 CHAPTER VIII. It was with the feeling of strange misgiving that Marian found herself on the evening of the day they left the wreck, entering the native village of East Cape. Questions continually presented themselves to her mind. What of the bearded stranger? Was he the miner who had demanded the blue envelope? If it were he, if he appeared and once more demanded the letter, what should she say? For any proof ever presented to her he might be the rightful owner, the real Phi Beta Chi. What could she say to him? And the natives? Had they heard of the misfortunes of the people of Whaling? Would they, too, allow superstitious fear to overcome them? Would they drive the white girls from their midst? The last problem did not trouble her greatly, however. They would find a guide at once and begin their great adventure of crossing from the old world to the new world on the ice-flow. An interpreter was not hard to find. Many of the men had sailed on American whalers. They were told by one of these that there was but one man in all the village who ever attempted the dangerous passage of Bering Straits. His name was Obokok. Obokok was found sitting cross-legged on the sloping floor of his skin igloo, adjusting a new point to his harpoon. "'You tell him,' said the smiling college boy, that we want to go to Cape Prince of Wales. Can he go to-morrow?' The interpreter threw up his hands in surprise, but eventually delivered the message. The guide, a swarthy fellow with shaggy drooping mustache and a powerful frame, did not look up from his work. He merely grunted. He say that one, no can do, smiled the interpreter. The college boy was not disturbed. He jingled something in his hand. Marianne who stood beside him saw that he held three double eagles. She smiled, for she knew that even here, the value of yellow disks, marked with those strange pictures which Uncle Sam imprints on them, was known. The man, dropping his harpoon, began to talk rapidly. He waved his hands. He bobbed his head. At last he arose, sprang from his sleeping compartment, and began to walk the space before the open fire. He was still talking. It seemed as if he would never run down. When at last he had finished and had thrown himself once more upon the floor of the sleeping room, the interpreter began. He say that one. He say, want to go Cape Prince Wales, two months, three months, all right, maybe. Go now, not go. He say that one. Want to go now, never come back. He say that one, two, three, four days, come ice. Not plenty ice, say that one. Some water, some ice. See water? Too much water. Want to cross? No cross. Quick starve, quick freeze. He say that one, tide crack spirit all a time, lift ice. Push ice this way, that way. Want to kill man, no can go. He say that one, great dead whale spirit, want to lift ice. Want to throw ice this way, that way, all way. Want to kill man, man no go, Cape Prince Wales. He say that one, want to go Cape Prince Wales, maybe two months, maybe three months, maybe can do, can't tell, he say that one. The college boy smiled a grim smile and pocketed his gold, which all means, he said, that the ice is not sufficiently compact, not well enough frozen together for the old boy to risk a passage, and that will be obliged to wait until he thinks it's OK. Probably two or three months, meanwhile welcome to our village, make yourselves at home. He threw back his shoulders and laughed a boyish laugh. Oh, exclaimed Marion, ready to indulge in a childish bit of weeping. Yes, smiled the boy, but think of the sketches you'll have time to make. No canvas, she groaned. That's easy, use squares of this seal skin the women tan white for making slippers. The very thing, exclaimed Marion, she was away at once in search of some of this new-style canvas in her eagerness to be at work on some winter sketches of these most interesting people, quite forgetting the peril of natives, the danger of the food supply giving out, the probability of an unpleasant meeting with the bearded stranger. Lucille, always of a more practical frame of mind, at once attacked the naughty problem of securing comfort and food for her little party. The question of a warm shelter during these months of sweeping winds and biting frost was solved for them by the aged chief, Nipahsak. He furnished them with a winter igloo. An interesting type of home they found it, and one offering great comfort. An outer covering of walrus skin was supported by tall poles set in a semi-circle and meeting at the top. The inside of this teepee-like structure was lined with a great circling robe of long-haired deer skin. The hair on these winter skins was two inches long and matted thick as felt. When this lining had been hung, a floor of hand-hewn boards was built across the rear side of the enclosure. This floor, about six by eight feet, was covered with a deer skin rug, over which were thrown lighter robes of soft fawn skin and out-of-season fox skins. Above this floor were hung curtains of deer skin. This sleeping room became a veritable box of long-haired deer skins. When it was completed the girls found it, with a seal-oil lamp burning in it, warm and cozy as a steam-heated bedroom. Who could dream of anything so comfortable in a wilderness like this, murmured Lucille, before falling asleep in their new home on the first night? Fai was given a place in the chief's sleeping-room. The space in the igloo before the girl's sleeping-room was given over to stores. It was used, too, as a kitchen and dining-room. Here by a snapping fire of dwarf willows, the three of them sat on the edge of the sleeping-room floor and munched hard tack, or dipped baked beans from tin cans. The problem of securing a variety of food was a difficult one. The supply from the ship was found to be overabundant in certain lines and woefully lacking in others. Variety of beans and sweet-corning cans, some flour and baking powder, but no lard or bacon, some frozen and worthless potatoes, plenty of jelly and glasses, a hundred pounds of sugar. So it ran. Lucille was hard-pressed to know how to cook with no oven in which to do baking and no lard for shortening. She had been studying this problem for some time when one day she suddenly exclaimed, I have it! Drawing on her parka, she hurried to the chief's igloo and asked for seal oil. Gravely he poured a supply of dark liquid from a wooden container into a tin cup. Lucille put this to her lips for a taste. The next instant she, with great difficulty, set the cup on the floor while all her face was distorted with loathing. Rotten! she sputtered. A year old. Gridden the chief. Always eat'em, so, judge-gees. Thoroughly disheartened she left the igloo, but on her way back she came upon a woman skinning a seal. Seeing the thick layer of fat that was taken from beneath the animal's skin, she hastened to trade three cans of beans for it. Bearing this home in triumph, she soon had the fat frying over a low fire. Seal oil proved to be quite as good cooking oil as lard. Even doughnuts fried in it were pronounced delicious by the ever-hungry fi. Experimenting with native food was interesting. Seal steak was not bad, and seal liver was as good as cav's liver. Polar bear steak and walrus stew were impossible. Wouldn't even make good hamburger was fi's verdict. The boiled flipper of a white whale was tender as chicken, but when a hind quarter of reindeer meat found its way into the village, there was feasting indeed. In a land so little known as this, one does not seek long for opportunities to express strange and unusual things. Marion had not been established a week with the seal in their igloo when an unusual opportunity presented itself. Among the supplies brought from the ship was a well-equipped medicine chest. During her long visits in out-of-the-way places, Marion had learned much of the art of administering simple remedies. She had not been in the village for three days before her fame as a doctor became known to all the village. She learned, with a feeling of great relief, that the bearded stranger who had posed as a witch doctor had gone away from the village. After he had gone toward whaling or south toward some other village, no one appeared to know. Now that he had departed, it seemed obvious that she was destined to take his place as the village practitioner. It was during one of her morning clinics, as she playfully called them, that a native of strange dress bought his little girl in for treatment. The ailment seemed but a simple cold. The prescribed cough syrup and quinine then called for the next patient. Patients were few that morning. She soon found herself wandering up the single street of the village. There she encountered the strange native and his child. Who are they, she asked of a boy who understood English? Reindeer Chuchkis. Reindeer Chuchkis, she exclaimed excitedly, where do they live? Oh, maybe fifteen miles from here. They live on the tundra as they used to. Yes. Are they many of them? Not now. Many one time, now very few. Not many reindeer, too much not moss. Plenty starve, plenty die. Ask the Chuchkis, Marian said eagerly, if I make a home with him to see his people. The boy spoke for a moment with the gray visage stranger. He say that one, he say yes, smiled the boy. Tell him I will be back quick. Marian was away like a shot. Tearing into their igloo, she drove Lucille into a score of activities. The medicine chest was filled and closed. Paint stowed in their box, garments packed, sleeping bags rolled up. Then they were away. Air she knew it Lucille was tucked in behind a fleet-footed reindeer speeding over the low hills. Now please tell me where we are going, she asked with a smile. We are going to visit the most unique people in all the world, the reindeer Chuchkis. They are almost an extinct race now, but the time was when every clump of willows that lined the banks of the river, of the far north in Siberia, hid one of their igloos, and every hill and tundra fed one of their herds. Even before the Eskimos of Alaska thought of herding the reindeer, short-haired deer skin and soft-spotted fawn skins were traded across bearing straits and far up along the Alaskan coast. These skins came from the camps of the reindeer Chuchkis of Siberia. Many years ago the Makato of Japan, in the treasures of furs which he decorated his royal family, besides the mink, ermine, and silver fox, had skins of rare beauty, spotted skins, brown, white, and black. These were the fawn skins traded from village to village until they reached Japan. They came from the camps of the reindeer Chuchkis. Now we are to see them as they were many years ago, for they have not changed, and I am to paint them, paint them, think of it. Yes, but, Lucille smiled doubtfully, supposing the ice gets solid while we're gone, suppose Fi takes a fancy to cross without us, what then? Marion's face sobered for a moment, but the zeal of a born artist and explorer was upon her. Oh, fudge, she exclaimed, it won't, he won't, I, why, I'll hurry up, we'll be back in East Cape in no time at all. No wildest nomadic dream could have exceeded the life which the two girls lived in the weeks that followed. Trailing reindeer herd over hills in tundra, camping now in a clump of willows by the glistening ice of a stream, now beneath some shelving rocks, and now in the open, wind-swept tundra, eating about an open fire, while the smoke curled from the top of the dome of the tipi-like igloo they reveled in the strange wildness of it all. Here was a people who paid no rent, no taxes, owned no land, yet lived