THE BLINDING BLIZZARD
The whole thing had happened so suddenly that Fred and Billy and Mouser
did not move from the spot where Bobby himself had been but a moment
before.
Now they stared dumbly at him, looking with white faces from Bobby to
the beast that lay so still on the snow at his feet.
The Eskimos were the first to stir, and they got to their feet slowly,
dazedly, as though waking from a hideous nightmare, not quite sure yet
that they were actually alive and unhurt.
As though the movement of these two broke the spell the boys were under,
they rushed forward, bombarding Bobby with questions and clapping him on
the back, while they fairly wrung his hand off.
But the natives, a new expression replacing the wonder in their eyes,
shoved the boys aside, holding out their great, fur-mittened hands.
The son of Kapje shook hands with him first, pumping his arm up and down
solemnly.
“You save life of Eskimo—he thank you,” was all he said, but there was a
look of doglike devotion in his eyes.
Kapje came next, and his grip was even stronger than his son’s.
“Eskimo bad enemy—good friend—very good,” he said simply. “You save him
life—he no forget.”
That was all, but it was enough to make Bobby understand that he had
made two friends who would serve him faithfully and willingly for as
long as he needed them.
He looked from the smoking rifle in his hand to the body of the great
bear and laughed a little shakily.
“I don’t know how I did it myself,” he admitted, adding with interest:
“How did the bear manage to slip up on you like that, with your guns
several yards away from you?”
The younger Eskimo turned away and Kapje dropped his eyes to the ground
as though sorely embarrassed.
“We think we see walrus,” he explained reluctantly. “We drop our guns—go
look. When we turn back—see bear. Drop in snow—make believe dead. Fool
bear—little while. Then you come. Lucky for fool Eskimo you come.”
With this last sentence the old fellow turned away as though the
incident were definitely closed and followed his son down to the water
where the latter was preparing to shove one of the canoes into the
water.
“Well, we got our bear, all right,” said Fred ruefully, as he gingerly
touched the dingy yellow coat of the beast with his foot. “I wonder what
we’re going to do with it?”
When they put this question to Kapje he shrugged his shoulders.
“Leave him,” he said, laconically. “No take him along now. No time. More
snow soon. Maybe we get bear by an’ by.”
At his words the boys noticed for the first time that the sun, shining
but a few moments ago so brilliantly, was now behind heavy clouds that
certainly seemed to presage more snow.
“Gee, it wouldn’t be much fun to be caught in another blizzard before we
can reach Mooloo,” said Billy, looking anxiously at the threatening sky.
“I’ll say not,” said Fred, adding as he passed a hand over his face: “My
face feels like a chunk of ice. I’d give a lot for the inside of an
igloo just now and a good hot fire.”
“Choke him, somebody! Think of speaking of a good hot fire when the
thermometer’s sixty below! Cruelty to animals, I call it,” complained
Mouser, as, in answer to imperative gesturing on the part of Kapje, they
reluctantly left the bear to its fate and climbed into the canoes.
“Glad you know what you are, anyway,” grinned Billy and Mouser’s fervent
desire to “get at him” came near to upsetting the canoe.
At the Eskimo’s sharp cry of warning they settled down, however, and
made themselves as comfortable as possible for the last stage of the
journey before them.
It was almost two hours before the storm overtook them. But then it
seemed intent on making up for lost time. It came not in a gentle fall
of feathery flakes, but in a driving sheet of sleet that beat into their
faces mercilessly, blinding them.
They said nothing, just ducking their heads to avoid the worst of the
storm’s fury, wondering if Kapje would dare to go on in the face of it.
That question was answered sooner than they expected.
They had been making what progress they could in the teeth of the gale
for some fifteen or twenty minutes when the older Eskimo swung in
sharply toward the blurred outline of the shore.
The second canoe followed, and in a moment more they were staggering,
half-blinded and half-frozen, up the slippery, snowy bank.
Kapje was shouting something above the noise of the wind, and the boys
came close to him to hear what he was saying.
They finally made out that he had decided to spend the night there. It
was impossible to make any headway against the raging storm.
In this last statement the boys heartily agreed with him, but they were
dismayed, nevertheless, at the thought of spending the night in that
wild, uninhabitable spot.
It was not long, however, before they learned something of the genius of
the Eskimo when it comes to the making of an igloo.
Without wasting further breath on speech, the natives set to work
fashioning the snow into large blocks, packing them down in such a way
that, when they were through, each block seemed as heavy and durable as
rock.
It was not long before the boys caught the idea and threw themselves
into the work with a will. Not only was the work itself fascinating to
them, but they were glad to do anything to ward off the intense cold.
When they decided that they had enough blocks to start building with—and
the Eskimos worked with remarkable rapidity—they began the actual work
of construction.
It was then the boys marveled, their respect for these simple children
of the North growing by leaps and bounds as they saw the skill with
which they set about the erection of this snow shelter.
Standing within the magically growing igloo they fitted block upon
block. The sides and bottom of each block had been hollowed out in a
shallow groove, so that they fitted closely, and the blocks were piled
in such a way that they formed a solid strong wall.
With his left hand Kapje held the blocks, cutting and fitting with his
right hand, his son helping in this work while the boys, under the
instruction of the older Eskimo, filled in the chinks from the outside
with handfuls of loose snow.
When the work was completed they found themselves the proud possessors
of an igloo about twelve feet square and about seven feet high.
Then they set to work to make snow beds which, while not the warmest in
the world, were soft, and, within the shelter of the snow walls, would
ward off actual discomfort.
“What gets me,” said Bobby wonderingly, staring up at the arched ceiling
of the igloo, “is how you manage to make a roof of snow like that
without anything to support it.”
“Roof very strong,” said Kapje, not without a certain pride in the work.
“All of us get up on roof, sit there—it no come down. Roof very strong.”
Later the boys helped the natives carry the canoes up close to the igloo
where they would be sheltered from the worst of the storm.
Then they carried the contents of the little craft into the snow house.
They found to their delight that Kapje, with the foresight of his race,
or, possibly, thinking that they would probably run into just such a
storm as they had encountered, had provided for the emergency.
There were canned goods enough to keep them in comfort for several days
and a tiny oil stove for their cooking. And when a fire had been made in
the little stove and the contents of a can of pork and beans was sending
out its tempting aroma, the boys felt that their contentment was
complete.
The snow fell steadily all the rest of that afternoon and all night, but
in the morning the storm had abated. It was clear, but bitterly cold. It
did not take the boys long to realize that the thermometer had dropped
several degrees during the hours they had been asleep.
However, refreshed by a good hot breakfast and feeling that they were at
last close upon the trail of the guide Mooloo, they set off in high
spirits, which even the bitter cold could not discourage.
They traveled steadily for several hours without meeting with further
accident, and at last Kapje volunteered the information that they were
nearing the little Eskimo settlement where Mooloo lived in his igloo
with his wife and two small children.
The boys, half frozen as they were, felt their old eagerness reviving at
this information, and when Kapje finally turned in toward the shore they
had all they could do to keep from jumping into the icy water and
beating the canoe to a landing.
Once on shore, it was only a short distance to the igloo of Mooloo, the
guide, and soon they found themselves at the door of the snow house.
Then they followed Kapje and his son into the warmth of its interior.