  Dick, Sandy and Toma hurried over to the Indian encampment in the afternoon of the same day the dog drivers had deserted them. Toma, it was decided, would act as interpreter, while Sandy—as he expressed it—merely trailed along to lend his moral support and to give advice. “You must offer them unheard of wages for the trip,” reasoned Sandy. “We must give them presents and supplies. These Indians don’t know the meaning or value of money, so you’d better make them an offer they can understand. I’d start out by offering each one a brand new rifle and a winter’s grub-stake, also some bright-colored cloth for the squaws.” “That not bad idea,” Toma approved. “I tell ’em that. I do my best. I say plenty. Make ’em good speech.” “You can say anything you like,” Dick instructed him, “but don’t promise them anything we can’t give.” So Toma, in his role of employment agent, made a round of the tepees. He was received warmly and, thus encouraged, waxed eloquent. He described to them the vast number of beautiful and useful things that could be obtained in the stores at the mission: Fruits (dried), of delicious flavor, from lands beyond the seas; meat from animals they had never tasted (pork); flour in large quantities for the making of bannock; sugar, both brown and white. Then, taking a new tack, for the benefit of the women, he told them about the multi-colored fabrics of wool and silk and cotton, of ornaments for the fingers and beads for the neck, of things that pleased and delighted the eye. The Indians sat in open-mouthed wonder as Toma went breathlessly on with his fanciful description of the gifts that might be theirs if only the young men would assist them in driving the dog teams to Keechewan. And in order to convince them of the sincerity of his intentions, at Dick’s request, he offered each of the families a small quantity of tea, sugar and bacon, to be delivered at once. The leader of the Indians at the encampment made a quick calculation. Besides himself, he told Toma, there were eight able-bodied hunters. They could spare a few of these. Perhaps half could go. They would be very glad to help their white brothers. They would appreciate the gifts described. Toma and his friends could be assured of their co-operation. A surge of happiness ran through Dick as he listened to the leader’s words. Then he bethought him of Lamont, and his face clouded. “Toma,” he directed in English, “tell the leader about Lamont. Ask him if we can leave him here until we return.” After the request had been made, the boys waited expectantly. “Who is this injured brother?” demanded the chief. “A worthless dog,” replied Toma. “He was a traitor to us. He and his companions fought us, and during the encounter I was compelled to shoot him.” The Indian’s face darkened. “Will my brother promise not to shoot any of my people?” Toma hastened to set his mind at rest. Then he asked: “When will your young men be ready to start? We are very anxious to proceed on our journey.” “Tomorrow morning,” answered the leader. In high spirits, the three chums left the Indian encampment and went back to their own camp. Dr. Brady greeted them anxiously. “What luck?” he asked. “I think we have been successful,” Dick informed him. “How many men?” “The leader said four.” “And will they look after Lamont?” “Yes, they gave us their promise. I think we’d better take him over there right away and pitch our tents. Might as well be there as here. Saves running back and forth, and besides, we promised the Indians a small quantity of provisions.” The remainder of the day passed quickly. A place was made for Lamont, and Dr. Brady succeeded in extracting the bullet and washed and dressed the wound. The guide had recovered consciousness by this time and lay staring up at the brown walls of the tepee with dark malevolent eyes. When morning came, the boys rose early and went over to the leader’s tepee, pleased when they found him and his household already awake. “Are your young men ready?” asked Toma. “We wish to start.” For some inexplicable reason, during the night the Indian’s manner had cooled. He received them with little of his former cordiality. “Are your young men ready?” persisted Toma. The leader fixed them with a sombre stare and, to the boys’ surprise and astonishment, shook his head. “They have asked me to inform you that they have changed their minds.” “Changed their minds!” Sandy started back in dismay, while Dick rubbed his eyes, under the impression that he had not heard aright. “They have decided not to go,” repeated the leader. “Toma,” said Dick in hoarse undertones, “tell him to summon those young men and we will talk to them. They must go. They have promised.” The Indian complied with the request. Soon the young men appeared before them and stood awkwardly and shyly beside their leader. But every argument failed to move them. No, they would not go. They must look after their trap-lines. They were very sorry to disappoint their white brothers, but the thing was impossible. In desperation, Toma made a brief summary of his speech of the day before. They were foolish to spurn his offer. He would even increase his reward. Instead of one rifle, he would give them two, and many traps and cartridges. This time, however, his oratory suffered from repetition. The young men were very much interested but not enthusiastic. Only one of the four stepped forward to announce that he would go. Further argument proved useless. “Well,” said Dick, turning to Dr. Brady, “one man is better than none at all. We’ll manage somehow, I suppose. I wonder if this young man knows the way to the mission?” Upon being questioned, the Indian declared that he did. “I will show you the way,” he informed Toma. Disappointed, the boys made their preparations for the start. Soon they