always in abundance. In the box beside the sleeping platform were tea and sugar. Over the fire hung a copper teacaddle of ancient design. In the sleeping box, which was made of long-haired deer skin, were many robes of short-haired deer skin, fawn skin, and Siberian squirrel. To all these the girls were made more than welcome. Their guide and his daughter did not live alone. A little tribe whose twenty igloos dotted the tundra traveled with him. These people were sometimes in need of simple remedies, for these they were singularly grateful. They, their women, and their children, posed untiringly for sketches. But one thing Marion had not taken into consideration. These people seldom visited the village of East Cape. Although she did not know it, their herds were at this time feeding away from their trading metropolis of the Straits region. Each day, while she seized every opportunity to sketch, and hastened her work as much as she could, found them some ten miles farther from the Cape. When at last, by signs, and such native words as she knew, she indicated to her native friends that she was ready to return to East Cape, they stared at her in astonishment, and indicated by a diagram on the snow, that they were now at a point three days journey from that town, and that none of them expected to return before the moon was again full. No amount of gesturing and jabbering could make them understand that it was necessary for the girls to return at once. We'll never get back, Marion mourned in despair, and it's all my fault. Oh, we'll make it still, encourage Lucille cheerfully. Probably the Straits are not fully frozen over anyway. However, after a week of inaction, even Lucille lost her cheerful smile. One morning, after they had reached what appeared to be the final depths of despair, they heard a cry of Toma'i, Toma'i, Toma'i, rise in a chorus from among the tents. By this they knew that visitors had arrived. They hurried out to find the villagers grouped about three fur-clad figures, standing beside three reindeer hitched to sleds of a strange design. By a few words and by signs they were made to understand that these people came from a point some two hundred miles further north, a village on the north coast of Russia. As ever, eager to look upon some new type, Marion crowded through the throng when, to her immense surprise, the smaller of the three in reality only a boy, sprang forward and kneeling at her feet, kissed the fur fringe of her parka. This action, so unusual among these natives, struck her dumb. But once he had looked up into her face, she understood all. He was none other than the strange brown boy who had come swimming to them from the sea off the coast of Washington. She was so surprised and startled at first sight of him that she found herself incapable of action. It seemed to her that she must be seeing a ghost. It appeared entirely incredible that he should be in this out-of-the-way place when they had left him months before on a deserted island of Puget Sound. Her second reaction was one of great joy. Here was someone who really owed them a debt of gratitude. Might they not hope to receive assistance from him in solving the problem of making their way to the shore of Bering Straits? According to his feet, the boy mingled native dialect with badly spoken English in his expression of joy at meeting them again. At last when the crowd had gone its way, and the girls had invited him to their tent, he told them in the few words of English he had learned since seeing them, and with many clever drawings, the story of his adventures. He was a native of the North Coast of Russia, a faraway point where white men's boats never come. One whale-ship had, however, been carried there by the ice-flows. After trading the natives for furs and ivory, and having found an open channel of water to the east, the captain had kidnapped him and carried him from his home. He had been made the captain's slave. So badly was he treated, overworked, kicked, cuffed and that when at last he saw land off the coast of Washington, dressed only in his bird-skin suit, he had leaped overboard when no one was looking and had attempted to swim ashore. The ship had passed on out of sight. He had been swimming for two hours when the girls rescued him, from what was almost surely to have been a watery grave, for he was almost ready to give up hope. He had been missed from the ship, and the captain, fearing the strong arm of the law if he were rescued by others, sent three seamen to search for him along the island. How he had fared with these the girls knew well enough. After leaving the camp of the girls he had wandered in the woods and along the beach for two weeks. He had at last been picked up by some honest fisherman who turned him over to the revenue cutter which made Alaskan ports. By the cutter he had been carried to Gnome, and from there he had made his way, little by little, by skin-boat, dog-team, and reindeer-back, to his native village. When he had finished telling his story he turned to Marion and said, I do bine, yours, meaning he would like to hear their story. Marion was not slow in telling their troubles. Me, I will take you back, the boy exclaimed as she finished. Today we go. Two hours later with sleds loaded they were discussing two possible trails, one leading down a river where blizzards constantly threatened, and the other a valley trail through wolf-infested hills. The latter course was finally chosen, since it promised to be the least dangerous at that time of year. Then they were away. They had made half the distance to the village. Hopes were running high when something occurred that threatened disaster. Far up on the side of the hill, along the base of which they were travelling, there stood here and there a clump of scraggly, wind-torn fir trees. Suddenly there appeared from out one of these clumps of scrub trees a gray streak. Another appeared, then another, and another until there were six. They did not pause at the edge of the bush, but rushed with swift gliding motion down the steep hillside, and their course led them directly toward the little caravan. Six gaunt gray wolves they were, a pack of brigands in the arctic desert. Perhaps Marion, who wrote on the last sled, saw them first, at any rate, before she could scream a warning to him, he had slapped his reindeer on the back, and the sled on which Marion rode shot forward so suddenly that she was nearly thrown from her seat. In driving in the north they do not travel single file, but each deer runs beside the sled of the one before it. The driver, who is to occupy the foremost position, chooses the best-trained reindeer and attaches two reins to his halter that he may guide him. The drivers who follow use but one rein, by jerking this they can cause the reindeer to go faster, but they have no power to guide him. He simply trots along in his place beside the other sled. Marion had thought this an admirable arrangement until now. It left her free to admire the sharp triangles of deep purple and light yellow which lay away in the distance, a massive mountain range whose tops at times smoked with the snow of an oncoming blizzard, or, if she tired of this, she might sit and dream of many things as they glided over the snow. But now, with a wolf-pack on their trail, with the nearest human habitation many miles away, with her reindeer doing his utmost to keep up with the racing-lead deer, that slender jerkline with which she could do so little seemed a fragile lifeline in case of emergency. With wrinkled brow she watched the pack, which now had made its way down the hillside, and was following in full cry on their trail. They were not gaining, her heart was cheered by that. At least she did not think they were, yet, yes, there was one, a giant wolf, a third larger than his fellows, outstripping the others. Now he appeared to be ten yards ahead of them. Now twenty, now thirty. The rest were only holding the pace of the reindeer, but this one was gaining, and there was no mistaking that. She shivered at the thought. It was a perilous moment, and she felt so helpless. She longed to urge her deer to go faster. She could not do that. He was keeping his place with difficulty. She could only sit and hope that somehow the wolf leader would tire of the chase. Even now she was not sorry they had come, but it was unfortunate, she thought, that there were no rifles on their sleds. Adelat had taken with him only an old-fashioned native lance. A sharp steel point set upon a long wooden handle. That was all the weapon they had, and foot by foot, yard by yard, the gaunt gray marauder was coming closer. Marion fancied she could hear the chop-chop of his frothing jaws. Then suddenly came catastrophe. With the mad perversity of his kind her sled-deer suddenly turning from his position beside the sled, whirled about in a wide sweeping circle which threatened to overturn her sled and leave her alone, defenseless against the hungry pack. It was a terrible moment, gripping the ropings of the sled with one hand she tugged at the jerk rain with the other. It's no use, she cried in despair, I can't turn him. One glance down the trail turned her heart faint. Her sled-deer was now racing almost directly toward the oncoming pack. The gray leader was not a hundred yards away. In desperation she threw herself from the sled, and grasping at some dwarf willows as she slid, attempted to check the career of the mad deer. Twice her grip was broken, but the third time it held, the deer was brought round with a wrench which nearly dislocated her shoulder. And now the deer for the first time sent to danger. With a wild snort he turned to face the oncoming foe. A large deer with all his scraggly antlers might hold a single wolf at bay, but this deer's antlers had been cut to mere stubs that he might travel more quickly. With such weapons he must quickly come to grief. It was a tragic moment. Marion searched her brain for a plan, flight was now out of the question, yet defense seemed impossible. There was not a weapon on her sled. Only her heart leaped for joy. The fight was to be taken from her hand. Adelat, with the faithful oversight which he exercised over those entrusted to his care, having seen all that had happened, had whirled his deer about, tied it to Lucille's sled, and now came racing over the snow. He swung above his head the trusty native lance, which meant defeat to so many wild beasts in the days of long ago. But what was this? Instead of dashing right at the enemy, the Eskimo boy was coming straight for the reindeer, and on the opposite side from that on which the wolf was approaching. He doesn't see the leader, Marion groaned. He thinks the rest of the pack are all there are. But in another second she knew this to be untrue. For stooping low the boy appeared to go on all fours as he glided over the snow. He was stalking the wolf even as the wolf was stalking the deer. Realizing that the wolf was planning to attack the deer and not her, Marion set herself to watch a spectacle such as she would seldom witness in a lifetime. She had often seen the antics of the Eskimos and the Chachki hunters as they performed in the Khazki common workroom. During the long arctic nights she had seen them go through this gliding motion which Adalat practiced now. She had seen them turn, leap in the air, and kick as high as their heads with both feet, landing again on their feet with a smile. She had admired these feats, which no white boy could do, but had thought them only a form of play. Now