Again he was silent for some time.
“Wish they’d left me a rifle. I’d go after the outlaw single-handed. But
of course they wouldn’t. Don’t even know I’m alive, let alone on their
trail with a reindeer. Nothing more improbable than that. Wish I’d risked
a call to them. Didn’t dare, though. Outlaw’d know we were after him if
he listened in. Now what’s to be done? Have to see how much radiophone
stuff they left behind.”
For some time he busied himself sorting out the parts of the heavier
radiophone set and connecting them up.
“All here,” he breathed at last, “even my little outfit for making mince
pie of a fellow’s speech then piecing it together again. Joe took all the
smaller set, though. That’s good. Best thing I can do is to camp right
here and wait until I’m sure they must be camped for the night. Then I’ll
send out a signal and see if I can get them. I can talk mince meat
fashion so the outlaw won’t know what it’s about, anyway. Got to get in
touch with them some way or another.”
Realizing that after hearing from them he might want to travel at night
to make up for lost time, after tethering out his reindeer he crept into
his sleeping-bag and, in a moment, fell into a sound sleep.
When he awoke it was quite dark. Getting busy at once with his
radiophone, he sent a signal quivering through the air.
He received no response.
A half hour later he sent out a second. Still no answer.
“That’s queer! Mighty queer,” he murmured. “Still, they may have made
rapid time and got in ahead of the outlaw. May be close in, too close to
risk an answer. No harm to keep on trying, though.”
It will be remembered that Curlie had not listened in on any of the
messages sent by the exploring party. As a consequence he was totally
ignorant of their plight and unable in any way to account for his
companions’ sudden change of course.
“Queer business!” he told himself as he prepared to send his third
signal. “Mighty queer!”
Every half hour for three hours he sent out the signal. Then, just as he
was about to give it up, his receiver rattled and a succession of short,
sharp, meaningless sounds began to pour forth.
“That’s Joe!” he smiled delightedly. “Nobody up here can talk that
language. Now we’ll know what’s what.”
His conclusion was correct. It was Joe speaking. When Curlie had decoded
the jumbled message he needed only to signal back an answering O. K. In
short, concise sentences, Joe had told him all that he needed to know.
“And now,” he sat down rather dizzily on his sled, “where does that leave
me? Far as I can see, it leaves me guardian of that food supply until the
party gets in. It’s the best I can do. And, unless I miss my guess, it’s
going to be some job! I’m to be a guard without a gun. And the fellow I’m
going up against has a gun, probably two or three of them.”
After a few moments had elapsed, he spoke again: “Short day’s journey
now. No use risking coming upon him in the night. Might as well take
another snooze and freshen up a bit.”
At that he crept into his sleeping-bag once more, but not to sleep at
once. His mind was too full of thoughts for that. The curtain to the
crowded third act of this little drama of life which he had been playing
was, he felt sure, about to rise. What was it to be like? What gun-play,
what struggles, what battle of wits would be enacted upon that white and
glistening stage with no audience save the stars?
His mind was filled with a thousand questions. Who was the outlaw? Was he
the smuggler chieftain or was he not? What grudge did he hold against the
great explorer that he would travel all this distance to satisfy it? Or
did he hold a grudge at all? Was he merely coming here to winter in
safety? Would he camp by the food depot or would he destroy it? Who was
his companion? Or did he have no companion? Had it been he who had
appeared in the mirage or had it not?
Who was the Whisperer? Or was there no Whisperer? If there was such a
person, was that person a girl and was she with the outlaw at the present
time? If he succeeded in outwitting the outlaw, would he at last meet the
Whisperer face to face?
All these and many more questions seething through his brain, kept him
for a long time awake. But at last weariness conquered and he fell
asleep.
When, only a few hours later, he awoke, it was with a feeling of
impending danger. Before he opened his eyes, he could hear the reindeer
thrashing about among the willows to which he was tied in a vain attempt
to break away. When he opened his eyes it was to stare up at a broad dome
of sky which appeared to be all on fire.
“The food depot!” he groaned, leaping to his feet. “It was closer than I
thought. It’s gone. Burned!”
“No!” he exclaimed, a second later. “No, it’s worse than that!” He put
his hand to his forehead. The next instant, reeling like a drunken man in
a delirious dream, he stumbled toward his reindeer.