  “That moose was very far north,” said Gordon Duncan, as they sat dreaming by the fire after their first meal of moose steak. “One seldom finds them here. He was alone. Moose and men are like that sometimes. They prefer to live alone. Timmie was that way. He longed for solitude.” The old man’s eyes were half closed. He appeared to be living in the past. “Yes,” he mused, “Timmie liked me. He promised to wait for me back there behind the mountains. But he liked to be alone. He’s waiting there still, behind the mountains.” Johnny’s lips were parted for a question regarding this long lost partner and the green gold, but feeling the pressure of the girl’s hand on his arm, he left the question unasked. “She’s afraid of getting him excited and bringing on another attack,” he thought to himself. That night as he lay rolled in his blankets and the others slept farther back in the cave-like shelter, he fell to wondering about the strange pair. Why had they gone so far into the wilderness? Why had they appeared to be afraid of other human beings? Why, in the end, had they lost all their fear of him and accepted him as a traveling companion? How much was to be expected from the future? Was the old man’s partly told tale of a lost partner and the finding of green gold purely a work of the imagination, a fairy story, or was it all true? Would they find Timmie? Was he waiting still? Would the green gold be there? Was there much green gold? Was it valuable? Was— So, wondering on and on, he fell asleep. Next day, as they entered a narrow valley, after toiling down a treacherous slope, they came quite suddenly upon a well marked trail. Trees had been blazed here and there, and brush cleared away. True, there were no marks of recent travel. Only here and there were signs that told of someone passing weeks, perhaps months before. This trail came from the left, down a narrow ravine, then paralleled the river on its way northward. For a long time after discovering this trail, Gordon Duncan stood quite motionless, apparently buried in deep thought. When at last he led the way onward, it was to take up this trail. This he did in silence. Not a word was uttered by any member of the party. To Johnny this silence was eloquent. What had passed in Gordon Duncan’s mind? Had he read in this freshly discovered trail signs of danger? Had he feared that his plans might be brought to nought? Had he, in the end, decided to risk it, to take the chance, to follow the trail? To all these questions Johnny could find no certain answer. Noon came. They ate a cold lunch, then pressed forward. This day the old man seemed eager and tireless. “There’s more to him than I thought,” Johnny told himself as he mopped his brow. “He may have a trick heart, but he certainly can cover the miles, may live to see us all in our graves yet.” By mid-afternoon they were passing over a level stretch of forest. To the right, the left, before, behind, short stout fir trees stood like sentries. The silence about them was oppressive. Not a branch quivered, not a pine needle stirred. When a white owl rose and went flap-flapping away, his wings beat noisily. In a moment he was gone, and only the steady pat-pat of feet on the trail was to be heard. Then slowly, as in a dream, there came to their overstrained ears a sound. Faint, indistinct, it seemed at first but the approach of wind through the treetops. As they marched straight on this sound took form, the sound of many small tinkling bells. “Bells!” the girl whispered, stopping short in her tracks. “Sleighbells. A dog team.” She clutched at her mackinaw as if to still the beating of her heart. Without a word, the old man turned and marched away at right angles to the trail. There was no concealing their tracks here. The ground was level, the soft snow ten inches deep. Soon, however, they came to a barren ridge. Here they might walk upon rocks. Soon they were lost from sight in a dark clump of fir trees. There, breathing silently, uttering not a word, they waited. “Why all this secrecy?” Johnny asked himself. “They know; I do not.” He felt annoyed by it all. He turned to the girl, and was about to speak when, putting one hand to her lips, she pointed with the other. A stout dog team had appeared down the trail. Behind the sled, clad in the blue trousers and red jacket of the Mounties, trotted a strapping six-footer. “It’s all right.” A look of relief spread over Gordon Duncan’s face. “It’s Corporal Simons of the Mounted. He has been in the wilderness for months. We’ll go to meet him. He may be able to tell us of a way across the river.” “Queer business,” Johnny thought to himself as he followed Gordon Duncan back to the trail. “My old friend Gordon Duncan, as I live!” exclaimed the sturdy Corporal as he caught sight of them. “And Faye. But Man!” he exclaimed. “Why so far back into this great beyond? Is it safe? You with your bows and arrows.” “No place is far in this fair land of ours,” said Gordon Duncan. “As for the bows and arrows, you’ll find fresh meat in our packs.” “That’s more than you’ll find in mine,” said the Corporal, “but I’ve been traveling light and fast on the King’s business. Sad business it is to be, I fear. But say! The sun is about down. Back on my trail a half mile or so is a cabin of a sort. There’s a rough fireplace and a Dutch oven on the hearth. I thought of putting up there for the night. Since you’re here I’ll turn back. When a man’s been on the trail among Indians and Eskimos he welcomes a woman’s hand at the cooking. I’ve a few supplies back there.” He gave Faye a warm smile. “But who is this?” There was a note of distrust in his tone as he spoke. He had seen Johnny for the first time. “Only another nimrod we picked up by the way,” said Gordon Duncan. “Well, we’ll be getting on. Gee!” the Corporal spoke to his leader. The team whirled about. Grasping Faye’s pack, the driver dropped it on the sled, then tossed her after it. “No sort of thing for a girl to be doing,” he grumbled, “packing her way through these wilds.” An hour later Johnny found himself seated at the corner of a rude stone fireplace. Before the fire, enjoying their pipes, sat Gordon Duncan and the Corporal. From the hearth came delicious odors. From the Corporal’s meager supply of stores Faye had secured the proper ingredients for a cake. It was now browning to a turn in the Dutch oven. As the boy sat there dreaming and wondering about many things he