she was beginning to realize that they were part of the training for just such emergencies as this. Now her eyes were on the wolf and now on the boy. As the wolf approached she cringed back to the very end of her jerkline. She saw his red tongue lolling, heard the chop-chop of his iron jaws, and caught the wicked gleam of his eyes. The boy appeared to time his pace, for he came on more slowly. The deer, still facing the wolf, gave forth a wild snort of rage. He appeared to be unconscious of the fact that he was as defenseless as his driver. Now the wolf was but a few yards away. Suddenly pausing he sprang quickly to the right, to the left, then to the right again. Before the deer could recover his bewildered senses the wolf leapt full for his side. But someone else had leaped too. With a marvelous spring the Eskimo boy landed full upon the reindeer's back. Coming face to face with the surprised and enraged wolf, he poised his lance for the fatal throw. But at that instant, with a bellow of fear, the deer bolted. In wild consternation Marion tugged at the skin-rope. In another moment she had the deer under control, and turned to witness a battle royal. The Eskimo had been thrown from the deer's back. Had agile as a cat, he had landed upon his feet and had turned to face the enemy. He was not a moment too soon, for with a snarl of fury the wolf was upon him. For a fraction of a second the lance gleamed. Came a snarl, half of rage, half of fear, as the wolf fell backwards, but he was on his feet again. It was to no purpose. All was over in an instant. Young practice with the lance had given the boy the power to baffle his enemy and send the lance straight to the wild beast's heart. Come! Marion was startled by the sound of his voice at her side. She had managed to retain her hold on the jerkrain. She now felt it being taken from her, knew that she was being lifted onto the sled, and the next moment sensed the cool breeze that fanned her cheek. They were racing away to join Lucille and to continue their journey. As she looked back, she saw the cowardly pack snarling over the bones of their fallen leader, and realized that all danger was past, settled down into her place with a sigh, as she said, that that was a very close one. Too much close, Adelaide smiled back, in north we must go. How you say it, pre, pre, prepared, supplemented, Marion? We'll never travel again without rifles. Oh, yes, maybe, the boy smiled back. Maybe all right, maybe rifle misfire. Him never misfire. He padded first his lance, then the muscles of his strong right arm. Better prepared, think mine. Marion smiled as the brown boy ran ahead to free his own dear, and prepared to continue the journey. Surely, she thought, physical fitness is a great thing. The boy has paid us well for fighting his battles for him on Puget Sound. No further adventures befell them on their journey, but it was with thankful hearts that they saw the familiar outlines of the village at East Cape. As the reindeer came to a stop, they sprang from their sled, but Adelaide made no move to follow them. Me, I go back, he said gravely. You safe, I no stay. But you must rest and eat, remonstrated Lucille, and the reindeers they need rest. Ha! came the answer with a shrug. Better time to rest when all work is done. Me young, reindeers young, we rest at camp. But you must wait till I, I—well, there is something that I, that you— Lucille fumbled for the right words. She sensed that the boy, for all his youth, had a grown-up way of looking at things. There was that talisman she had carried ever since that night he had left them, there on the island of Puget Sound, the three elk teeth set with jade and an uncut diamond. Don't let him go, Marion, until I come back. She darted into their igloo to return an instant later, the odd jewel gleaming in her hand. At sight of it, a smile spread over Adelaide's face. Tch! He chuckled. You must take it back, Lucille demanded. The boy threw back his head and laughed boisterously. It is a charm, he said. Can one chuchkey take back a charm? It will keep you what you say. Safe! Me, I have this. He held up his lance. But you must, urged Marion, in return. Must! Hear you that, reindeer? Haya! Let us go! He waved his lance aloft in farewell. Haya! Mush! he commanded, and the three reindeer broke into the untiring stride that would soon carry them from sight. The two girls stood watching him till, with a last wave of his hand, he disappeared around a hill. Then, alone again, they thought of Phae. I wonder if he has gone on without us, said Marion. I wonder. No, there he is, exclaimed Lucille. He's coming down the hill to meet us. Are—are we too late, Lucille faltered as he reached their side? About six hours, I should say, Phae grinned. Six hours? His nibs, the old chutchkey guide, left for Cape Prince of Wales and all suburban points, some six hours ago. Someone offered him more money than I did. I have a fancy it was your friend, the bearded miner, who wanted my mail. And you waited for us? Naturally since the guide left. But you could have gone sooner. Some three days, I'm told. But you didn't? He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Marion's head whirled. She was torn between conflicting emotions. Most of all, she felt terribly ashamed. Here was a boy she had not fully trusted, yet he had given up a chance to escape to freedom and had waited for them. I beg your pardon, she said weakly. She sat down rather unsteadily on the reindeer sled. We couldn't help it, she said presently. They just wouldn't bring us back. But there's some other way. I've thought of a possible one. I'll make a little try-out, be back in an hour. Fye was off like a flash. A few minutes later the girls thought they heard him calling Old Rover, who had been left in his care. Wonder what he wants of him, said Lucille. I don't know, said Marion. But I do know I'm powerful hungry. Let's go find something to eat. CHAPTER 10 FINDING THE TRAIL I think we can go. Fye smiled as he spoke. His hour for a try-out had expired. He was back. Can we cross the straits? Marion asked, breathless with emotion. I think so. How? Got a new guide. I'll show you. Be ready in a half hour. Bring your pictures and a little food, not much. Wear snowshoes. Ice is terribly piled up. He disappeared in the direction of his igloo. Marion looked about the cozy deerskin home where were stored their few belongings, then gazed away at the masses of deep purple shadows that stretched across the imprisoned ocean. For a moment courage failed her. Perhaps, she said to herself, it would be better to try to winter here. But even as she thought of this, she caught a vision of that time when she and her companion had been crowded out of a native village to shift for themselves. Then too she thought of the possible starving time in the spring after the white bear had gone north and before walrus would come or trading schooners. No, she said out loud. No, we'd better try it. When the girls joined Fye on the edge of the ice-flow they looked about for the guide, but saw none, only Rover barked them a welcome. Where's the guide? asked Lucille. You'll see, come on, said the boy, leading the way. For a mile they traveled over the solid shore ice. They then came to a stretch of water, dark as midnight. At the edge of this was a two-seated kayak. Fye motioned Lucille to a seat, deftly he paddled her across to the other side. It was with a sinking feeling that she felt herself silently carried toward the north by the gigantic ice-flow. Marion and the dog were quickly ferried over. Then, after drawing the kayak upon the ice, the boy turned directly north and began walking rapidly. At times he broke into a run. Have to make good time, he explained, as he snatched Marion's roll of sketches from her hand. Not to get the trail. They did make good time, alternately running and walking, they kept up a pace of some six or seven miles an hour. Why, I thought, thought we were going to go east, puffed Marion, we're just going down the beach. Fye did not answer. They had raced on for nearly an hour when they suddenly came upon a kayak drawn up as theirs had been on the ice. Ah, I thought so, said the boy. Now is the time for a guide. Here over. He seized the dog by his collar and set him on the invisible trail of the men who had deserted that kayak. The dog walked slowly away, sniffing the ice as he went. His course was due east. The three followed him in silence. Presently his speed increased, he took on an air of confidence. With tail up, ears back, he sniffed the ice only now and then as he dashed over great flat pans, then over little mountains of broken ice, to emerge again upon flat surfaces. Marion understood, and her admiration for Fye grew. He had found the trail of the men who had crossed the straits before them. He had put Rover on that trail. Rover could not fail to follow. The trail was fresh, only seven hours old. Rover could have followed one as many days old. Good old Rover, Marion murmured. Good old Rover, a white man's dog. All at once a question came to her mind. They had been obliged to go several miles north to pick up the trail. This was due to the movement of the ice flow. This movement still continued. It was carrying them still farther to the north. The diamede islands, halfway station of the straits, were small. They offered a goal of only two or three miles in length. If they were carried much farther north, would they not miss the islands? She confided her fears to Fye. I thought of that, he smiled. There is a little danger of that, but not much, I guess. You see, I'll try to time our rate of travel and figure out as closely as I can when we have covered the eighteen miles that should bring us even with the islands. Then too, old Rover will be losing the trail about that time. When that bearded friend of yours and his guide leave the flow to go upon the solid shore ice of the islands, the flow is going to keep right on moving north. That breaks the trail, see? When we strike the end of that trail we can go due south and hit the islands. If the air is at all clear, we can see them. It's a clumsy arrangement, but better than going it without a trail. Marion did see, but this did not entirely steal the wild beating of her heart as she leaped a yawning chasm between giant upended cakes of ice, or felt her way cautiously across a strip of newly formed ice that bent under her way as if it were made of rubber. It was a strange wild thrill that she realized they were far out over the conquered sea. Hundreds of feet below was the bed of the Bering Straits. Above that bed a wild swirling current of frigid salt water raced. Once as they were about to cross a stretch of new ice, Fye threw himself flat and hacked a hole through the ice. Water bubbled up while Marion caught the wild surging rush of the current. For a second her knees trembled, her face blanched. Fye saw and smiled. Never fear, he exclaimed, we'll make it all right. And when you get back home you'll have a story to tell that will make Eliza's crossing on the ice seem like a picnic party crossing a trout stream on stepping stones. It was not long after that, however, when even this daring boy's face sobered. The rover who had been following the trail unhesitatingly suddenly came to a halt. He turned to the right, sniffing the ice. Then he turned to the left. After that he looked up into the face of the boy as if to say, Where's the trail gone? Fye examined the ice carefully. Been a sudden jam here, he muttered. Then the ice has slid