THE CARIBOU HERD
A belated breakfast followed the swim. Greatly refreshed, both in mind
and body, Dick and Sandy repaired to the shade of an ancient spruce to
discuss the plans for the day. Toma, who had struck up a close
friendship with the young Indian, had betaken himself to the village in
an effort to gather the information that Sandy’s morbid curiosity seemed
to require.
“We ought to go back to the mine as soon as possible,” said Dick. “I’m
anxious to see how things are, and especially to find out about the
moose-hide sacks. I doubt very much whether they’re still stored in the
main shaft. The chances are that Henderson and his men attempted to take
them with them when they were driven from the mine.”
“I hope we’ll be able to find them,” Sandy responded. “If they’re not
buried under the charred remains of the cabin that must now be littering
the main shaft, we may have to search the entire north side of the
plateau.”
“Another reason why we ought to hasten back to the mine,” Dick pointed
out, “is because your Uncle Walter and the mounted police are scheduled
to arrive there in the next day or two.”
“But what makes you think that?” asked Sandy.
“Henderson himself said so. One of his Indian runners came in with the
news the night before we were captured by the outlaws. That was the
reason why Henderson was in such a hurry to strip the mine, as he called
it, and make his ‘get-away’.”
Sandy nodded and lapsed into a short silence.
“You’re right, Dick. We ought to hurry back,” he finally broke forth.
“If Uncle Walter and Corporal Richardson arrive at the mine during our
absence, they’ll be terribly alarmed. Everything there is in an awful
mess. The cabin’s burned. Here and there, they’ll come across signs of
the Indian attack. They may possibly find a few dead bodies of the
outlaws. You can guess what they’ll think has become of us.”
“Yes,” shuddered Dick, “I know what they’ll think. It wouldn’t occur to
them that we’d been taken by the Indians.”
“Why not return today?” suggested Sandy.
“We’ll try to, Sandy. I only wish that there was some way that we could
talk to the chief’s son and explain matters to him. If we hurry away he
may think that we don’t appreciate his kindness.”
Sandy gazed thoughtfully at his chum for a few moments, then rose
decisively to his feet.
“Well, it can’t be helped. Let’s go over to the village and see if we
can find Toma. He’s right in his element now. It would tickle him pink
if we would decide to remain here for the rest of the summer.”
Dick laughed as he swung into step beside his friend.
“You’re wrong there. Toma may enjoy a day or two of this, but the
novelty would soon wear off. He’s on the job day and night. Besides,
he’s troubled with a secret ambition.”
“What is it?”
“He hopes some day to become a mounted police scout like Malemute Slade.
It’s about all he lives for. He’ll be the proudest mortal in seven
kingdoms and fourteen republics if they ever decide to give him a
chance.”
“And he’d make good, too,” said Sandy.
“I know it. In some respects he’s almost as clever as Malemute Slade
right now. Corporal Richardson and Inspector Cameron are keeping an eye
on him. It’s hard to get good scouts for the mounted.”
The subject of this short but complimentary appraisement came suddenly
in view, accompanied by the chief’s son. Both were smiling in great good
humor as they approached.
“I make ’em pretty good talk,” Toma proudly announced. “I find out where
Indian take Baptiste an’ Henderson. Where you think?”
“I can’t imagine,” replied Dick.
“Thunder River.”
“Thunder River!” exclaimed Sandy. “What for?”
“I suppose,” said Dick, “they intend to drown them or else throw them
over a cliff.”
“No,” said Toma, shaking his head, “Indian do better thing than that.
Big men an’ chief decide about that last night. You remember ’bout
little canoes chief gave to Baptiste and Henderson?”
“Yes, I remember you mentioned it.”
“When he give ’em Baptiste, Henderson little canoes he mean by that a
certain thing. He mean they take voyage on river. He send ’em down
river.”
“How kind of the dear old chief,” said Sandy sarcastically.
