  Through an opaque darkness filled with the oppressive silence of Arctic night, Dick and Toma made their way. A few stars had come out like wayward wanderers. On every side were gray, unfamiliar shapes. Objects were shadowy and indistinct. Wolves and coyotes made the only sound heard across that weird and mysterious wilderness. “We ought to find him pretty soon, Toma,” Dick broke forth. “We’ve been travelling for an hour now, and I’m sure we’ve been making better progress than the pack-train.” They came to the foot of a slope and started up, side by side, their moccasined feet swishing through the freshly fallen snow. Gaining the summit of the hill, they paused for breath. Then the quick ears of the guide, straining always for some sound that might be significant, detected a faint rustling ahead. “I hear him. We go careful now. Mebbe him Corporal Rand. But no take chances. Not always be too sure.” Rand it was. He stood waiting for them, one hand on his hip, the other raised in a warning gesture. “They’re ahead—not more than a few rods. Listen, and you can hear them.” “Yes, I can hear something,” whispered Dick. “Did you think we were never coming, corporal?” “As a matter of fact,” Rand answered him, “I didn’t expect you for another half hour. You’ve made good time.” The three started forward slowly, keeping always within sound of the cavalcade in front. Sometimes they approached so closely that they could hear the voices of the packers and occasionally the snarling of the dogs. Soon they had learned something of importance: La Qua’s pack-train consisted both of ponies and dog teams. There were seven or eight horses, in addition to four teams of huskies. “You see,” explained Rand, “La Qua was in a predicament. The snow storm interfered with his plans. His original intention, evidently, was to take only pack-horses. The heavy snow made this inadvisable. But he didn’t have as many dog teams as he required to move away the cache. So he was forced to use the ponies as well.” Just before daybreak, the pack-train halted in the lee of a small mountain. From a position a few hundred yards away, concealed by rocks, Rand and the two boys watched it. Breakfast was soon in progress. Smoke curled up from several campfires. It was not an altogether unpleasant scene and Dick’s mouth watered at the thought of the nourishing meal, piping hot, the outlaws would presently sit down to. He even imagined he could smell the appetizing odor of frying bacon and the pungent aroma of coffee. A little crestfallen, he nibbled at his own emergency rations, huddling down against a flat surface of rock. Later, Dick looked out again, eyes bleared and bloodshot. Every muscle in his body ached. Lack of sleep had induced a strange condition—an overpowering lassitude he could not shake off. The rustling of a pine tree near by had become a sing-song, half-musical chant, which momentarily grew louder. His vision played him false. Objects around him were distorted, sometimes grotesque. His mind had lost its function. Nothing was real. Nothing mattered. He fell asleep, sitting up—a sleep so sound, so intense, so deep that Rand saw the uselessness of attempting to wake him. When he recovered consciousness, he heard the corporal speaking: “He’s coming to, Toma. Give him another shake.” Dick stared about him guiltily. He surmised that he had slept only a few minutes but the sight of the round orb of the sun, high above the horizon, quickly disillusioned him. “Why—why didn’t you wake me?” he gasped. “How long have I been here? What time is it, corporal?” “Nine o’clock. You’ve slept four hours.” “I did?” Dick’s eyes were wide with dismay. “Yes, you did. But don’t think I blame you,” Rand laughed. “You couldn’t help it. It was inevitable. No person can manage without sleep. I had a little doze myself. We can’t lose the pack-train now. It will be easy to follow their tracks in broad daylight. We’ll catch up to them again before nightfall.” All day they travelled, passing through a country of hills and rocks, with mountain peaks towering above them. The summits of the mountains were lost in an enveloping, vaporous mist. Shaggy heights were resplendent in rainbow garb. The deep brown of rock surfaces was a decided contrast to the scintillating white of the trail. Late in the afternoon the tracks led them across a wind-swept plateau, thence down to a narrow defile which ran uninterruptedly westward for a distance of four or five miles. As they approached its end, Corporal Rand was surprised into a quick ejaculation. “Can’t see how we can get out of this. Surely they didn’t climb those slippery rocks.” A few yards further on, they found the solution to the mystery. On the left they saw an opening in the rocks, scarcely more than four feet wide—in reality a wide crack that split the immense formation of rock from top to bottom. Passing through it, they emerged into what appeared to be a wide valley, stretching far ahead. The corporal gasped in amazement. Dick stood bewildered. Even Toma so far forgot himself as to cry out in wonder. “Blind Man’s Pass!” exclaimed the two boys. “Blind Man’s Pass,” replied the policeman. “At last a reality! Wonderful! I can scarcely credit my senses. Beautiful, isn’t it, Dick?” Dick nodded. “I was never more astonished in my life. No wonder the entrance to the pass is so hard to find. Even now I doubt if I could go back eight or ten miles and find my way here again.” A strange far-away look flecked the eyes of the policeman. He glanced up at the receding walls of the valley. Up, up, up, hundreds, thousands of feet through an amber haze of sunlight, streaked here and there with bright tints and shades. Magic seemed to touch everything. Dick was obsessed with a sense of unreality, of majestic heights, of vague distances. Along the comparatively level floor of the valley lay only a few inches of snow. The tracks of the pack-train could easily be seen. They were not difficult to follow. There was no danger now of wandering afield and losing their bearings. The mountains shut them in—completely encompassed them. Neither they nor the outlaws could clamber up the unscalable heights. Their onward trek had assumed something of the nature of an outing, a mysterious