along some north, some south. It has all happened since our friends passed this way. You just wait here, I'll take rover over to the north and let him pick up the trail. When I find it, I'll come back far enough to call you. Maybe to the south though, but we'll soon see. He disappeared around a giant ice pile and in a twinkling was lost to their view. The two girls placing their burdens of food and Marion's sketches on an upended ice-cake sat down to wait. They were growing weary. The strain of the adventure into this puzzling, unknown ice-field was telling on their nerves. I wish we were safe at Cape Prince of Wales, sighed Marion. Yes, or even East Cape, said Lucille. I think I'd be content to stay there and chance the year with the natives. Anyway, Fye's doing his best, said Marion. Isn't he a strange one, though? Do you think he has the blue envelope? I don't know. Well, I think he has. I don't know, said Lucille sleepily. Fatigue and keen arctic air were making her drowsy. Presently she leaned back against an ice-cake and fell asleep. I'll let her sleep, Marion mused. It'll give her strength for what comes next, whatever that is. One hour passed, but no call echoed across the silent, white expanse. Marion now pacing back and forth across a narrow ice-pan, now pausing to listen, felt her anxiety redoubled by every succeeding moment. What could have happened to Fye? Had some mishap befallen him? Had a slip thrown him into some dangerous crevice? Had thin ice dropped him to sure death in the surging undercurrent? Or had he merely wandered too far and lost his way? Whatever may have happened he did not return. At length, with patience exhausted, she climbed the highest ice-pile and gazed away to the north. The first glance brought forth a cry of dismay. A narrow lane of dark water, stretching from east to west, extended as far as the eye could see in each direction. It lay not a quarter of a mile from the spot where she stood. He's across and can never recross to us, she moaned in despair. No creature could brave that undercurrent and live, and there's no other way. Then as the full terror of their situation flashed upon her, she sank down in a heap and buried her face in her hands. They were two lone girls, ten miles from any land, on the bosom of a vast ice-flow, which was slowly but surely creeping toward the unknown northern sea. They had no chart, no compass, no trail to follow, and no guide. To move seemed futile, but to remain where they were meant sure disaster. As if to complete the tragedy of the whole situation, a snow fog drifted down upon them, blotting out the black ribbon of water and every ice-pile that was more than a stone's throw from them. It swept on to the south with a silence that was more appalling than had been the grinding scream of a tidal wave beneath the ice. Lucille! Lucille! She fairly screamed as she came down to the surface of the pan. Lucille! Wake up! We are lost! He is lost! What had happened to the young college boy had been this. He had hastened to the north in search of the trail. Rover, with nose close to the ice, had searched diligently for the scent. For a long time his search had been unrewarding, but at last, with a joyous bark, he sprang away across an ice-pan. The boy followed him far enough to make sure that he had truly found the trail, and, calling him back, turned to retrace his steps. Great was his consternation when he discovered the cleavage in the flow. Hopefully, he had at first gone east along the channel in search of a possible passage. He found none. After racing for a mile, he turned and retraced his steps to the point where he had first come upon open water. From there he had hurried west along the channel. Another twenty minutes was wasted. No possible crossing-place could be found. He then sat down to think. He thought first of his companions, that they were in a dire plight he realized well, that they would be able to devise any plan by which they could find their way to any shore, he doubted. Yet as he thought of it, his own position seemed more critical. The trail he had found would now be useless. He was north of the break in that flow, landlady to the south of it, he had no way to cross. In such circumstances the dog with his keen sense of smell and his compass with its unerring finger were equally useless. Nothing to do but wait, he mumbled, so he sat down patiently to wait. Yet as he waited, the snow fog settled down over all. CHAPTER XI It was with a staggering sense of hopelessness that the two girls on the bosom of the arctic flow saw the snow fog settling down. It's likely to last for days, and by that time Marian's lips refused to frame the words that expressed their condition when the snow fog lifted. By that time echoed Lucille, but no, we must do something, surely there is some way. Without compass or guide, Marian smiled at the impossibility of there being a solution. Unconsciously she had repeated the first line of an old song, Lucille said over the verse. Without compass or guide, on the crest of the tide, O light of the stars, pray pilot me home. Involuntarily her glance stole skyward. Instantly an exclamation escaped her lips. Oh, Marian! We can see them! We can! We can! What can we see? The stars! It was true. The snow fog, though spread over the vast surface of the ice, was shallow. The stars gleamed through it as if there were no fog at all. Wildly their hearts beat now with hope. If we can locate the Big Dipper, said Lucille, whose astronomical research had been of a practical sort, we can follow the line made by the two stars at the lower edge of the Dipper and find the North Star. All we have to do then is to let the North Star guide us home. This was quickly done, and in a short while they had mapped out a course for themselves which would certainly come nearer bringing them to the desired haven than would the North Wind Drift of the Ice Flow. But Vy, exclaimed Lucille, Marian stood for a moment undecided. Should they leave this spot without him? She believed he would make a faithful attempt to rejoin them. What if they were gone when he came? Suddenly she laughed. Rover, she exclaimed, he can follow our trail. If Vy comes he will have only to follow us. He can travel faster than we shall. He may catch up with us. So with many a backward glance at the gleaming North Star the two girls set their course south by east, a course which in time should bring them in the vicinity of the diameter islands. In their minds however were many questions, would further tide cracks impede their progress? Would the snow fog continue? If it did, would they ever be able to locate the two tiny islands which were after all merely rocky pillars jutting from a sea of ice? Vy did not sit long on the ice pile under the snow fog. He was born for action, something must be done, quickly he was on the run. As he rushed back over the way in which he had come something caught his eye. An immense ice-pan had been upended by the press of the drift. It had toppled half over and lodged across the edge of a smaller cake. Now like an ancient drawbridge it hung suspended over the black moat of the salt water channel. The boy's quick eye had detected a very slight movement downward. As he remembered it now, the cake had made a far more obtuse angle with the surface of the pool a half hour before than it did now. Was there hope in this? Hastily he ranged three bits of ice on one pile, then two on the other. By dropping on his stomach and squinting across these he could just see the tip of the upended cake. If it were in motion the tip would soon disappear. Eagerly he strained his eyes for a few seconds. Then in disgust he closed his eyes. The cake did not seem to move. For some time he lay there in deep thought. He was searching in his mind for a way out. After a while he opened his eyes, more from curiosity than hope. He squinted once more along the line. Then with a wild shout he sprang into the air. The natural drawbridge was falling. Its point had dropped out of line. The shout died on his lips. His eyes had warned him that the channel of water was widening. If it widened too rapidly, if the drawbridge fell too slowly, or ceased to fall at all, hope would die. Moment by moment he measured the two distances with his eye, rover sitting by his side, now and again peering up into his eyes, as if to say, what's it all about? Now the drawbridge took a sudden drop of a foot, hope rose, then again it appeared wedged solidly in place, it did not move. The channel widened a foot, two feet, three feet. Hope seemed vain. But now came a sudden tide tremor across the flow, with a crunching sound the massive cake toppled and fell. The boy was on his feet in an instant. The chasm was bridged. But the cake had broken in two, could he make it? Calling to his dog, he leaped upon the slippery surface. An ever-widening river of water flowed where the cake had split. With one wild bound he cleared it. The dog followed. In another moment they were safe on the other side. It's well over with, the boy's side patting the old dog on the head. Now the question is, how can we find our friends? That indeed was a problem. They had covered considerable ground, the ice had been shifting. To pick up their back-trail seemed impossible. An hour's search convinced him that it could not be done. He sat down in a brown study. He could not go away and leave these girls to drift north and perish, yet further search seemed futile. Just as he was about to despair, Rover began to bark in the distance. Following the sound he came to where the dog was apparently barking at nothing. But as the boy approached, the dog shot away over the ice. A trail, he muttered, following on. The ice was hard and smooth, a soft-skinned muckluck would leave no mark, even the hard toes of a white bear would not scratch it. When the boy had followed for half an hour he thought of these things and paused to consider. What if he were following the meandering trail of a lumbering white bear? And if it happened to be a trail of a human being, was it his own trail, that of the girls, or of the bearded minor in his guide? His compass would tell something. Studying his compass then he walked forward slowly. Fifteen minutes of this told him that this was no white bear's trail. It went too straight ahead for that. Neither could it be his own trail, for he would have come to a sudden turn before this. One thing more was certain. The person, or persons, who made this trail were headed due south by east. They would if they did not change their course in time reach the vicinity of the Diamet Islands. Were they his friends, or the unfaithful guide in his party? This he could not tell. After a few moments' reflection he decided there remained but one thing for him to do, to follow the trail. All right, old dog, he said, let's see where this ends and who's at the end, might be an Eskimo hunter who is wondered far on the ice-flow for all I know, but he'll end up sometime. Moment by moment the scent of the trail they followed grew fresher. He could tell this by the old dog's growing eagerness. At every ice-pile they rounded he expected to catch sight of human figures. Could it be two men, or two girls, he could not tell. Not a chance footprint in soft snow had caught his eye. When he had fairly given up hope of overtaking them, as he speeded around a giant ice-pile he came at once inside of those he followed. So overjoyed was he at the sight of human beings that before determining their identity he shouted cheerly, hey there! The figure