“Not so kind you think,” retorted Toma. “Indians take Baptiste,
Henderson to bad place in river. Put each one in different canoe, then
push canoe away from shore. No paddle! Nothing! God swim along under the
water——”
“What!” shouted Dick and Sandy in unison. “What did you say?”
“God swim along under the water,” calmly repeated Toma, “an’ if he see
man in canoe very bad he tip it over. Mebbe man not very bad, so he no
tip.”
“What makes you think that God swims in the water?” Dick inquired,
suppressing a smile.
“Indians see him many times—they tell me that.”
“A river manitou,” said Sandy, winking slyly at Dick. “I’ve heard of him
before. Do you suppose he’ll permit Henderson and Baptiste to pass
safely through the rapids?”
“No can tell.” Toma shook his head gravely. “Sometimes bad fellow from
tribe get through, but not very often. This afternoon we find out about
Baptiste, Henderson. You see for yourself. Indian get ready go Thunder
River pretty soon. Chief’s son he like it we go along.”
“But we ought to return to the mine, Toma. Factor MacClaren and the
mounted police are almost due now, and we’d hate to miss them.”
The guide’s face clouded with disappointment. From his expression and
actions it was evident that he looked forward to the ordeal at the river
with considerable anticipation.
“Chief’s son feel bad you no go,” he declared disconsolately.
“It can’t be helped,” Sandy interjected. “You must explain to him
somehow. Tell him we’d like to stay and would gladly go with him to the
river if we weren’t expecting the arrival of friends at the mine.”
Toma performed the unpleasant task with his usual willingness. He had
some difficulty, however. At the first attempt the chief’s son stared
blankly at the perspiring interpreter, unable to translate the confusing
jumble of words, signs and gestures the guide showered upon him. Toma
had nearly exhausted his supply of ideas before he succeeded in making
himself understood. Dawning comprehension showed itself in the quickly
brightening features, then suddenly a smile rewarded Toma for his
efforts.
With a good-natured grunt he turned, motioning to the boys to follow,
and led the way to a small clearing in the woods, where a herd of Indian
ponies, picketed in the long grass, raised their heads and snorted in
affright.
Dick and Sandy paused in wonder.
“Can you beat that!” gleefully shouted the latter. “He’s going to lend
us ponies, Dick. If that isn’t the last word in kindness and generosity,
I’ll eat Toma for dinner.”
“If that is really his intention, we’ll get back to the mine in a
hurry,” chuckled Dick.
“You bet!” grinned Toma. “We ride fast. What you say if Toma tell him
thank you.”
“You can fall on his neck and kiss him if you like,” said Sandy, jumping
about and clapping his hands in delight. “By George, he’s a true sport
if there ever was one. Just for this I’m going to give him my jack-knife
and pocket mirror.”
The suggestion seemed a good one and the three boys turned out their
pockets and took inventory of the contents. Sandy handed over the mirror
and knife with an elaborate bow; Dick parted with his pocket-compass
without a single sigh of regret, while Toma’s contribution consisted of
a much-prized mouth-organ, two steel fish-hooks and a string of glass
beads.
The young Indian was so overcome by this liberality that his hands shook
as he examined each object in turn. The harmonica especially enthralled
him. He listened to Toma’s expert piping on this, the most favored of
all musical instruments among the Indians in the North, with eyes that
grew bright with pleasure, and broke forth at the conclusion of the
short concert with an awed expression of approval.
Less than an hour later, loaded down with fresh meat and fish, a gift
from the Indians, and with the shouts and plaudits of a large crowd that
had gathered to see them off, the young adventurers turned the heads of
their ponies southward and cantered away. The chief’s son accompanied
them for several miles before he waved his final farewell. As the horse
and rider disappeared in a turn of the forest path, Dick heaved a sigh
of regret.
“I hated to see him go,” he confided to Sandy, “I wonder if he’ll ever
come over and visit us at the mine.”
“I sincerely hope so.”
