  It was thirty below zero the following morning when two teams of twelve dogs, each drawing sledges, loaded with supplies, departed from the little village of igloos. The warm breath from man and dog turned to vapor in the freezing air, and all were enveloped in a cloud of steam as they trekked eastward along the coastline. Corporal McCarthy had found Sipsa willing to lead the party and had also enlisted the aid of two Eskimo dog drivers, Okewah and Ootanega. The policeman had promised all of them large rewards in tools, rifles, and tents, provided they served him faithfully in pursuit of the “white Eskimo.” “I wonder how soon we’ll pick up the trail,” Sandy spoke from the depths of his frost-rimmed parka. “No telling,” replied Dick through a cloud of steam, “we’re now following the tracks made by the Eskimo who came in last half scared to death. Corporal McCarthy believes these tracks will lead to the place where the white Eskimo and his men attacked those three Eskimos who went after the stolen dog team.” The boys said no more then for the fast pace at which they were traveling took all their breath. For two hours they drove eastward across the snowfields under a gray cloud filmed sky. At the end of this time they came to a narrow defile between huge blocks of ice that had been thrown up by the waves at high tide. They threaded their way among the ice cakes for about a hundred yards when they came upon the scene of a terrible tragedy. “It’s the two Eskimos that failed to come back last night!” Dick’s horrified exclamation was echoed by Sandy while the two policemen and the Eskimos bent over the two huddled forms in the snow. The Eskimos had been killed, and all about them were signs of a deadly struggle. One sledge had been crushed, and its packing torn up and rifled of supplies. Two dogs lay dead, and prowling foxes had torn them to bits. “If this isn’t the work of Fred Mistak, then I don’t know my name!” Corporal McCarthy cried, shaking his fist at the white silent hills. “But we’ll get him, we’ll get him, and he’ll pay a big price!” Dick and Sandy thrilled at the words, and hastened to lend a hand to the burial of the bodies. Two typical Eskimo graves were made by heaping small boulders upon the dead natives in a cairn-like mound, which would keep away the foxes, which had as yet scarcely harmed them, probably because the dogs had satisfied them for the present. To agree with the superstitions of the Eskimos the sledges, weapons and other paraphernalia of the deceased were buried with the dead. “Now that sorry business is over,” Corporal McCarthy addressed the somber company, “we’ll pick up Mistak’s trail and see how fast we can mush. Every man of you keep watch for an ambush. This fellow is about as desperate as they make them, and we’ve already had a taste of his treachery. It’s our hide or his and let’s be careful it’s his. Mush on!” Once more the dogs buckled into the harness and the long Eskimo whips lashed and crackled over many bobbing, white tails. But it was a weary, half-frozen company that camped late that night without sighting the mysterious person they pursued. Dick and Sandy were almost too tired to be hungry once they had thrown up their tupik, or Eskimo tent made of sealskins. Not until they had drunk several cups of hot tea, an indispensable drink in the far north, did they feel anywhere near themselves, and could discuss the doings of the day while munching hard biscuit and pemmican. “I wonder where this trail will end?” Sandy ventured dubiously. “Wish I knew,” rejoined Dick, “but I think the ‘white Eskimo’ will lead us on a real old wild goose chase. He knows more about this country than any of us, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew the lay of the land better than any of these Eskimo guides. Anyway the Eskimos can’t be of much use in tracking that fellow because they believe the ‘white Eskimo’ is an Angekok, or devil. They’re so superstitious that if we once got very close to the fellow we’re chasing, they’d probably lead us astray or run off and leave us alone.” “I guess they believe in ghosts alright,” agreed Sandy, pouring another cup of tea. Dick was about to continue the discussion, when he chanced to look through the opening of their tupik. “Look at that!” he grasped Sandy’s arm tensely. What Dick saw was their three Eskimo hands gathered before their tupik in a private council of some secret purpose. The native drivers were gesturing excitedly with their hands and heads, evidently arguing with Sipsa, the guide. “The drivers seem to be ready to quit right now, the way they act,” observed Sandy. “Well, we can’t go far without them, at least, without a guide. I ought to tell Corporal McCarthy about this.” However, no more were the words out of Dick’s mouth than the police Corporal approached the three Eskimos and scattered them to various tasks. Presently the Corporal joined the boys in their tent and confirmed their fears. “I’m afraid these Eskimos will desert us if we don’t keep close watch of them,” said the policeman. “We’ll all have to take turns on watch tonight, tired as we are. I think Sipsa still is loyal, but the other two are doing their best to make him desert. The ‘white Eskimo’ certainly has them scared.” It was twelve o’clock when Dick Kent’s turn came to stand watch, and it was with some difficulty that he shook the sleep out of his eyes when Constable Sloan spoke to him. “Don’t think we’ll have any trouble tonight after all,” the Constable reassured him. “The Eskimos seem pretty quiet, but be ready for anything and don’t hesitate to call McCarthy and me if anything unusual turns up. Good night.” Dick shivered as he took his post at the entrance of the tupik with rifle in his mittened hands. The dogs were quarreling among themselves