ALASKA!
They camped for the remainder of the day.
"'Tain't no use grumblin' on ouh luck," remarked the philosophical
Waseche. "We got to camp right heah till the stawm weahs out. Chances
is, we'll have the Injuns onto us in a day oah so; but we cain't go
bluste'catin' no mo' wheah we cain't see. Anyhow, they ain't no use
borrowin' trouble--theh's a right smaht of it a-comin' to a man without
him huntin' none. So fah, we're all to the good. The big Nawth's
fightin' to hold her secrets, but she ain't handed us no knockout--yet."
During the night the storm ceased, and with the first hint of dawn the
outfit was made ready for the trail. Robes were spread upon Connie's
light sled, and Waseche Bill placed in his sleeping bag and bound
securely upon the robes with many turns of _babiche_. The bundles of
firewood, and O'Brien's cans of gold were transferred to the other
sleds, and in the dull grey of the long morning twilight the outfit
pulled southward over the bench, paralleling the edge of the ravine into
which Waseche had fallen. Progress was slow. The fresh snow rolled up
and clogged the free running of the sleds, so that both Connie and
O'Brien mushed ahead of the dogs, breaking out the trail with their
rackets. Hour after hour they mushed, seeking to cross the great fissure
that gaped wide and deep between them and the distant mountains that
loomed white and grand against the western skyline--the mountains that
separated them from Alaska, and through whose fastnesses they must find
a trail.
The belated sun peeped over the rim of the flat snow tundra behind them,
and all three turned to view the welcome sight. Suddenly, O'Brien, with
a sharp cry, pointed toward some tiny moving objects far to the
eastward:
"The Injuns," he cried. "That haythen, Lemlak--th' wan that seen us
layve th' Ignatook--he's put um on our thr-rail--an' ut's back we go, av
they don't har-rpoon us--as sur-re's me name's Pathrick O'Brien!"
"It's back we _don't_ go! And you can bet your bottom dollar on that!"
cried Connie, as he glanced with flashing eyes toward the two high-power
rifles lashed side by side against the rail of McDougall's sled. "Look!
There's the end of the ravine! We can head west now, and hit for the
mountains!"
"Sur-re, they'll ketch up to us, befoor we git foive moile--we've got to
bre'k thr-rail, an' they'll folly along in ut."
They were drawing nearer to the white expanse that Connie had pointed
out as the end of the ravine.
"Ut ain't th' ind! Ut's a shnow bridge!" exclaimed O'Brien, and the
others saw, extending from side to side of the chasm, gleaming white in
the slanting rays of the sun, an enormous snow arch.
[Illustration: "Recklessly O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span
of snow while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly."]
Without waiting for a line, O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span,
while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly. The great mass of snow
that bridged the chasm looked as solid as the rock of Gibraltar, but the
partners heaved a sigh of relief as the man reached the opposite side in
safety and turned to retrace his steps. Connie's team, drawing the
injured man, crossed first and was quickly followed by the two more
heavily loaded sleds.
"Now, let's hit for the mountains!" cried the boy, "we've got miles and
miles on them yet."
"Hold on, son. We got lots of time, now. 'Spose yo' jes' bust open one
of them theah bundles of wood an' staht us a little camp-fiah."
"A camp-fire!" exclaimed the boy, "why, it isn't time to camp! And,
besides----"
"Neveh yo' mind about that. Jes' do as I said, an' then swing that theah
pack of mine around heah an' prop me up agin' it beside the fiah. Afteh
that, I want yo' an' O'Brien to take Mac's dawgs an' yo'n an' wo'k yo'
way to the top of yondeh hill an' see if yo' c'n find out how fah this
heah ravine runs--get busy, now."
The boy obeyed without question and soon he and the Irishman were
headed for the hill a quarter of a mile up the ravine.
"I wonder what he's up to?" speculated the boy, with puckered brow. "You
don't suppose it's his leg--fever, or something, that's made him kind
of--of queer?"
