BLACK WATERS AND GRAY DOGS
When the airplane came roaring in from nowhere to circle for a landing
close to the lost mine, Jodie and At-a-tak were away bringing in the
reindeer herd lest it stray too far. Before Florence and her grandfather
could make their way up from the mine, the plane had landed on the ice of
the lake and had taxied to a spot quite hidden from view.
“Who can they be?” Florence asked in sudden alarm.
“Some smart fellows who’ve heard about our lost mine. Come to help us dig
gold, jump our claim, perhaps,” was her grandfather’s reply. “Little good
it’ll do ’em. Three hours more and we’ll have the place about cleaned
out. They’ll be welcome to the rest.
“Of course,” he added, “there may be other pockets. They’re welcome to
them, too. One strike’s enough for us.
“Just think, girl,” his voice grew mellow, “thirty-five years in the
North and now, success at last. Ah, girl, it’s good.”
“Yes, grandfather, it is,” Florence was scarcely listening. She was
thinking, “Suppose those men are looking for that reindeer herd? What if
they think we stole the deer?” She was having a bad moment.
Just then four men appeared at the foot of the ridge. “One white man,
three natives,” was Tom Kennedy’s instant announcement.
“That white man,” Florence was startled. “There’s something familiar
about him, the way he walks. Grandfather!” her voice rose. “He’s my
pilot, Dave Breen, the man who brought me to Nome!” She dashed madly down
the hill.
“Well! Well! Think of finding you here!” Dave Breen exclaimed at sight of
her. “And you a reindeer rustler! Know what they do to ’em? Shoot ’em at
sunrise,” he laughed a roaring laugh. “But tell me, how come you’ve got
the herd of deer we’ve been looking for?”
“There’s mulligan, reindeer mulligan on the stove,” said Florence. “And
coffee’s steaming. Come on up and I’ll feed you and tell you our story,
or at least part of it.”
“You’d better come clean,” laughed Dave. “I’m sworn in as a deputy and
I’ve been instructed to arrest any persons in possession of that herd.”
Over coffee and mulligan, with her grandfather’s permission, Florence
told the whole story.
“So your work here’ll be done in a few hours?” said Dave Breen. “Know
what day tomorrow is?”
“No, I—”
“So you forgot. Well, I’ll be jiggered!” Dave exclaimed. “It’s the day
before Christmas. And do you know what?” he paused for proper emphasis.
“Know what? We’re going to leave these Eskimos in charge of the reindeer;
they can bring them in O. K. We’ll leave them At-a-tak to mend their
boots and her gray team to haul their supplies. They’ll be more than all
right.
“And as for you and Jodie and that grandfather of yours, I’m going to
pack you up in my plane and fly you back to Nome for the grandest
Christmas you have ever known. And you can’t say no!”
“Who would want to say no?” Florence was fairly overcome with joy. But
there’s many a slip between a happy girl and a glorious Christmas of a
particular sort, as you shall see.
Some hours later, in another corner of this Arctic world, the day before
Christmas dawned bright and clear. A blue and gray plane rose gracefully
up from a frozen river to go sailing away toward the north. And little
Miss Santa Claus was still on board. Mr. Il-ay-ok was still her traveling
companion and Speed Samson was at the controls.
Three hours they flew due north. Then they came down upon a white floor
of shore-ice to rest and drink cups of steaming tea.
As Mary stepped from the plane she felt her nose pucker. It seemed too
that someone with sharp tweezers had pinched her cheek.
“Cold! Boo!” she exclaimed.
“This is the North,” Speed laughed. “Just over yonder is the Arctic
Circle. Should be able to see it in an hour or two.” He laughed again,
and Mary laughed with him. But that they were at last quite far north
they knew all too well.
Two hours later found them flying high over a vast black expanse, Bering
Sea. As the girl looked down she shuddered. It seemed that this sea must
be bottomless, for not a touch of light broke its deep, purple blackness.
Across this expanse, like fairy fleets, ice floes drifted. Once she was
sure she saw a group of moving objects.
“Walrus!” Mr. Il-ay-ok shouted. “How you like landing among them?”
“We would not land among them,” was her answer. “Our plane can land on
ice—not on water. We won’t land unless—” her heart skipped a beat.
A half hour later her heart stopped altogether for a second, then went
racing. Their single motor was missing and they were still over the dark
sea.
“There—there it is again!” she breathed.
She studied the look on Speed’s face, then shuddered anew.
A glance before her showed a white line. Was it a shore line? And could
they make it? She dared not think further.
She settled back a moment later with relief. “Motor’s working better.”
But this relief was not for long.
Ten minutes passed. The white line grew wider. At one end was a high
spot, perhaps a mountain. Then again that chilling sput-sput-sput of a
missing motor.
“We’ll make it!” she shouted bravely.
