  A belated breakfast followed the swim. Greatly refreshed, both in mind and body, Dick and Sandy repaired to the shade of an ancient spruce to discuss the plans for the day. Toma, who had struck up a close friendship with the young Indian, had betaken himself to the village in an effort to gather the information that Sandy’s morbid curiosity seemed to require. “We ought to go back to the mine as soon as possible,” said Dick. “I’m anxious to see how things are, and especially to find out about the moose-hide sacks. I doubt very much whether they’re still stored in the main shaft. The chances are that Henderson and his men attempted to take them with them when they were driven from the mine.” “I hope we’ll be able to find them,” Sandy responded. “If they’re not buried under the charred remains of the cabin that must now be littering the main shaft, we may have to search the entire north side of the plateau.” “Another reason why we ought to hasten back to the mine,” Dick pointed out, “is because your Uncle Walter and the mounted police are scheduled to arrive there in the next day or two.” “But what makes you think that?” asked Sandy. “Henderson himself said so. One of his Indian runners came in with the news the night before we were captured by the outlaws. That was the reason why Henderson was in such a hurry to strip the mine, as he called it, and make his ‘get-away’.” Sandy nodded and lapsed into a short silence. “You’re right, Dick. We ought to hurry back,” he finally broke forth. “If Uncle Walter and Corporal Richardson arrive at the mine during our absence, they’ll be terribly alarmed. Everything there is in an awful mess. The cabin’s burned. Here and there, they’ll come across signs of the Indian attack. They may possibly find a few dead bodies of the outlaws. You can guess what they’ll think has become of us.” “Yes,” shuddered Dick, “I know what they’ll think. It wouldn’t occur to them that we’d been taken by the Indians.” “Why not return today?” suggested Sandy. “We’ll try to, Sandy. I only wish that there was some way that we could talk to the chief’s son and explain matters to him. If we hurry away he may think that we don’t appreciate his kindness.” Sandy gazed thoughtfully at his chum for a few moments, then rose decisively to his feet. “Well, it can’t be helped. Let’s go over to the village and see if we can find Toma. He’s right in his element now. It would tickle him pink if we would decide to remain here for the rest of the summer.” Dick laughed as he swung into step beside his friend. “You’re wrong there. Toma may enjoy a day or two of this, but the novelty would soon wear off. He’s on the job day and night. Besides, he’s troubled with a secret ambition.” “What is it?” “He hopes some day to become a mounted police scout like Malemute Slade. It’s about all he lives for. He’ll be the proudest mortal in seven kingdoms and fourteen republics if they ever decide to give him a chance.” “And he’d make good, too,” said Sandy. “I know it. In some respects he’s almost as clever as Malemute Slade right now. Corporal Richardson and Inspector Cameron are keeping an eye on him. It’s hard to get good scouts for the mounted.” The subject of this short but complimentary appraisement came suddenly in view, accompanied by the chief’s son. Both were smiling in great good humor as they approached. “I make ’em pretty good talk,” Toma proudly announced. “I find out where Indian take Baptiste an’ Henderson. Where you think?” “I can’t imagine,” replied Dick. “Thunder River.” “Thunder River!” exclaimed Sandy. “What for?” “I suppose,” said Dick, “they intend to drown them or else throw them over a cliff.” “No,” said Toma, shaking his head, “Indian do better thing than that. Big men an’ chief decide about that last night. You remember ’bout little canoes chief gave to Baptiste and Henderson?” “Yes, I remember you mentioned it.” “When he give ’em Baptiste, Henderson little canoes he mean by that a certain thing. He mean they take voyage on river. He send ’em down river.” “How kind of the dear old chief,” said Sandy sarcastically. “Not so kind you think,” retorted Toma. “Indians take Baptiste, Henderson to bad place in river. Put each one in different canoe, then push canoe away from shore. No paddle! Nothing! God swim along under the water——” “What!” shouted Dick and Sandy in unison. “What did you say?” “God swim along under the water,” calmly repeated Toma, “an’ if he see man in canoe very bad he tip it over. Mebbe man not very bad, so he no tip.” “What makes you think that God swims in the water?” Dick inquired, suppressing a smile. “Indians see him many times—they tell me that.” “A river manitou,” said Sandy, winking slyly at Dick. “I’ve heard of him before. Do you suppose he’ll permit Henderson and Baptiste to pass safely through the rapids?” “No can tell.” Toma shook his head gravely. “Sometimes bad fellow from tribe get through, but not very often. This afternoon we find out about Baptiste, Henderson. You see for yourself. Indian get ready go Thunder River pretty soon. Chief’s son he like it we go along.” “But we ought to return to the mine, Toma. Factor MacClaren and the mounted police are almost due now, and we’d hate to miss them.” The guide’s face clouded with disappointment. From his expression and actions it was evident that he looked forward to the ordeal at the river with considerable anticipation. “Chief’s son feel bad you no go,” he declared disconsolately. “It can’t be helped,” Sandy interjected. “You must explain to him somehow. Tell him we’d like to stay and would gladly go with him to the river if we weren’t expecting the arrival of friends at the mine.” Toma performed the unpleasant task with his usual willingness. He had some difficulty, however. At the first attempt the chief’s son stared blankly at the perspiring interpreter, unable to translate the confusing jumble of words, signs and gestures the guide showered upon him. Toma had nearly exhausted his supply of ideas before he succeeded in making himself understood. Dawning comprehension showed itself in the quickly brightening features, then suddenly a smile rewarded Toma for his efforts. With a good-natured grunt he turned, motioning to the boys to follow, and led the way to a small clearing in the woods, where a herd of Indian ponies, picketed in the long grass, raised their heads and snorted in affright. Dick and