caught the voice of the Corporal. He was telling of some recent happening. “What do you suppose happened to the trader?” he demanded of Gordon Duncan. “Anything might. Snow-blindness, blizzard, wolves, an overflow on the river.” “Fact is he didn’t arrive.” The Corporal’s voice rose. “Those Caribou Eskimos have come to depend upon him for ammunition. So there they are. And there they’ll be starved in their tents. I can do nothing for them. Should I try to return with supplies it would be too late.” “It’s as I have always said,” Gordon Duncan’s tone was low and deep. “The natives are better off without us. They lived before we came. How? By the bow, the spear, the snare and the deadfall. But now we have taught them to use firearms and if there is no ammunition they must starve. “Two hundred miles, did you say?” He rose and began pacing the cabin floor. “It is incredible that men should starve when we are so near. There must be a way.” “But there is no food here,” said the Corporal. “A dozen rounds of provision here in this cabin. You chanced on a moose yesterday; otherwise you would be hungry, too.” “But the caribou will be flooding in from the Southwest.” “In another month, perhaps sooner. What does it matter? I do not have ammunition. Neither do you. You have only your bows and arrows.” “Corporal Simons,” the old man paused to bang the table with his fist, “with bows and arrows we will save them. This young man, if he will, and Faye will go with me. We will show you what primitive weapons will do.” “Calm yourself.” The Corporal’s tone showed consternation. “You wouldn’t drag a young woman into that barren land. I tell you they are starving. Desperate. Who can say what they might do? And after all,” he added, “they are but Eskimos, mere savages. It is sad, but the world will not miss them.” “There are no savages,” said Gordon Duncan, resuming his place by the fire. “In the eyes of the All Seeing One, all men are the same. In the past many a white man, many a member of your force, has owed his life to these simple people. Is it not so? Then we owe them their lives in return.” It was evident to Johnny that the Corporal knew something of Gordon Duncan’s state of health, for at a look from Faye he said no more. A half hour later they were seated round a rough board table graced by such a feast as only a Scotch girl accustomed to the wilds could have spread before them. The evening meal over, Gordon Duncan dropped into a great rustic chair before the fire. As Johnny watched he saw the old man start as a change came over him. A battle of conflicting emotions played across his expressive face. Twice he half rose in his chair. Many times he clenched his fists tight. Three times he turned to speak to the Corporal. At last, as he sank down deep in his chair, a look of resignation came over his face. Peace now reigned where a battle had raged. He was soon sleeping in his chair. Johnny could not read all the story that had been recorded there. He knew too little regarding the two possible courses of action that lay before them and the purposes and emotions that were back of them. He did know that an idea had taken possession of Gordon Duncan. He had had a partner in the past. They had found some metal. He called it green gold. Was it? Whatever it was, the whole soul of the old man had been bent on finding that partner and his treasure. Now a man, an officer of the law, had told him of a starving people. He had at once conceived of a plan for helping them. Just what those plans were Johnny did not clearly know. Of one thing he felt certain. Having observed the old man and understanding something of his deep convictions, he felt sure that he would feel compelled to go to the aid of those who faced starvation. “Faye will go,” the old man had said. “Will I?” Johnny asked himself this question in all seriousness, but did not attempt to answer it. He had seen much of life, had lived in many climes; but to go into the great white wilderness to a desperate tribe of starving half savages in the company of an old man and a girl, armed only with bows and arrows— “What good could we possibly do?” he asked himself. The simple household duties of the cabin done, Faye joined them beside the fire. She had been sitting there but a short time when a great shaggy dog, one of the Corporal’s team, rose from the floor and approached her. After kissing her hand he laid his shaggy head in her lap. “He knows you,” said the Corporal in surprise. “Yes,” she said. “He used to belong to a next door neighbor. You must have bought him from that man. We are great friends,” she said, addressing the dog. “Aren’t we, Tico?” At the sound of the name Tico, the dog gave forth a low woof, then stood staring intently into her eyes. “Tell you what,” the Corporal said quite suddenly. “I’ll give him to you. Then if you go—” he hesitated, “wherever you go, he’ll be company, protector and guide. “He’s not much account in the team, anyway,” he added half apologetically. “Too old when I took him. Dogs need to be trained young.” “I—I—why, thank you! That would be grand, wouldn’t it, Tico?” The dog woofed again; then, as if he had understood everything that had been said, dropped to a place at her side. “So now we are four,” Johnny thought to himself as, rising from his place he took up the axe and went out into the night to gather a fresh supply of fuel. When he returned Gordon Duncan was still fast asleep. Sitting quite close to the girl, the Corporal was talking in low tones. As Johnny took his place he caught the word cabin. A little later a boat was spoken of, then timber and a broad tundra. Taking the stub of a pencil and a sheet of paper from his pocket, the officer drew what was likely to be a rough map. Johnny understood in a general way what was happening. The Corporal realized that he had, without intending to do so, stirred up in Gordon Duncan’s breast a fire not easily quenched. He had so worked upon his almost exaggerated sense of duty that he would be driven to attempt the seemingly impossible. Without adding fuel to the flames by giving the old man a detailed description of the route to be taken, he was imparting that knowledge to Faye Duncan. “Well thought out and mighty decent of him,” was Johnny’s mental comment. With that thought uppermost in his mind, he went about the business of preparing for a night’s repose. |
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