SANDY DISAPPEARS
Sitting by the fire, conscious presently of a light step at his side and
a friendly hand on his shoulder, Dick turned and looked up into Sandy’s
face, as his chum spoke in a voice husky with emotion.
“I guess we’ve about played our last card,” said Sandy. “Right now it
doesn’t look as if Fort Dunwoody was very close, does it?”
“No, not very close,” Dick was obliged to answer, as his tired eyes
swept the narrowing circle of timber wolves.
“We’ve done the best we could anyway,” Sandy went on dejectedly. “I
guess my Uncle Walter won’t receive a whole lot of help from us.”
“Sandy, I used to think you were an optimist,” declared Dick, “but now I
know you’re a born pessimist. Why don’t you try to cheer up?”
Sandy glanced about at the wolves. A scowl puckered his usually placid
brow. “Can’t be very cheerful with those fellows waiting for us,” he
said shortly. “Do you know I sometimes think that big one with the
shaggy head actually grins at me? If he thinks he’s going to pick a
whole lot of meat off my bones he’s badly mistaken.”
Dick grinned in spite of himself. “Exactly what do you mean, Sandy?”
“Well, I’m a whole lot thinner than I was. Toma would make better
eating.”
At this juncture, Toma, who had been cutting what little wood remained,
strode forward with an almost excited look on his face. “I know what do
now,” he announced. “We no got firewood; plenty over by trees.”
“We know that,” Sandy responded impatiently, “but we’re a long ways from
being over there.”
“Me ketch um good idea. No can go to wood with wolves there. We move
fire to wood; move um little at time, one feet, two feet—bye and bye we
get there—mebbe by night we travel fast.”
Toma was right. At nightfall they had accomplished the unusual feat of
moving the fire to another patch of wood. And with the first snarling
approach of the ravenous wolves a replenished fire sprang up to beat
them back. The boys, in exuberance, piled more and more wood on the fire
until it leaped five feet into the still, frosty air, and grew so hot it
melted a circle of snow about it.
Dick breathed a sigh of satisfaction as he crawled into his blankets
hours later. It had been decided that Sandy was to stand first watch
with Toma. Tonight, Dick decided grimly, he would make the most of the
hours allotted him for sleep. He intended to follow Toma’s example and
forget everything in the complete relaxation of weary mind and muscles.
“Got to fight this thing through,” he reminded himself, stretching his
long legs out before the campfire and composing himself for sleep. A few
minutes later, while watching Sandy nervously pacing to and fro, he
forgot all his troubles in a happy loss of consciousness that carried
him away to a land where wolves, blizzards and scar faced Indians did
not once trouble him.
He was awakened by Toma shaking him by the shoulder. “Big wolf eat you
up if sleep like that,” declared the young guide goodnaturedly.
Dick jumped up, once more mentally alert, and shortly piled more wood on
the fire, commencing his lonely vigil. He scanned the fringe of the
firelight for the skulking shapes, which had become so dreadfully
familiar, but he could see none—not a single prowling form anywhere. He
decided that the wolves had moved further back from the fire. Several
times he believed he heard a deep-throated snarl, but he was not sure.
“I hope they’re gone,” he breathed fervently, “so that we can continue
on our way to Fort Dunwoody. We’ve lost too much time already.”
Off to his right a faint glow suffused the east. In another hour, if the
wolves really were gone, they might continue their slow progress, and,
barring emergencies, might reasonably expect to arrive at the mounted
police barracks in about three days.
With the first grin in hours brightening his face, Dick set about
preparing breakfast. He had a frying pan over the fire and was melting
snow for coffee. It was so quiet around him that he imagined he could
hear the low, irregular breathing of Corporal Richardson. Then,
presently Toma stirred, stretched out one arm and yawned:
“Guess I get up,” the guide announced.
“When you do,” Dick replied, “I wish you’d go over and wake Sandy. I’ve
kept his watch for him, and if I wasn’t so busy getting breakfast I’d go
over myself.”
Dick was adding coffee to the boiling water when Toma returned.
“Well, did you wake him?”
The half breed endeavored to speak, but no sound came from his trembling
lips.
“What’s wrong?” Dick inquired, trying to be calm.
“Sandy, him gone!”
“Gone!” Dick’s heart took a sickening plunge.
The light was strong enough now so that they could see that the wolves
were gone, but this happy discovery was not so encouraging with the
disappearance of Sandy.
Horrified at first, at the thought that Sandy must have been eaten by
the wolves, Dick and Toma began a minute search of the vicinity. They
found tracks, but no sign of Sandy. If the departed wolves had slain
Dick’s chum there would have been traces left, at least bits of
clothing.