nearest him wheeled in his track, then with a fierce growl of a beast he sprang at the boy's throat. So taken by surprise was Phi that he made no defense. He caught a pair of fiery eyes set in a mass of shaggy hair. The next instant he felt himself crashing to the hard surface of the ice. The advantage was all with the man, larger, stronger, older, with the handicap of the aggressor he bade fair to finish his work quickly. The native guide had passed beyond the next ice-pile, Rover had followed. But the boy's college days had not been for naught, he knew a trick or two. As if stunned by the fall he relaxed and lay motionless, seeing this the man took time to plant his knees on the boy's chest before moving his horny hands toward his throat. The next instant, as if thrown by a springboard, the man flew into the air, Phi sprained to his feet, his one thought of escape. Turning he dashed around an ice-pile, then another, and another. But fate was not with him. Just at the moment when he felt that he could elude his pursuer, his foot struck a crevice in the ice and he went sprawling. Even the wild terror was upon him. But this time there came tearing over the ice a new wild terror, and this one his friend. Old Rover, silent and determined, sprang clean at the man's throat. The assailant went down, striking out with hands and feet, and roaring for mercy. Phi dragged the dog off. Get! he said. The man looked surly, but one look at the determined boy and the eager jaws of the dog sent him slouching away. Your sum-dog, the boy laughed at the old leader, well now I'll say you are. When the man had gone, Phi sat down upon an upended ice-cake to rest and think. His logical course was evident enough, to wait for perhaps half an hour, allowing the man, who would doubtless be able to overtake his guide, to get a sufficient distance ahead to prevent any further unpleasant encounters. Still he was glad now to have his rifle as small as it was. He brought only a few cartridges for it as they were an added weight. These had been spilled from his pocket in the scuffle, but by a diligent search he had been able to find five. He was about to abandon the search when, with an exclamation of astonishment, he sprang forward and bending, picked up an envelope. The blue envelope, he exclaimed, my envelope! He must be the bearded minor the girls told me about. It was lucky he tried to assassinate me after all. The envelope had been torn open, but the letter, though blurred with grime and dirt, was still in it. With eager fingers he pulled it out. Couldn't read our cipher, so he was going to gnome for help, I reckon, he muttered. All I've got to say is, it's lucky he lost it and I found it. He read the missive hastily, then a light of hope shown in his eyes. If only I can make it back to the American shore, he exalted. Rover old boy, get back on your job, we're going to the islands. Hopefully he hurried forward, but they had tarried too long. For not a hundred rods from their starting point, they came upon a broad, dark break in the ice flow, such a break as no drawbridge of ice would ever span. And, like the other, its endless thigh groaned, as his eyes swept the line from left to right and from right to left again, then he sat down to think. A half hour before this Lucille had said to Marianne, Listen, I think I hear a dog bark. They listened and the bark came to them very distinctly. Is it Rover, or does it come from the island? asked Lucille. I can't tell, whispered Marianne. For some time they listened. When at last they prepared to resume their journey, Lucille glanced upward again. Then a cry of consternation escaped her lips. The fog had thickened, the stars were lost to them. They were again adrift on the trackless flow without compass or guide. At the moment when Phi sat down to think, they were just coming inside of that same break in the flow on the side of which he sat. They were not a mile apart. But the distance had as well been a hundred miles as, in this labyrinth of ice flows, no person finds another, and, as it turns out, Phi took the trail to the left, and they, the one to the right. When the two girls chose to travel to the right along the break, they could not have told why, nor why they traveled at all, unless because motion quieted their nerves and served to allay their fears. Perhaps there was something of providence in it. Certainly it did bring them a bit of good fortune. Lucille had rounded a gigantic ice-pile when suddenly she gripped Marianne's arm. What's this, she exclaimed? A brown object lay some distance ahead of them. With baited breaths they corrupt cautiously forward, it might be a bear or a walrus. Suddenly Marianne threw up her head and laughed. It's only a kayak. Some eskimo has left it on the ice and the flow has carried it away. Maybe a valuable find, let's hurry, exclaimed Lucille. Going into a run they soon reached its side. Let's explore it, whispered Marianne. You take the forecastle, I'll take the after-cabin. She laughed as she thrust her arm into the open space toward the stern of the kayak. Why, there's something there, she exclaimed. Something here too, answered Lucille excitedly, as her slender white hand tugged away at a bundle which had been thrust into the prow of the boat. Just like going through your stocking Christmas morning, laughed Marianne, for a moment quite forgetting their dilemma in the excitement of discovery. Marianne drew forth a large seal-skin sack. It was heavy and tied tightly at the mouth. It gave forth a strange plop as she turned it over. Some sort of liquid she announced, probably seal oil. With difficulty she untied the strings and opened the sack, then quickly pinched her nose. Phew! What a smell! Let's see, said Lucille, dropping the bundle she had just dragged forth. Yes, it's seal oil. That's a good find. Why, we can't use the stuff. It must be at least a year old and rotten. Talk about Limburger cheese, eugh! She quickly tied the sack up again. Well, said Lucille, we probably won't want to use it for food, but white people as fine-blooded as we have been compelled to. It's better than starving. But I was thinking about a fire. If we ever find any fuel where we're going, wherever that is, she smiled a trifle uncertainly. We'll need some oil to help start the fire, if the fuel is damp as most driftwood is. Driftwood? When do we go ashore? laughed Marianne. It's well to be prepared for anything, smiled Lucille. Let's see what's in my prize package. Marianne leaned forward eagerly while Lucille untied a leather thong. Dear skins, she cried exultantly, four of them, enough for a sleeping bag, and wrapped in a seal skin square which will protect us from the damp. I believe, she said thoughtfully, that this native must have been planning a little trip up the coast. And if he was, there must be other useful things in our ark, for an Eskimo never ventures far without being prepared for every emergency. Once more they bent over the kayak, each one to search her corner. Another sack, cried Lucille, a hunting sack, with matches wrapped in oiled seal skin, a butcher knife, some skin rope, a pair of boula balls with the strings, a fishing line with a hook and sinker, two big needles stuck in a bit of canvas. That's about all, but it's a lot. I found a little circular wooden box, said Marianne, more food, I guess. Probably the kind you can't eat without gagging. No, she cried after a moment, here's a big square of tea, the Russian kind, all pressed hard into a brick. Was enough for a dozen tea parties. Oh joy, here are three pilot biscuits. Pilot biscuits, Lucille danced about on the ice. These large brown discs of hard tack, so often despised, would not have been half so welcome had they been solid gold. Well, I guess that's about all, but Marianne smiled. I'm hungry already, but we dare not eat anything yet. We'll save these and eat the deer meat first, that we brought along. We'll be pretty awful hungry, I'm afraid, said Lucille, before we leave the ocean, but what worries me just now is a drink. Do you suppose we could find an ice-pool of fresh water? A short search found them the desired ice-pool, and each drink to her heart's content. They then sat down upon the top of the kayak, for a brief consultation. After talking matters over, they decided that the best thing they could do was to remain by the kayak until the fog cleared. It was true that the kayak carefully managed would carry them across the break and the flow, but once across they would be no better off than before, since they had no way of determining directions. Furthermore neither of them had ever handled the kayak, and they knew all too well what a spill meant in that stinging water. This we'd better stick right here, said Marion, and Lucille agreed. Now, suggested Lucille, we'll put your midi on the paddle and set it up as a sign of distress then, since the ice isn't piling, I think we might both sleep a little while. The flag was soon hoisted, and the girls, with the seal-skins square beneath them, lay down under the deer-skins and attempted to sleep. But the deer-skins were not large enough to cover them, and kept sliding off. They were chilled through, and sleeping was impossible. Lucille, said Marion at last, I believe we could set the kayak up, and bank it solidly into place, then creep into it and sleep there. We might, said Lucille doubtfully. The kayak was soon set, and after many doublings and twistings, with much laughter, they managed to slide down into it, and there, with two of the deer-skins for mattress and two for covers, they at last fell asleep in one another's arms, as peacefully as children in a trundle-bed. Oh, Marion, you're too, too chubby, Lucille laughed as she attempted to struggle from the bean-pod-like bed after they had slept for some time. Their first glance at the break in the ice-flow told them it had widened rather than narrowed. A look skyward showed them that the fog, too, had thickened. Lucille's brow wrinkled, her eyes were downcast. Cheer up, said Marion, you can never tell what will happen. Things change rapidly in this arctic world. We'd better explore our ice-flow, hadn't we? And don't you think we could eat a bit before we go? Cheered by the very thought of something to be done, Lucille munched her half of the pilot biscuit and bit of reindeer meat contentedly. Then, after they had seen to it that their white midi-flag was properly fastened, for this must act as a guide back to the camp, they prepared to go exploring. Armed with a butcher-knife, Lucille led the way. Marion carried the fishing-tackle and about her waist were wound the strings of the boule-ball. Quite some hunters laughed, Marion. Other Robinson Crusoettes. Several wide circles of the camp revealed nothing but ice, the whiteness of which was relieved here and there by spots of water, black as night. Might be fish in them, suggested Marion. Yes, but you couldn't catch them. You can only catch Tom Cod through a hole in the ice. They were becoming tired and had spoken of turning back, when Marion whispered, down. She pulled her companion into the dark side of an ice-pile. A shadow had passed over the ice. Now it passed again, and Lucille, looking up, saw a small flock of ducks circling for a pool of water, not twenty yards away. What! What's the idea, she whispered? Boule-balls! Maybe we can catch one. They come from the north, not easily scared. Can you? Yes, my brother showed me how to handle the boule-balls. You whirl them about your head a few times, then you let them go. If the