And in the end they did. Just as the motor stopped dead, due to a clogged
fuel pipe, they found themselves over a blanket of white.
Circle low now. No chance for climbing. Take the landing that offers.
They took it with many a shuddering bump. Mary was thrown down upon a
pile of Christmas toys. A talking doll cried, “Ma-ma!” and a croaking
frog went “Herouk!” Then all was still.
“Well,” she said, gathering herself up, “we’re here!”
They were. But where were they?
“We’re lucky to be here at all,” was Speed’s comment. “And we’re here for
some time! Require three days to smooth down these snow ridges for a
take-off.”
“Three—three days!” Mary cried in dismay. “Why, then we—”
At that moment there arose a prodigious noise. Dogs, dozens of them, were
making the air hideous with their barking. A moment more, and their plane
was surrounded by great gray roaring beasts—Siberian wolfhounds, the
fiercest, strangest, bravest dogs in all dog-land.
“Could anything be more terrible!” Mary wailed. “We must be nearly there,
and now—”
“We can’t leave our plane, just now, that’s certain,” said Speed. “But
wait! Luck may still be with us. Those dogs belong to someone. They came
from somewhere.”
“Came from the hole in that snow-bank,” said Il-ay-ok. “House there!”
That “hole in a snow-bank” was indeed the entrance to a small low cabin
quite buried in snow. Then from that hole came a huge man.
“A perfect giant of a man!” Mary was all aquiver with excitement. “It’s
like a fairy story.”
The giant let out a great roar. The pack of wolfhounds stopped their
barking, dropped their tails and one by one disappeared into the hole in
the snow-bank. Then the giant approached the plane.
“Hello! Who are you?” said Speed, popping his head out of the cabin door.
“I’m Bill Sparks, a gold miner,” said the stranger.
“Oh! Oh! Yes, of course!” exclaimed Mr. Il-ay-ok. “Excuse, please. I do
not know at first where we are. Now I know. Yes. Yes. Very good man, Mr.
Bill Sparks.”
“What’s your business, stranger?” Bill Sparks looked at Speed.
“Well, you see,” Speed explained. “This little man—” he nodded at Mr.
Il-ay-ok, “claimed he needed to get back to Cape Prince of Wales to save
the Eskimos’ reindeer. So—”
“Sure, I’ve heard about that,” Bill Sparks broke in. “Hope he wins.”
“Yes! Yes! We win!” Mr. Il-ay-ok waved a paper excitedly. “Here is the
paper. All my people shall know. They shall be told, keep reindeer O. K.
Grand Christmas, mine.”
“There’s one more thing,” Speed managed to break in. “Lot of Christmas
presents and little Miss Santa Claus here. I brought them along.”
“Why?” Bill Sparks stared. “I been hearin’ about them presents. Every
Eskimo that drives by has been askin’ me if I thought they’d come.”
“They—they what?” Mary hopped out of the plane in her excitement.
“It’s a fact,” Bill Sparks insisted. “You see, Miss, this here’s Cape
York. Cape Prince of Wales is only fifteen miles away. With them big dogs
of mine, ’tain’t no drive at all!”
“Then you—” Mary began hopping up and down. “You—”
“Of course I’ll take you all over, Miss, and all them presents. Be glad
to, Miss. Nothin’ I won’t do for the Eskimos. One of ’em brought me in
when I’d went snow-blind once. I’d have died if it hadn’t a’ been for
him! Wait—”
Putting two fingers to his lips, he blew a shrill blast and, to Mary’s
terror, out from the dark hole piled the great gray pack of hounds.
“No need fer fear,” Bill Sparks laughed, as she started to climb back
into the plane, “my friends are their friends.”
And so it happened that, just after the short day had faded and the
Eskimos had gone to their little log and sod homes,—with sleighbells
muffled—the happy flyers with Bill Sparks in the lead, his sled piled
high with Christmas joy, stole round Cape Prince of Wales and right up to
the schoolhouse door.
They managed to get there without being seen by a single Eskimo child.
It was Margaret, child of the schoolmaster, who opened the door in
response to their knock.
“Merry Christmas!” Mary cried as the light came flooding out. “We’re
here, and so’s Christmas!”
At the first sound of her voice, Nellie and Tom came racing from the big
room where they were still stringing colored popcorn. Then such low
exclamations of joy! Such a rush as there was as they bundled all the
packages inside, then paused to hug their benefactors, Mary, Speed, and
even the startled Bill Sparks.
“How did you get here?” Nellie cried at last. “All those presents! How
could they?”
“Santa never fails,” laughed Speed at last. “At least hardly ever, and
surely he could not fail in Eskimo-land.”
It was no time at all until Mary and the three children were busy
trimming a more gorgeous tree than the children of Eskimo-land had ever
known.