Sandy paused in wonder. “Can you beat that!” gleefully shouted the latter. “He’s going to lend us ponies, Dick. If that isn’t the last word in kindness and generosity, I’ll eat Toma for dinner.” “If that is really his intention, we’ll get back to the mine in a hurry,” chuckled Dick. “You bet!” grinned Toma. “We ride fast. What you say if Toma tell him thank you.” “You can fall on his neck and kiss him if you like,” said Sandy, jumping about and clapping his hands in delight. “By George, he’s a true sport if there ever was one. Just for this I’m going to give him my jack-knife and pocket mirror.” The suggestion seemed a good one and the three boys turned out their pockets and took inventory of the contents. Sandy handed over the mirror and knife with an elaborate bow; Dick parted with his pocket-compass without a single sigh of regret, while Toma’s contribution consisted of a much-prized mouth-organ, two steel fish-hooks and a string of glass beads. The young Indian was so overcome by this liberality that his hands shook as he examined each object in turn. The harmonica especially enthralled him. He listened to Toma’s expert piping on this, the most favored of all musical instruments among the Indians in the North, with eyes that grew bright with pleasure, and broke forth at the conclusion of the short concert with an awed expression of approval. Less than an hour later, loaded down with fresh meat and fish, a gift from the Indians, and with the shouts and plaudits of a large crowd that had gathered to see them off, the young adventurers turned the heads of their ponies southward and cantered away. The chief’s son accompanied them for several miles before he waved his final farewell. As the horse and rider disappeared in a turn of the forest path, Dick heaved a sigh of regret. “I hated to see him go,” he confided to Sandy, “I wonder if he’ll ever come over and visit us at the mine.” “I sincerely hope so.” “He come all right,” Toma assured them. “He tell me mebbe he ride over tomorrow to see how we get along.” A few miles farther on the forest thinned out and presently they rode forth across an open prairie. To the south lay the plateau. Far to the westward, a chain of purple-belted hills extended back to meet the rugged slope of Dominion Range. In this direction, above the horizon’s broken rim, they could discern plainly many snowy mountain peaks. “It take about three hours to get back to mine,” guessed Toma. Dick, gazing away in the direction of the plateau, nodded his head. “Yes, it shouldn’t take much longer than that.” He paused, squinting in the bright morning sunlight. “I wonder if my eyes are deceiving me,” he suddenly broke forth. “What are those dark spots a little west and south of here? Looks to me like a band of horsemen.” “Unless it’s a whole tribe of Indians on the march—it couldn’t be that,” Sandy interposed, reining up his pony. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a big herd of cattle.” “Caribou!” trilled Toma, becoming suddenly tremendously excited, and almost falling off his mount as he craned his neck in order to get a better view. “Pretty soon you see something mebbe you never forget. Only one time before I watch ’em big caribou herd.” Dick and Sandy had often been told about but had never witnessed one of the most interesting and marvelous sights to be seen in the far North—a migrating herd of caribou! Almost as numerous as the bison or American buffalo that once roamed over the western plains of the United States, twice a year—south in the autumn, north in the spring—these sleek, antlered beasts, that very much resemble the reindeer of northeastern Europe, formed themselves into vast herds and started forth on the inevitable trek to new grazing grounds. Dick’s breath caught with excitement as he followed their slow, unhurried course. On and on they came in a dense, black wave, pouring out over the prairie in one long, seemingly endless column. Their thundering hooves shook the earth. Had the boys possessed rifles and been less kind-hearted, they might easily have slaughtered hundreds of the mild-eyed, forward-surging animals without leaving a single gap in the line. “In all my life I’ve never seen anything so wonderful!” Sandy gasped. “Neither have I,” admired Dick. “I can believe now the story that Malemute Slade told me one time. He and a mounted policeman, named Corporal Casserley, were proceeding north through the first heavy snow of early winter when they met a huge herd of caribou travelling south. For three hours they stood shivering in the cold, waiting for the herd to go by. Finally, they were forced to build a campfire and erect a shelter. It was not until noon of the following day that the last of the herd passed and Slade and Casserley were permitted to proceed on their journey.” “I’d hate to ride out in the path of the caribou,” Sandy declared, as he turned his pony’s head. “It might cause them to stampede.” “It would be very apt to,” Dick replied. “Personally, I haven’t any desire to be trampled under their hooves. In preference to being chopped into mince-meat, I think I’ll steer my course more to the east and avoid them.” “I think like that too,” smiled Toma. “What you say we hurry along now an’ get back to mine. Pretty soon we get hungry an’ no like to stop an’ build campfire then. Much better we travel fast an’ cook ’em big dinner soon we get there.” “And I want to get there before Uncle Walter arrives,” remembered Sandy. “I don’t think we’ll find them at the mine,” said Dick. “They’ll be in exactly the same boat that we were. They won’t know where the mine is. During the last hour or two I’ve been turning things over in my mind, and I’ve just about come to the conclusion that our best plan is to go right on past the plateau to Thunder River, where we made the crossing. I’m sure we’ll meet them sooner by doing that.” “Of course we will. Funny I never thought about it But that means, Dick, that we have a longer ride ahead of us than we first expected. Even by forced travelling, we won’t reach the river much before night.” “Yes, that’s true.” “And we’ll have to stop to graze the ponies, not to mention preparing our own lunch.” “Yes.” “Then, let’s hurry!” With a last look at caribou, they dug their heels into their impatient mounts and sped southward, whooping like three cowboys. |
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