“He come all right,” Toma assured them. “He tell me mebbe he ride over
tomorrow to see how we get along.”
A few miles farther on the forest thinned out and presently they rode
forth across an open prairie. To the south lay the plateau. Far to the
westward, a chain of purple-belted hills extended back to meet the
rugged slope of Dominion Range. In this direction, above the horizon’s
broken rim, they could discern plainly many snowy mountain peaks.
“It take about three hours to get back to mine,” guessed Toma.
Dick, gazing away in the direction of the plateau, nodded his head.
“Yes, it shouldn’t take much longer than that.”
He paused, squinting in the bright morning sunlight.
“I wonder if my eyes are deceiving me,” he suddenly broke forth. “What
are those dark spots a little west and south of here? Looks to me like a
band of horsemen.”
“Unless it’s a whole tribe of Indians on the march—it couldn’t be that,”
Sandy interposed, reining up his pony. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say
it was a big herd of cattle.”
“Caribou!” trilled Toma, becoming suddenly tremendously excited, and
almost falling off his mount as he craned his neck in order to get a
better view. “Pretty soon you see something mebbe you never forget. Only
one time before I watch ’em big caribou herd.”
Dick and Sandy had often been told about but had never witnessed one of
the most interesting and marvelous sights to be seen in the far North—a
migrating herd of caribou! Almost as numerous as the bison or American
buffalo that once roamed over the western plains of the United States,
twice a year—south in the autumn, north in the spring—these sleek,
antlered beasts, that very much resemble the reindeer of northeastern
Europe, formed themselves into vast herds and started forth on the
inevitable trek to new grazing grounds.
Dick’s breath caught with excitement as he followed their slow,
unhurried course. On and on they came in a dense, black wave, pouring
out over the prairie in one long, seemingly endless column. Their
thundering hooves shook the earth. Had the boys possessed rifles and
been less kind-hearted, they might easily have slaughtered hundreds of
the mild-eyed, forward-surging animals without leaving a single gap in
the line.
“In all my life I’ve never seen anything so wonderful!” Sandy gasped.
“Neither have I,” admired Dick. “I can believe now the story that
Malemute Slade told me one time. He and a mounted policeman, named
Corporal Casserley, were proceeding north through the first heavy snow
of early winter when they met a huge herd of caribou travelling south.
For three hours they stood shivering in the cold, waiting for the herd
to go by. Finally, they were forced to build a campfire and erect a
shelter. It was not until noon of the following day that the last of the
herd passed and Slade and Casserley were permitted to proceed on their
journey.”
“I’d hate to ride out in the path of the caribou,” Sandy declared, as he
turned his pony’s head. “It might cause them to stampede.”
“It would be very apt to,” Dick replied. “Personally, I haven’t any
desire to be trampled under their hooves. In preference to being chopped
into mince-meat, I think I’ll steer my course more to the east and avoid
them.”
“I think like that too,” smiled Toma. “What you say we hurry along now
an’ get back to mine. Pretty soon we get hungry an’ no like to stop an’
build campfire then. Much better we travel fast an’ cook ’em big dinner
soon we get there.”
“And I want to get there before Uncle Walter arrives,” remembered Sandy.
“I don’t think we’ll find them at the mine,” said Dick. “They’ll be in
exactly the same boat that we were. They won’t know where the mine is.
During the last hour or two I’ve been turning things over in my mind,
and I’ve just about come to the conclusion that our best plan is to go
right on past the plateau to Thunder River, where we made the crossing.
I’m sure we’ll meet them sooner by doing that.”
“Of course we will. Funny I never thought about it But that means, Dick,
that we have a longer ride ahead of us than we first expected. Even by
forced travelling, we won’t reach the river much before night.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“And we’ll have to stop to graze the ponies, not to mention preparing
our own lunch.”
“Yes.”
“Then, let’s hurry!”
With a last look at caribou, they dug their heels into their impatient
mounts and sped southward, whooping like three cowboys.