adventure through unfamiliar scenes. In the hours that passed never once did Dick lose interest in his surroundings. Sleep had revived him and his spirits had risen accordingly. He and his two companions hurried on, conversing as gaily as if they were going to a holiday festival. Day ended with startling suddenness. But the gloomy, threatening darkness of the preceding night did not come. It was more radiant, softly nocturnal—a half-moon riding across a bedecked, star-sprinkled sky. Crackling northern lights. Clear, crisp, exhilarating air. The only obscurities lay along the shadowed walls of the valley, in the deep recesses and fissures of the rocks. Day after day, they fared westward amid scenes of grandeur and magnificence. Never did they approach closer than a mile or two to the outlaws. At night very often they could see twinkling campfires ahead. Frequently, on clear days, they perceived the pack-train itself—tiny black dots, crawling like ants over sugar or white sand. Once, climbing to the commanding position of a huge crag, for nearly an hour Dick watched the progress of the cavalcade. Outside of these minor incidents, there was little of importance to distinguish one day from another. Fortunately, there had been no marked change in the weather. They were forced to conserve their supplies, but now and again ptarmigan were secured, making a much appreciated change in the monotony of their diet. On the morning of the tenth day the valley widened out and by evening they had made their way out of the pass into a country of rugged and broken contours. Soon the forest encroached. Then the topography of the land became less undulating, less forbidding. In the breath of the wind they could smell the unmistakable tang of the Pacific. It was shortly after this that a most mysterious incident occurred. It was afternoon, of a calm, sunshiny day, and only a few hours previous they had picked up a well-marked trail, leading to the westward. The pack-train—they had good reason to believe—was less than a mile ahead; and Dick and his two companions were moving along slowly, when, unexpectedly to their right, scarcely a hundred yards back from the trail, they perceived a log cabin. Upon closer approach, they saw that the place was inhabited. A thin spiral of smoke curled up from the mud chimney. Outside, stretched on convenient drying-frames, were pelts of various wild animals. Invariably cautious, Rand decided not to go in, even though his visit might have been rewarded by a goodly supply of fresh meat. “I hate to risk it,” he informed the boys. “No telling who lives there. I’ve no desire to advertise my presence. We’d better conquer our curiosity and our appetites and keep right on.” They were now directly opposite the cabin. Dick and Toma turned longing eyes in its direction. “Look! Ponies!” exclaimed Toma. “Where?” sharply demanded Rand. The guide pointed. Back in the heavy underbrush, near the edge of a natural clearing, were three ponies staked out in the snow. The policeman’s face instantly became serious, though for what reason Dick could not decide. From that moment, he grew more and more thoughtful. Once or twice, as Dick looked his way, he saw Rand shake his head. But in the interest of new scenes, Dick quickly forgot the incident. It was fully an hour later before it was brought again to his attention. “Queer thing about those ponies,” Rand mused aloud. “Seldom that these trappers keep any around. It puzzles me.” “It does seem strange,” agreed Dick. “Can’t imagine what use a trapper would have for them.” A few miles farther on they passed a second cabin, almost identical to the first. Here too was the same phenomenon—except that at this place there were two ponies instead of three. So amazed was Rand that he stopped short and scratched his head in perplexity. “This is a new one on me,” he scowled. “I’ve travelled thousands of miles through the North, met every type of trapper, both Indians and white men, but this is the first time I have ever witnessed this incongruity. Trappers with ponies! Dog teams—yes! But ponies never! Can you explain it, Toma?” “No. I not understand, corporal.” Twice, during the next two days, the incident was repeated. They passed other trappers’ shacks where there were ponies. However, now the thing had become such a commonplace occurrence that they ceased to marvel at it. New interests occupied their attention. The trail had widened and had become almost a road. Indian villages were passed. They saw totem poles. They crossed a river. Obliterated now were the tracks of the pack-train. More and more traffic with each succeeding day. One morning Dick made a suggestion. “Don’t you think we ought to hurry along and catch up to them, corporal? They may be travelling faster now and may give us the slip. We can slow down again as soon as we catch sight of them.” “Good idea,” responded Rand. There ensued a long period of forced marching, during which the little party hardly took time to eat or sleep. Hour after hour, they hurried on. The pace began to tell. Nearly fifty-four hours later, climbing to a height of land, they saw stretching out before them, perhaps not more than ten miles away, the huge, broad expanse of the ocean. But nowhere along the trail ahead was there a sign of the pack-train. Corporal Rand’s face shadowed with apprehension. “Something mighty queer about this,” he pronounced. “I can’t understand it. I’m beginning to feel like a fool.” “But what do you mean, corporal?” “The pack-train—” the policeman’s voice caught. “Yes. Yes,” persisted Dick. “What about it?” Rand rubbed a hand across his troubled forehead. “Just this, Dick: I can’t believe that the outlaws have been able to gain so quickly on us. I wonder what has happened.” “They must be ahead somewhere. We’ve followed them all the way. They couldn’t just disappear in thin air.” Before replying, the corporal brushed the snow from a flat rock and sat down. “That’s the natural hypothesis. But the facts don’t seem to bear it out.” “You mean—” “I mean,” said the policeman, “that we’ve been hoodwinked. They’ve contrived somehow to give us the slip. I’m positive we won’t find them ahead. Do you suppose we passed their camp during the night?” |
|