string strikes a duck's neck, it whines all about it, then the duck can't fly. With eager fingers Marion straightened out the twelve feet of double-strand leather thong. There! There! They're down! whispered Lucille. You stay here. If they rise and fly away, call me. Moving around two piles of ice, Marion threw herself flat and began to crawl the remaining distance across a flat pan of ice. Her heart was beating wildly for in her veins there flowed a strain of the hunter's blood of her Britain ancestors of many generations back. Now she was forty feet away, now twenty, now ten, and the ducks had not flown. Stretching out the thong, she rose on an elbow and set the balls whirling over her head. Once, twice, three times, then up she sprang and with one more whirl sent the string singing through the air. The young ducks, craning their necks with curiosity, did not move until something came crashing at them and a wildly frantic girl sprang toward them. To the duck about whose neck the string had encircled, this move was too late, for Marion was upon him. And a moment later, looking very much like the old woman who went to market with a dead-grade duck dangling from her right arm, Marion returned in triumph. Oh, Lucille, she cried, I got him, I got him! Fine, you shall have a medal, said Lucille, but how will we cook him? Well, said Lucille, after a moment's thought, it's growing colder, going to freeze hard. They say freezing meat is almost as good as cooking it. I don't know. Look! cried Marion, suddenly balancing herself at the crest of a high pile of ice. What's all that black a little way over there to the left? It's not like ice. Do you suppose it could be an island? Is the ice piling there, Lucille asked, clinging to her friend's side? No, it isn't, so it can't be an island, for the island would stop the ice as it flows and make it pile up. But what can it be? We can't go over there, for we can't see our flag from there. Yes, we can, said Marion. I'll take off my petticoat and put it on this ice pile. We can see it from there, and when we get back here we can see the flag. This new beacon was soon established. Then with trembling and eager footsteps, the girls hastened to what appeared to be an oasis in a desert of ice. Roy J. Snell Chapter 13 Strange Discoveries It was a strange sight that met the eyes of the two girls as they paused halfway to the dark patch on the surface of the ice which loomed like a giant shadow in the snow fog. With eager feet they dashed on, leaping narrow chasms and stumbling over ice barriers in their mad rush. The revelation which came as they rounded the last pile of ice was both a surprise and a disappointment. Great heaps of ashes, piles of bottles and tin cans, frozen masses of garbage, junk of every description, from a rusty tin dipper to a discarded steel range, met their eyes. It's a graveyard, murmured Marion, a graveyard of things people don't want. That some people didn't want, corrected the more practical Lucille. Marion, we're rich. Rich, Marion stared. Why, yes, don't you see, there's an old clothes wringer. That's got a lot of wood in it. And there's an old paper bucket that'll burn. There's a lot of things like that. It won't take any time at all to get enough wood to cook our duck. A fire? A fire! exclaimed Marion, jumping up and down in a wild dance. Then seized with Lucille's spell of practical philosophy, she grasped a rusty tin kettle. We can cook it in this. There's a hole in it, but we can draw a cloth into that, and we can scour it up with ashes. The next few minutes echoed with glad exclamations. Here's an old fork. Here's half a sack of salt. Here are two rusty spoons. Here's a boiler, and so it went on. One would have believed they were in the greatest department store in the land, with the privilege of carrying away anything that would fit in their kitchen and that suited their fancy. Truth was, they were rummaging over the city of Nome's fast garbage pile. That garbage pile had been accumulated during the previous year and was, at this time, several hundred miles from the city. During the long nine months of winter, the water about Nome is frozen solid some two miles out to sea. All garbage in junk is hauled out upon the ice with dog teams and dumped there. When spring comes, the ice loosens from the shore and laden with its great cargo of unwanted things, carries it through bearing straits to haunt the Arctic Ocean, perhaps for years to come. It is moved hither and yon until time and tide in many storms have at last grounded into oblivion. The long Arctic twilight had begun to fall when the two girls, hungry and weary, but happily laden with many treasures which were to make life more possible on their floating palace of ice, made their way towards their camp. Besides scraps of wood enough for two or three small fires and cooking utensils of various sorts, they had found salt, part of a box of pepper, and six cans of condensed milk which had doubtless been frozen several times but had never been opened. We could live a week, said Lucille exultantly, even if we didn't have another bit of good luck. Yes, said Marion slowly, but let's hope we don't have to. I'm afraid I'd get awfully hungry. They dined that night quite happily on a third of their duck, soup made of duck's broth and condensed milk, and half of a pilot biscuit. Oh, Marion, said Lucille, as she thought of sleep, that kayak so crowded when we sleep there. Yes, said Marion thoughtfully, it is. I wonder if we couldn't make a sleeping bag. At once needles and some sinew thread found in the native's hunting bag were gotten out. The four deer skins were spread out, two on the bottom and two on the top, with the fur side inside, and they went to work, with a will, to fashion a rude sleeping bag. Their fingers shook with the chill wind that swept across the ice, and their eyelids drooped often in sleep, yet they persevered and at last the thing was complete. Are you sure it won't be cold, said Lucille, who had never slept in a sleeping bag? Oh no, I know it won't, Marion assured her. I've heard my father tell of spitting his on the frozen ground when it was thirty below zero and sleeping snug as a possum in a hollow tree. All right, let's try it, and Lucille spread the bag on the seal skin square. After removing their skirts and rolling them up for pillows, together they slid down into the soft, warm depths of their arctic bed. Mmm, whispered Marion. Mmm, whispered Lucille back, and the next moment they were both fast asleep. All through the night they slept there with the great dippers circling around the North Star above them, and with the ice flow carrying them, who could tell where. The two following days were spent in fruitless hunting for wild duck, and did making trips to the rubbish pile. These trips netted nothing of use, save armfuls of wood, which helped to add a cherry-tone to their camp. Though the fog held on, the nights grew bitterly cold. They were glad enough to creep into their sleeping bag as soon as it grew dark. There for hours they lay and talked of many things, of the land to which the ice flow might eventually bring them, the people who would be living there, and the things they would have to eat. Then again they would talk of school days, and the glad good times that now seem so far away. Of one subject they never spoke. Never once did one wonder to the other what their families were doing in their faraway homes. They did not dare. It would have been like singing home sweet home to an American soldier on the fields of France. The second day's tramp to the rubbish pile brought them a great surprise. They were busily searching through the piles of cans for a possible one that had not been opened, when Lucille, happening to hear a noise behind her, looked up. The next instant, with a startled whisper which was almost a cry, Marion, quick! She seized Marion by the arm and dragged her around an ice pile. What! What is it? whispered the startled Marion. Bear. At this very moment on another section of that same vast flow, Phile flat on his stomach, his eye traveling the length of his rifle barrel, his brow was wrinkled. He moved uneasily as a gambler moves who would risk all on one throw of the dice, but does not quite dare. He shook the benumbed fingers of his right hand, then gripped the rifle once more. His forefinger was on the trigger. He had arrived at a crisis. He was half-starved and freezing. For three days now he had wandered over the vast expanse of ice-pans that covered the waters of Bering Straits. During that three days he had secured only two birds, dove-keys they were, birds who linger all winter in the arctic. These he had shared with Rover. From the moment the snow fog had settled down upon him and the break in the ice-flow had blocked his way so effectively, he had wandered about without knowing where he was going. The ice-flow constantly drifting first this way, then that, may have carried him east, west, north, south. Who could tell where? Who could guess his position on this surface of the ocean at the present moment? A brown seal was the cause of his excitement now. The seal, lying asleep upon the ice-pan before him, must weigh something like seventy pounds. This was meet enough to last him and his dog many days. He was not a good shot and he knew it. He had wandered over the ice-flows of the ocean at times with a rifle under his arm, yet never before had he stocked a seal. Only the grimace necessity could have induced him to do so now. There was something altogether too human in those bobbing brown heads as they appeared above the water or lifted to gaze about them on the ice. But now his need and the need of the dog demanded prompt action. Two things made a perfect shot a necessity. The seal was sleeping beside his hole. If he was not killed instantly he would drop into the hole and be lost to the hunter. And this was the last cartridge in the rifle. The two birds had cost him four shots. The seal must be secured by his last one. There seemed a certain irony about a fate which would allow him to waste his ammunition on small birds, then offer him such a prize as this with only one shot to win. He knew well enough how to stock a seal. He had watched the Eskimos do it many times. Lying flat on your stomach you cautiously creep forward. Every moment or two you bob your head up and down in imitation of a seal awakening and looking about. If your seal is awake, since his eyesight is poor, he will take you for a member of his own species and will go back to sleep again. Knowing all this, Phi had dragged himself a hundred feet to cross the ice without disturbing the seal. Only fifty feet remained, yet to his feverish brain this seemed too great a distance. Seeing his seal bobbing his head he bobbed in turn, then when the seal had dozed off again continued his crawl. He had made another six yards when with a resolve he slid the rifle forward, lifted it to position, glanced steadily along its barrel, then pulled the trigger. There followed a metallic snap, then a splash. The rifle had missed fire, the seal had dropped into its pool. For a moment the boy lay there motionless, stunned by the realization that he was still without food, and now powerless to procure any. Well, anyway it was luck for the seal, he smiled uncertainly, it sure was his lucky day. Rising unsteadily he put two fingers to his mouth and uttered a shrill whistle. Even behind a towering ice-pile, rover, gaunt and miserable, yet unmistakably a white man's dog, and by his bearing, one-time