"No, no, lad. Oi don't know phwat's on his moind--but min loike
him--they mostly knows phwat they're doin'--er they wouldn't be doin'
ut."
From the top of the hill they saw that, as far as the eye could reach,
the ravine cut the tundra in an unbroken line.
"They ain't no other cr-rossin'," said O'Brien, so they retraced their
steps to the bridge, where they could see Waseche bending close over the
tiny fire.
"Why, he's frying some meat!" exclaimed Connie, "and we just had
breakfast!" They were close now, and Waseche removed a frying pan from
the flame and poked gingerly at its contents with a piece of brushwood.
Apparently satisfied, he placed it beside him upon the snow. Connie
glanced into the pan where, instead of a caribou steak, the boy saw
three yellow sticks of dynamite.
"Why, you told me----!"
"Yes, kid, I done tol' yo' long ago, neveh to thaw out no giant in a
pan--an' I meant it! Mos'ly, yo' c'n do it--if yo' careful--but,
sometimes she jes' nachelly lets go, without no provocation, an'
then--well, yo' rec'lect how we-all wiped po' Gus Meekin offen the
bushes an' rocks, a half a mile from wheah his fiah was."
"But, you----"
"Hold on, son. This heah was a pahtic'lah case. I figgehed it all
out--an' took a chanct. That's why I sent yo' an' O'Brien oveh onto the
hill, so's if she let go they'd still be some of us left. Soon as I seen
the bridge I rec'lected how I had a dozen sticks of giant in my outfit,
an' a box of caps, an' some fuse--wait, now, till I set the caps, an'
then yo' c'n touch off the shot. We'll use two sticks fust, an' save the
otheh to finish off with, if we need it." As he talked Waseche Bill
punched holes in the soft yellow cylinders and affixed the caps and fuse
for a ten-minute shot. Connie and O'Brien placed the injured man again
upon the sled and made ready for a quick getaway.
"Lay 'em side by side right in the middle, an' coveh 'em with a couple
handfuls of snow," advised Waseche, "an' then we'll pull out on the flat
a space an' watch the fun. When them Injuns gets to the ravine it sho'
will botheh 'em to figgeh how we-all got acrost."
A few minutes later they halted the outfit well out of harm's way and
watched breathlessly for the explosion. The mining of the bridge had
taken time and, in the distance, beyond the ravine, the White Indians
were rapidly gaining. A few of the stronger and more fleet were well
within rifle shot, when suddenly, with a dull roar and a blur of flying
snow, the giant let go. The eyes of the three were fixed upon the
bridge--or rather upon the place where the bridge had been--for all that
remained was a cloud of powdery snow dust and a thinning haze of light
grey smoke. The snow dust settled, the smoke drifted away and dissolved
into the cold, clear air, and between the watchers and the White Indians
the unbridged ravine yawned wide, and deep, and impassable.
"Whoop-la!" yelled O'Brien, leaping into the air and cracking his heels
together. "Come on an' git us, ye phirates!" And as the savages gathered
upon the opposite side, the Irishman's laughter rang long and loud
across the frozen tundra.
The third day after the blowing up of the bridge found the three
adventurers skirting the base of the great white range that towered in
an unbroken chain as far as the eye could reach to the northward and to
the southward. Vast, and grim, and impassable, the giant masses of rock
and ice loomed above them, their naked, blue-white peaks and pinnacles
gleaming clean-cut and cold against the cloudless turquoise of the sky.
All day long the three dog teams mushed northward while Connie, and
Waseche Bill, and O'Brien anxiously scanned the great barrier for signs
of a river or creek that gave promise of leading to a divide. For,
though they passed the mouths of dozens of creeks and canyons, none were
sufficiently large to tempt exploration.
Waseche Bill's injured leg was much swollen, for the trail was rough and
tortuous, and despite the utmost efforts of Connie and O'Brien, the
light sled bumped and slued against obstructions in a manner that caused
the man excruciating torture, although neither by sign nor sound, did he
betray the slightest pain. The Irishman and the boy took turns breaking
trail for McDougall's leaders, and working at the gee-pole to ease the
light sled over the rough places. Waseche's own dogs followed
McDougall's, thus giving a smoother trail to the sled bearing the
injured man.