where they were leashed to the sledges, and from the Eskimos’ tupik came the muffled sound of voices. They did not seem as quiet now as Constable Sloan had reported them. They were speaking in their native tongue and Dick could not understand what they were talking about. “I’ll just keep close watch of their tent,” he murmured to himself. “If any of them try to sneak away I’ll call the policemen.” An hour passed, the Eskimos quieting down and apparently falling asleep. The vast silence of the far north brooded over the little encampment, when Dick detected, out of the corner of his eye, a movement beyond the huddled dogs. It was like a small animal that had moved across the top of a snowdrift. Dick’s heart skipped a beat as he strained his eyes to catch sight of whatever had appeared. A dog growled, and Dick spoke quietly to the big huskies, getting up and going to them. The leader of the team, a giant malemute, was sitting up, his ears alert, and his nose wriggling as he sniffed the air uneasily. “What is it, old boy?” whispered Dick. “What do you see?” The malemute growled ominously in answer, his hair rising along his back as he scented some sort of danger. Dick looked carefully about camp again, seeking the cause for the dog’s uneasiness, but all seemed peaceful enough. Impulsively, he decided to walk out to the drift where he had seen the suspicious movement, thinking he would find there the tracks of some animal. The drift was only about fifty yards from the sledges where the dogs were tied, and Dick soon reached it. About to go around the drift and investigate, a weird, low call from behind him brought him to an abrupt halt, the blood congealing in his veins at the strangeness of the sound. He turned and looked back at camp. There came a soft swishing sound from the snowdrift he had been about to inspect, and he whirled to see a dark form bearing down upon him. His startled cry was cut off sharply as something hard descended forcefully upon his head and he went down in the snow, thousands of stars blazing before his eyes. But Dick had not been knocked entirely unconscious. He lay still a moment until his senses came back to him, feeling the person who had attacked him leap over him and toward camp. Then came the cries of the aroused camp, mingled with the barking dogs, and above all the shriek of a frightened Eskimo, followed by a wail of fear. Struggling to his feet, Dick saw Corporal McCarthy taking aim at two fleeing figures, and heard his rifle crack. But the policeman was firing into the air, merely to frighten the attackers. Sipsa was struggling in the strong arms of Constable Sloan, and from the mouthings of the frightened native Dick could make out that Sipsa had seen the “white Eskimo.” “Where are the drivers?” Dick shouted to Sandy who was standing as if stunned, his rifle held in his hands. Sandy seemed to regain his wits at that and dived for the Eskimos’ tupik along with Dick. They almost collided with Toma coming out of the tent. “Um gone,” said Toma, “Um run away when seen um ‘white Eskimo.’” The truth of Toma’s statement was soon revealed when a search of the camp and the vicinity revealed no sign of the two drivers, other than their tracks in the snow. “Well,” said Corporal McCarthy, “I guess the ‘white Eskimo’ knows how to scare the wits out of the natives. I don’t suppose there’s any use for us to chase our guides. They’d be of no further use anyway. I hope Sipsa doesn’t take it into his head to follow them when he gets a chance to break away.” “We’re lucky to have whole skins,” Constable Sloan remarked. “My head feels as if it was too big for my parka,” said Dick, manfully fighting off a dizzy spell. “Hurry into your tent and I’ll get the medicine kit,” said Corporal McCarthy. “I want to get going again in an hour anyway. We ought to locate some more drivers tomorrow, and if possible, overtake Mistak, the ‘white Eskimo,’ before he gets another lead on us.” Dick’s head wound proved not serious. His heavy parka had protected his scalp from the blow, which had probably been made with a spear butt. There was, however, a large lump about the size of an egg over his left temple, and it was rather sore. But the young northman would not think of delaying the pursuit, and speedily forgot his slight wound as he hustled about making tea, while Sandy and Toma lent willing hands with the packs and dog harnesses. Within an hour dog and man had partaken of an early breakfast and were mushing grimly along a fresh trail under the midnight sun. “This was a wise move on our part,” Dick told Sandy as they woddled along on their snowshoes. “Mistak won’t expect us to start out so soon and we’ve a good chance to overtake him.” “I get the creeps whenever I think of that Eskimo stealing into camp that way,” rejoined Sandy. “Suppose he is a kind of a devil.” “Nonsense,” replied Dick, “just because these poor, superstitious Eskimos are frightened is no sign you should be. I’ll admit he’s a dangerous character, but he’s no more than a human being, and the mounted will get him in the end.” Sandy was about to reply when an exclamation from one of the policemen silenced him. They had come out on the rim of an ice-bound ridge and below them stretched a vast valley bounded by the sea on the north and filled with age-old ice formations. Directly below them were two dog teams, the drivers of which had apparently not yet detected the mounted police. Dick and Sandy could not forbear a cheer as Corporal McCarthy called for full speed ahead and they drove the dogs yelping down the slope toward the fugitives from justice. At that moment it looked very much as if Fred Mistak’s career of outlawry were doomed already, and the boys prepared themselves for a battle. |
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