leader of the team, came limping forward. Well, the boy said, petting the dog, it's hard luck, but we don't eat. It's harder for you than for me, for you are old and I am young, but somehow, somehow we'll have to manage. If only we knew, if only— He stopped abruptly and his eyes opened wide. Off to the left of them, like a giant fist thrust through the fog, there had appeared the giant bulk of a granite cliff. Land, rover, land, he muttered hoarsely. The next moment, utterly overcome with excitement, he sank weakly to the surface of the ice-pan. This won't do, he said cheerily, after a brief period of rest. Rover, old boy, we must be travelling. If the ice is crowding that shore, which it must be from the feel of the wind, there's a chance for us yet. CHAPTER XIV of the Blue Envelope This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording to-day by Don Larson in Minnesota. The Blue Envelope by Roy J. Snell, Chapter XIV, A Lonesome Island. After fleeing from the great white bear, the two girls crouched behind the ice-pile with bated breath, expecting at any moment to see the long neck of the gigantic bear thrust around the corner of the ice-pile. They longed to flee, yet not daring, remained crouched there. Do you think he saw us, Marianne whispered? No, he was snuffing around looking for something to eat. Marianne shivered. Lucille worked her way around the ice-pile to a point where she could see through a crack between the cakes. Then she motioned Marianne to join her. Together they watched the antics of the clumsy white bear. My, isn't he huge, Marianne whispered. For a time the bear amused himself by knocking rusty ten-gallon gasoline cans about. At last, seeming to sense something, he began tearing up a particular garbage-pile. Presently a huge rat ran out and went scurrying away. There followed a lively chase which ended in a prolonged squeal. He got him, Marianne shivered. The bear had moved out of their view. Consciously they turned and made their way from ice-pile to ice-pile, from the rubbish heap toward camp. I hope he doesn't get our scent and follow us, said Lucille. They don't usually bother people much, though. In spite of her belief that the bear would not harm them, Lucille did not sleep well that night. You can never tell what a hungry bear might do, she kept saying over and over to herself. At last, late in the night, she fell asleep and slept soundly until morning. When finally she did awake it was with the feeling that somehow something had changed. Land, land, something seemed to be whispering to her. It could have been nothing short of intuition which gave her this suggestion. They had been riding on the surface of a gigantic ice-flow. It was, perhaps, twenty miles wide by a hundred long. There was no sense of motion. So silent was its sweep one might imagine oneself to be upon land, yet as she crept quickly out of her sleeping-bag, she saw at once that the motion of the flow was arrested, and off to the right she read the reason. A narrow stretch of rocky shore there cast back the first rays of the morning sun. Marryan, marryan, she called excitedly, land, land, an island. There could be no questioning this great good fortune. The one problem remaining was to reach the shore of that island. They did not dare to abandon their kayak, sleeping-bag, and scanty supplies, for who could tell them that this was not a small uninhabited island. They had traveled many miles with the ice-flow in some direction, perhaps many directions, who could say where they were now. The ice must be piling close to shore, Lucille said. But we must try it, it's our only chance. After hasty breakfast of tea and a last remaining bit of cold duck, they piled all their supplies and equipment into the kayak. Then, bidding farewell to the humble ice-pan, which had given them such a long ride, they began dragging the kayak toward the island. This proved a long and tedious task, requiring all the skill and strength they possessed, for the island, though scarcely four miles in length, had appeared to be much closer than it really was. The ice-piles, too, grew rougher and more uneven as they advanced. When they neared the shore, they found themselves in infinite peril, for the ice was piling. Here a huge cake a hundred feet across and eight feet thick glided without a sound, up, up, into mid-air, at last to crumble and fall, and here a mass of small cakes were thrown into convulsions. Pick their way as they might, with greatest care, they were more than once in danger of being crushed by overhanging ice-pans or of being plunged into a dark pool of water. When at length, in triumph, they dragged their kayak to a rocky shelf well above the trembling ice, Marian, from sheer exhaustion, threw herself flat upon the rock and lay there motionless for some time. Lucille sat beside her, absorbed in thought. At last Marian sat up. Well, we're here, she smiled, giving her blistered hands a woeful look. Yes, smile Lucille, we're here. Now where is here, and what's it like? The two girls looked at one another solemnly for a full minute. In their larder was still a little tea, a pint-bottle of weak-duck soup, a half can of much-frozen condensed milk, and that was all. They were on an island of which as yet they knew nothing. Above them towered great overhanging cliffs, before them the giant ice-pans rose crumbling and creaking in mad turmoil. Life is so strange, said the seal at length, then energetically, let's make some soup of the things we have left, then if we can get up there we'll explore our island. We'll have three or four hours of daylight left, and if there's anything for us to eat anywhere, sooner we find it out the better. The climb to the top of the island, which they undertook an hour later, was scarcely less dangerous than had been the struggle to cross the tumbling ice-flow, for this island was little more than a gigantic granite boulder rising for a distance of some five-hundred feet out of the sea. They crept along a narrow shelf where a slip on some pebble might send them crashing to death in the tumbling mass of ice below. They scaled an all but perpendicular wall to drag their sleeping bag and the few other belongings which they had dared attempt to carry after them by the aid of a skin-rope. Then after a few minutes' rest they would rise to climb again. But at last their efforts rewarded they found themselves standing on the edge of a snow-kept plateau. Now, said Lucille, if there are any people living on this island it won't be on top of it, but in some sheltered cranny down by the shore where they are away from the sweeping winds and where they can hunt and fish. But think what they must be like, said Mariam. They may be savages who have never seen a white man. We don't even know whether we are a hundred miles from bearing straits or five hundred, and neither of us has ever been on an island in the Arctic Ocean. That, said Lucille, has nothing to do with it. We're on one now. We can't very well go back to the ocean ice. We haven't any food. We couldn't hide on this little island if we wished to. So the best thing to do is to try to find the people if there are any and cast our lot with them. I once heard a great bishop say that humanity is everywhere very much the same. We've just got to believe that and go ahead. Using the sleeping bag and leaving to Mariam the remaining seal oil in the skin sack, the butcher knife, and the fishing outfit, she marched steadily forward on a course which in time would enable them to make the outer circle of the island. See those piles of stones Lucille said fifteen minutes later? Those did not just happen to be there. They were put there by men. See how carefully they are piled. The piles look tall and slim. I have heard a sea captain say that the natives of this coast in very early days, when there was warring among tribes, piled stones on high points like this to make those who desired to attack them think they were men and that there were many warriors in the place. Then said Mariam, catching her breath at the thought, there must be people on this island. Not for sure, said Lucille, the people who piled up these rocks might merely have been living here temporarily, using the island as a hunting station, and then even if they were living here permanently, famine and contagious diseases may have killed all of them. They trudged on again in silence, everywhere the rocky rim of the island frowned up at them, offering no suggestion of a path down to the foot or of a rocky shelf below where a group of hunters might build a village. There's a place somewhere, said Lucille Stoutly, as she lowered her burden to the snow and paused for a brief rest. There's a path down, and we must find it, if it's nothing more than to find a safe spot by the sea where we can fish for smelt tom cod and flounders. Dusk was falling when at length, with a little cry of joy, Lucille sprang forward, then began a cautious descent over a winding and apparently well-worn trail which even the snow did not completely conceal. With hearts beating wildly in utter silence, they made their way down the winding way to what? That they could not tell. Finally, Lucille paused. She caught her breath quickly and clutched at her throat. At length in a calmer moment, she pointed down into the right of the trail. See that square of white? Marion strained her eyes to peer through the gathering darkness. Yes, she said at last I see it. That, said Lucille, in a tone that was tense with the emotion, is the roof of a house, a white man's house. What? What makes you think so? gasped Marion. There's nothing as square as that in nature's panorama, and a native does not build a house like that. And if it is? If it is, we must trust ourselves to their care, though I'd almost rather they were natives. She closed her eyes and saw again the rough, unkept white men, beach-comers who lived by trading, hunting, and wailing with the natives. They were a hard, bad lot, and she knew it. Well, she sighed, come on, let's go down. Down they went, each turn of the path bringing them closer to the mysterious house. There's no light, said Lucille at last. There are no tracks in the snow, added Marion a moment later. It's boarded up, said Lucille, as they came closer. It would have been hard to judge whether there was more of a relief or of disappointment in the tone in which she said this. They stood there staring at the house. It was a nice house, a bungalow such as one might desire for a summer home in the mountains or at the seashore. Who do you suppose brought all that fine lumber up here and built that house, said Lucille? I wonder who, echoed Marion. They took a turn about it. All the windows had been boarded up with rough lumber. There were two doors. These were fastened with padlock and chain. An examination of the locks showed that the keys had not been used in them for months. Lucille's eyes were caught by poles and some platforms to the right along the rocky shore. She walked in that direction. Marion, come here, she cried presently. Marion came running. Look, here's a whole native village they've built their homes out of the rocks. See, it's like tunneling into the side of the mountain. Must be homes for a hundred people. And not a soul here, how strange. Not even a dog. Lucille's own voice sounded strangely hollow to her as if echoed by the walls of a tomb. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of the Blue Envelope. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording today by Don Larson in Minnesota. The Blue Envelope by Roy J. Snell. Chapter 15 Two Red Riding Hoods. Before Phi struck out for the unknown land, which had so suddenly thrust itself into his line of vision, he paused to ask himself the question whether he had come upon some island or a point on the mainland. Finding himself unable to answer the question, he at once set plans for reaching that land. The rifle, now a useless encumbrance, he left leaning against an upended cake of ice. That shore, if not lifted high by a mirage, was at least ten miles away. And ten miles to a boy and a dog who have appeased their hunger for three days with two small birds is no mean distance. Bravely they struck out. Now they crossed a broad, level pan, and now climbed a gigantic pile of boulder-like fragments that rolled and slipped at their every move, threatening to send them crashing to the surface of the ice-pans or to submerge them in the deep, open pool of stinging water that lay at its base. Exercising every precaution, the boy made his way slowly forward. More than once he paused to wait for the dog, time after time lifting him over a dangerous crevice or assisting him in climbing a particularly difficult barrier. I know you'd help me if you could, he said with a smile as he moistened his cracked lips, so if we go down we go together. Time after time, dizzy-headed and faint, he sat down to rest, only to rise after a moment and struggle on again. At times, too, he was obliged to shake himself free from the spells of drowsiness which the chill wind and brist arctic air threw over him. We will make it, old boy. We will make it, he repeated, over and over. Little by little the landscape broadened before them. The bit of rugged shoreline which lay there like a vision might be a point of land on the continent of North America or of Asia. Then again it might be the side of an island. Fie thought of this in a vague sort of way. His chief desired to put foot once more on something that did not drift with wind and tide. He bent every effort to make him the goal. At last, after what seemed like days of struggle, he stood within a quarter of a mile of the shore. The ice was piling on that shore, a scene of disordered grandeur beyond description. It was as if the streets of a city, six or eight feet in thickness and solid as marble, should suddenly begin to rise, to buckle, to glide length upon length in wild confusion. For some time the boy and the dog stood upon the last broad pan that did not pile, and lost in speechless wonder, viewed that marvel of nature with the eyes of unconcerned spectators. At last the boy shook himself free from the charm. Over there was awe in his tone. Do you know what we must do? We must cross that and reach that shore before the wind shifts or we are lost. As if understanding his meaning, the dog lifted his nose in the air and sung the dismal song known only to the sled dog of the arctic. Well, here it goes. Fie scrambled to the surface of a gliding cake. Then having raced across its surface, leaped a narrow chasm to race on again. Such an obstacle race had never before been entered into by a boy and a dog. Rover, seeming to have regained some of the spirit of his younger days, followed well. Once with a dismal howl he fell into a crevice, but before an ice-pan could rear up and crush him a strong arm dragged him free. They had made two-thirds of the distance when on a broad pan that shuddered as if torn by an earthquake, Fie paused. One glance at the rocky coast brought a sharp exclamation to his lips. It's like the wall of a prison he muttered straight up. No, he whispered a moment later, there's a bare chance that rocky shelf but it's fifteen feet above the ice and how's one to reach it? There may be a way, one can but try. When they were off again, each fresh escape brought them face to face with new and more startling dangers. Here they were lifted in the air to leap away just in time from a crash. Here they crossed a pile of crushed and slivered fragments only to face a dark and yawning pool of salt water waiting to sting them into insensibility. But always there was a way out. Each moment brought them closer to the frowning wall. At last close-up survey told the boy that there was no path, no slanting incline, no rugged steps to the shelf above. But from the shelf upward there appeared to be a possible ascent. At that moment he saw something that made him catch his breath hard. A gigantic ice pan, measuring hundreds of feet from side to side, had begun to glide upward over a mass of broken fragments toward the cliff. It will go as high as the shelf if it hasn't too many seams, he said aloud. It may go up and it may crash, but it's our only chance. He looked at the dog, that the old fellow could make this perilous trip, could mount himself on the very edge of a giant tilting cake of ice and ride up, up, up, inch by inch and foot by foot, to pause there a breathless distance in mid-air, and then at one critical second leap to safety on a rock shelf. The boy did not dream for a moment. Yet he had no thought of leaving Rover behind. Come on, he said quietly, we'll make it somehow or we'll go down together. Mounting the tilted monster they stationed themselves at the very edge and stood there motionless, a boy and a dog, in the very midst of one of nature's most stupendous demonstrations of power. A long minute passed, two, three, they were now ten feet in the air, the shelf, a yawning distance still before them, appeared to frown down upon them. To the right of them, an ice-pan half the size of the one on which they rode, having come within some ten feet of the wall, broke and crumbled down with a crash. Still their cake glided on. Now they were fifteen feet from the shelf, now ten. A running jump for the boy would land him safely on the ledge, but there was a dog. There came a creaking grind, a snapping crashing sound, then silence. The pan had broken into. Half of it had broken off under the strain, the part on which they rode still stood firm. They were now twenty feet in the air. A dark pool of water lay beneath them. The boy gave one glance at the blue heavens and the blinking stars, then stooping he picked up the dog and held him in his arms. He stood there like a statue, a magnificent symbol of calm in the midst of all this confusion. With the ice still gliding upward, holding his breath, as if in fear that the very force of it might send the hundreds of tons crashing to the abyss below, Phi waited, the gap closing. Eight feet, seven, six, five, four. Now he breathed. His right foot lifted, his left foot stiffened, and his body shot forward. The next moment there was a sickening crash. The ice pan had broken into a thousand pieces, but the boy and the dog, saved by a timely leap, lay prone upon the surface of the rocky cliff. For some time the boy lay sprawled upon the rocky ledge motionless. This last supreme effort had drawn out his last reserve of nervous energy. Amid the shrill scream of grinding ice rising from the tossing mass below, he lay as one whose ears are closed forever to sound. The dog with ears drooping, eyes intent, lay watching him. At last his tail wagging gently to and fro, there had been a flutter of motion in the boy's right hand. Meekly the dog crawled forward to lick the glove that covered the hand with his rough tongue. At that the boy raised himself into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes, staring about him. Rover old boy he drawled at last. That was what you might call a close squeak. The dog rose and wagged his tail. Rover, the boy said solemnly, I took a long chance for you just then. Why did I do it? If you'd been the leader of my team for several winters, before old age overtook you, if you'd maybe pulled me out of some blizzard where I'd have frozen to death if it hadn't been for your keen sense of smell, which enabled you to follow the trail. There'd have been some sense to it, but you weren't and you didn't. You're only a poor old heroic specimen someone has played trade or to and deserted in old age. Well, that's enough of that. We're on land now. What land is it? What are these people like? When do we eat? The last question is most important for the moment. What say we try scaling the cliff and then look about a bit? The dog barked his approval. Together they began scaling the cliff, which at times appeared to confront them as an unsurmountable barrier and then others offered a gently rising slope of shale and rock. When Lucille and Marion had made sure that there were no people in the deserted native village, they returned to the mysterious bungalow. We've got to get in there, said Marion. Don't matter whose it is. Nothing about she found a stout pole. With this she pried off a board from a window, then another, then another. Give me a lift, she said, raising one foot from the ground. Once boosted up she found that the window was not locked. The sash went up with a surprising bang, and the next instant she was inside assisting Lucille to enter. The place had a hollow sound. Like an old empty church, said Marion. Lucille scratched a match. They were in a large room which was absolutely empty. A hasty exploration of the three remaining rooms, which were much smaller, revealed the same state of affairs. Now what, said Lucille, knitting her brows in deep thought, do you think of that? Anyway, it's dry and not too cold, said Marion. But it's empty and I'm hungry. Say, she exclaimed quickly, you bring in our things, I'll be back. She bounded out of the window and hurried away toward the native village, which lay silent in the moonlight. Marion had succeeded in dragging their sleeping bag and other belongings through the window, and was there waiting when Lucille called from outside. Here, take this. How heavy, exclaimed Marion, and a moment later, upon receiving the second object, how cold. The first, said Lucille, is a flat native seal oil lamp. We can burn our seal oil in it. I have a handful of moss in my pocket to string along the side for a wick. It'll make it more cheery and it'll seem warmer. The other, she went on, is a frozen whitefish, founded in one of the native caches. Guess the natives won't miss it if they come back. If they do, but where are they? Asked Marion in a puzzled tone of voice. Dead perhaps. Let's eat, she added abruptly as Marion shivered. But Lucille, we can't cook the fish. Don't have to. Frozen fish is good raw if it's frozen hard enough. I've tried it before. You just shave it off thin like chipped dried beef and gulp it down before it tastes too fishy. Marion did not think she would like it, but found it not half bad. When they had dined it had sat by the yellow glow of their seal oil lamp for a time. They took a good long look at the moon as it shone out over the shimmering whiteness of the sea. That said Marion impressively is the same moon that is shining on all of our friends wherever they are tonight. The thought gave them a deal of comfort. When in time their sleeping bag was spread out on the floor and they had snuggled comfortably down into its soft depths and were ready to go off into the land of dreams, with their seal oil lamp still flickering in one corner, Marion said with a laugh, snug as two little red riding-hoods. Yes, but if the big bear comes home, murmured Lucille, he won't, said Marion with conviction. But the next moment her faith was shattered. There came a sound from without and the next instant some heavy object banged against the door. What was that? Both exclaimed at once in hoarse whispers. End of chapter 15.