“Wow-yow-wyow-ow-oo-oo-oo!”
Again came the cry, punctuating the night in the same ghastly,
unaccountable manner.
“Is it wer-wer-wer-wolves?” stammered Jack.
Tom shook his head.
“Nothing like them. It beats me what it can be. I never heard such a
sound.”
“It gives me cold shivers,” confessed Jack.
“Maybe it is only a wildcat,” said Tom, regaining his nerve which had
been badly shaken by his sudden awakening and the ghastly cries.
“Doesn’t sound much like one,” objected Jack; “it sounds more like—more
like——”
He broke off short, for now something occurred that made each boy feel
as if his hair was standing on end and ice water being poured in liberal
quantities down his spine.
_“There is death in the snows,
death-death-death-to-all-who-brave-the-trail!”_
“Gracious!” gasped Jack; “it’s a ger-ger-ghost!”
“Nonsense,” said Tom sharply.
Although he was badly scared himself, he kept his nerve better than his
younger brother, but the sepulchral voice made him shudder as he
listened.
The uncanny sound of the wailing chant died out. Then fell a deep
silence, broken only by the sighing of the night wind.
“But if it isn’t a ghost, what is it?” demanded Jack.
“I don’t know, but of one thing I’m certain, it isn’t a ghost. There are
no such things, and only fools and kids believe in them.”
“Well, nobody else would be outside in the snow making such noises,”
declared Jack. “It is a spirit or something, that’s what it is. Maybe
somebody was murdered here and it is his——”
“Say, if you talk any more nonsense, I’ll—I’ll—” burst out Tom
disgustedly, but just then came an interruption.
It was the sepulchral voice again.
“_The-white-death-is-abroad-in-the-land! O-wo-w-ow-oo-oo-oo-oo!_”
The voice broke off in a terrifying scream that brought both boys out of
the bunk and to their feet. Tom picked up his rifle.
“Maybe it is somebody lost in the woods,” suggested Jack, glad of any
theory that might reasonably account for the alarming voice.
“Rubbish! Nobody lost in the snow would make that racket. Besides,
there’s all that stuff about death!” Tom shuddered. “It’s got me
guessing.”
“It’s aw-awful!” stammered poor Jack.
“But I mean to find out what it is.”
Tom compressed his lips and looked very determined. He began examining
the lock of his repeating rifle, and then moved toward the doorway.
“What! You are going out there?” demanded Jack.
“I surely am. I mean to satisfy myself just what it is, or _who_ it is,
that is making that ghostly noise.”
“But it can’t be human,” urged Jack. And then, recollecting some ghost
stories he had read, he continued: “It might ber-ber-blast you, or
something.”
“Rubbish! I’ll blast it, if I can get hold of it!” declared Tom, who
couldn’t help smiling, perplexed though he was, at Jack’s real alarm.
The boy’s hand was on the bar that held the door securely shut, when the
voice arose once more. It was certainly not a little awe-inspiring. The
mere facts that they could not tell with accuracy from just what
direction it came, and also that they were the only living beings in
that part of the country, made it all the more frightful.
“_Be-ware—be-ware-of-the-white-death-of-the-north!_” came the voice.
“_Turn-back. Go-where-you-came-from.
The-trail-leads-to-destruction-swift-and-terrible!_”
Tom waited no longer. He flung open the door and rushed out into the
darkness. Behind him came Jack, also armed, and trying desperately to
keep his teeth from chattering. The Northern Lights were flashing and
splashing the sky with their weird radiance, and the snow lay whitely
all about the hut.
Had there been any man or animals within the cleared space, they must
have been able to see their forms.
But nothing was to be seen.
The two alarmed boys standing there looking this way and that, like
startled deer, were the only living things near the hut. Tom was badly
mystified. The whole thing certainly flavored of the supernatural, and
yet the boy’s better sense told him that it could be no such thing.
There must be some way of accounting for that voice, but for the life of
him Tom could not hit upon a solution of the mystery, try as he would.
At length, after making as thorough an examination of the space
surrounding the hut as they could, the two lads were fain to go back
again into the structure, and at least one of them was heartily and
unfeignedly glad to be able to do so.
Tom felt that, had he been able to account for the strange and
supernatural voice in any imaginable way, he would not have been so
worried over it. It was the very fact that the whole thing was
inexplicable in any ordinary way that made it more alarming.
The bar was secured in place and both boys got back into the bunk. But
sleep did not visit them for a long time. They were under far too great
a strain for that. They lay awake listening nervously for a repetition
of the spectral voice, but none came.
“Perhaps in the morning we may find something that will throw some light
on the matter,” said Tom, after a prolonged silence.
“Yes, I suppose we’ll find a phonograph or something out there,” scoffed
Jack. “It’s no use talking, Tom, I tell you that nothing earthly made
those sounds.”
“What do you think it was, then?”
“Just what I said: a ghostly warning to us not to go farther.”
“Very kind of the ghost, I’m sure. I didn’t know they were such
benevolent creatures.”
“Oh, you needn’t laugh. I’ve read lots about ghosts giving warnings and
so on. That voice was to tell us to beware how we proceed.”
“Rot! As if a ghost would care! I only know of one person who might be
desirous of seeing us turn back.”
“Who is that?”
“The fellow that stole that black fox.”
“Then you think——”
“I don’t think anything. Now try to get to sleep till morning.”
Jack lay awake long after Tom was asleep once more. But the voice did
not come again, and at last his eyelids, too, closed, not to open till
it was broad day.