were on the trail, their teams doubled up—twelve dogs in one string, pulling two sleighs; ten in another, while the only single team were the six malemutes who pulled the mail sledge. However, they were scarcely out of sight of the encampment, when, looking back, Sandy saw two figures on snowshoes, following them at a rapid rate. “Stop!” he shouted to his companions ahead, immediately checking his own team. They waited until the two figures came up to them, two Indians from the encampment: the leader and, to the boys’ surprise, the young Indian, who wore the service boots and revolver of the mounted police. “What do you want?” demanded Toma. “This young man,” replied the leader, pointing to his companion, “wishes to go with you too.” For a moment, Dick was in a quandary. He required the fellow’s assistance, yet he was afraid to include him in their party. The Indian might be a murderer or a thief. His appearance was against him. He might prove to be a worse customer than Lamont. The leader noticed Dick’s hesitation. “He is a very good man on the trail,” he hastened to assure them. “You will not be sorry if you take him.” “All right,” decided Dick, “he can come along.” After all, he reasoned, it would be just as well if he did. Perhaps they might be able to discover the mystery of those boots. Again the party started forward. With the acquisition of the man in the mounted police boots, they were now able to send one of their number forward to break trail. They hurried quickly along, and by noon had reached a height of land, looking down from which, they perceived the rugged valley of the Wapiti River. At sight of it, the boys’ delight was unbounded. “We’re getting along splendidly,” remarked Sandy. “If only the weather will stay like it is, it won’t be very long now until we reach Keechewan.” “I hope weather get cold,” said Toma. “Weather been warm now for two, three days. If it get cold, make ’em crust on snow. No need to break trail. Then we be able to go along very fast—mebbe fifty, sixty miles in one day. Dogs run all time.” “Yes, that’s true.” But it was not until three days later, after they had crossed the Wapiti and were proceeding northward across a level, wind-swept district, that colder weather actually arrived. A fierce Arctic blast beat down upon them, chilling their blood. Particles of frost hung in the air. Trees cracked, as the intense cold penetrated within, freezing the sap. Yet, though the weather was almost unendurable, Toma’s prophecy had come true, and they were able to speed across the level waste, the miles dropping away behind them. One night, following an intensely bitter spell of cold, they drew up to make camp in the lee of a tree-covered hill. All night long they took turn in replenishing the fires. But even with this help, and wrapped in blankets, fold on fold, they had difficulty in keeping warm. They were glad when morning came. “I hope,” shivered Dick to Sandy, muffling his face in the collar of his fur coat, “that the weather moderates a little before night. This is terrible. It must be fifty below.” “Seems more like seventy-five below to me,” grumbled Sandy, stirring the fire with a long poplar stick, his eyes blinking as a flurry of wind caught the smoke and sent it whirling around him. At this juncture, Dr. Brady came hurrying up, gesturing excitedly. “I’ve more bad news for you, Dick. Just found out. Toma and I made the discovery.” Dick was conscious of a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What is it, doctor?” he finally managed to articulate. “Your team of malemutes is gone, and——” “Oh, you must be mistaken,” interrupted Dick. “They’re here somewhere.” “And the mail sledge is gone too, including all that quantity of vaccine.” Sandy threw up his hands in a gesture of hopeless surrender. “Is that all?” he groaned. “No,” answered the physician more calmly, “the Indian with the mounted police boots is gone too.” Dick gave way to his feeling of despair. He put his head in his hands and rocked back and forth. “I knew it! I knew it!” he moaned. “I knew all the time that I ought not trust that—that miserable thief. I hesitated when his services were offered to me. I’m a fool. Why did I take him?” “What I can’t understand,” Sandy broke forth, “—what I can’t understand, Dick, is why he should take the sledge with the mail. There isn’t a single thing on that sledge that would be of the least value to him.” “Of course, he didn’t know that,” Brady spoke up. “To his simple ignorant mind, those pouches of mail must have contained something of immense value. He’ll be a very sorry, disgusted and probably repentant Indian when he discovers his mistake.” “He’ll be a repentant Indian when I get my hands on him,” stormed Dick, jumping to his feet and pulling his parka in place. “Well, I might just as well go after him.” “He has about three hours start of you,” said Dr. Brady. “The only time he could have left this party was between four and five o’clock, when he was awakened to take his turn in replenishing the fires.” “I’ll unload one of the sledges and take the swiftest team we have,” decided Dick. “Travelling light, I ought to be able to overtake him.” “Can I go with you, Dick?” Sandy asked eagerly. “I’d like to have you, Sandy, but Toma is better on the trail. I must hurry. Every minute counts. Dr. Brady, will you help Sandy pick out and harness a team, while Toma and I unload a sledge? We’ll take our rifles and a few days’ provisions.” In less than twenty minutes, they were ready. The dogs strained at their harness, eager to start. Toma took his place in the front of the sledge, Dick behind. A whip cracked. The voices of Dr. Brady and Sandy called out an encouraging farewell. The huskies leaped forward. |
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