The afternoon was well spent when Connie, who was in the rear, noticed a
growing uneasiness among the dogs of Waseche's team. The big _malamutes_
whined and whimpered with a peculiar suppressed eagerness as they eyed
the mountains and, pulling close, tried time and again to pass the lead
sled.
"That's funny," thought the boy, as he watched the dogs closely, "I
never saw those dogs act like that before--seems like they wanted to
lead." Hour after hour the boy mushed at the tail rope, and always he
watched the strange behaviour of Waseche Bill's dogs. The sun sank
behind the mountains and, at last, O'Brien halted at the edge of a patch
of scraggy spruce. The dogs were unharnessed and fed, and after Waseche
was made comfortable at the fireside, Connie prepared supper.
Suddenly, all three were startled by the long howl of a sled dog and,
turning quickly saw Waseche's huge leader standing with up-pointing
muzzle, upon a low hill, some fifty yards distant, and about him stood
the seven dogs of his team. Again he howled, and then, as though this
were the signal, the whole pack turned tail and dashed into the North.
"Well, of all the doggone, ornery tricks I eveh heahed tell of--that
takes the cake!" cried Waseche. "Pulled out on us! Jes' plumb pulled
out! An' them's good dawgs, too!"
"Where did you get that team?" asked Connie excitedly.
"Picked 'em up off a man in Eagle," answered Waseche. "He aimed to go
outside, come spring. He got 'em off a breed, a yeah back."
"Where do you s'pose they've gone?" asked the boy.
"Sea'ch me! I cain't onde'stand it."
"Ut's th' Lillimuit!" croaked O'Brien. "Ut wuz th' same wid Craik an'
Greenhow!" The man shuddered and drew closer to the fire. "They's things
here that ondly some c'n see! An' phwin they see um--always they head
into th' Narth!"
"Sho'! Quit yo' calamatatin', O'Brien! Dawgs has pulled out on folks
befo'."
"Thim wans ain't," returned the Irishman, and relapsed into gloomy
silence.
With the first sign of dawn the outfit was again on the trail. The bulk
of the pack had been removed from Waseche's sled and added to the other
two, and the sled and harness _cached_ in the bush. For several miles
Connie, who was travelling in the lead, followed the trail of the
stampeded dog-pack, when suddenly he paused where a narrow creek canyon
clove the rock-wall of a mountain. The trail led into the gorge, which
appeared to be a mere crack in the mighty wall.
"Follow 'em up, son!" called Waseche from his sled. "We need them
dawgs."
So the boy swung McDougall's team into the canyon, and his own dogs
followed, with O'Brien fast to the tail rope. On and on led the narrow
trail--westward, and upward, winding and twisting between its rocky
walls--but always westward, and upward. The floor was surprisingly
smooth for so narrow a trail, and the outfit made good time, but all
three expected that each turn would be the last, and that they would
find the runaway dogs huddled against a dead end. Toward midday, the
canyon grew lighter, the walls seemed not so high, and the ascent grew
steeper. Suddenly, as they rounded a sharp turn, a brilliant patch of
sunlight burst upon them, and the next moment they found themselves upon
the summit of a long divide.
Never in their lives had any of the three gazed upon so welcome a sight,
for there, to the westward, lay an unending chaos of high-flung peaks
and narrow valleys, and easily traceable--leading in a broad path of
white to the south-westward, was the smooth trail of a river!
"The Kandik!" cried Connie, "and _Alaska_!"
"H-o-o-r-a-y!" yelled O'Brien, dancing about in the snow, while the
tears streamed unheeded from his eyes. "Ut's good-bye Lillimuit,
foriver! Av ye wuz pure gold from th' middle av th' wor-rld to th' peak
av ye're hoighest hill, Oi w'dn't niver go no closter thin th' furthest
away Oi c'd git from ye! A-h-r-o-o! Wid ye're dead min--an' ye're
cowld!"