 Chapter 27 Diamonds and Other Things Joe Marion found that five members of the exploring party had had their feet so badly frozen that they were unable to walk. To carry these over the piled and tumbled ice to the spot where the sleds had been cached was no mean task. At the same time there was every possible need for speed, an unfavorable wind at this time would mean certain death to all of them. They started out bravely and toiled on for many hours without food. When they did pause there was only one kind of food left to them, polar bear meat. About the worst kind of meat there is in the world, sighed the great explorer as he tried to roast a bit of it over a blubber fire. The only way you can get any real satisfaction out of it is to chew a piece of it till your jaws are tired, then swallow it partway down. When your jaws are rested cough it up and start chewing all over again. When you have repeated this about four times it may go all the way down and stay down. They all laughed at this plan of procedure, but found on trying to meet that it was indeed the toughest proposition they had ever tackled. Look, a bit off the neck of an old bull, was Jennings' comment. When they had rested for a time they again turned their faces shortward to resume their march against death. In the meantime, on shore, Curly had made his way back to the reindeer herd. A careful study of the deer convinced him that certain of them were a sled deer. Got their antlers half cut off, just stubs left, he told himself. There's a reason that the Eskimo cut them off, so they'd travel lighter in harness. Making a packing rope into a lasso, he succeeded in catching one of these deer by the stubs of his antlers. The marks of a harness told him he was right about these sled deer. I'll just catch three of them and tie them to old Whitey. Then I'll lead all four out to meet Joe and the explorers. They'll be glad enough to have some fresh reindeer meet. We'll make these three into venison, but not old Whitey, never. He's been my pal through too many narrow escapes. He's going to live to tell the story. Some ten hours later, as the exploring party, we can buy a lack of proper food, struggle forward over the tumbled ice. They were surprised to see the stubby antlers of all white sled deer appear around an ice pile. Reindeer! Someone shouted. Reindeer and Curly Carson! exclaimed Joe, fairly overcome with joy at meeting his old pal after so long a lapse of time. Three hours later, having struggled forward to the safe and solid shore ice, the whole party sat down to a real feast of reindeer steak, while a little distance away, chained to their sled. Major, the old guard, sent out short woof-woofs in the direction of old Whitey. And Pete, the husky, who was nine-tenths' wolf, sawed at his chain and coy-eyed his desire to leap at the reindeer's throat. When they had finished and made such a shift as they could for a night's rest before making the remaining twenty-five miles to the food depot on Flaxman Island, Joe and Curly sat long upon an overturned sled, talking. "'So you think it was the smuggler chief?' said Joe, as Curly finished telling of his adventure at the food depot. "'Must have been. Look at the diamonds.' "'Then we can get them?' "'Believe so.' "'But, say, how about the whisperer?' "'Didn't see a sign of any such person. Guess she was just a hoax. Never existed at all.' "'I'm not so sure about that. I think she must be a real person.' "'Well, when we get back there on Flaxman Island, we'll look around.' They arrived at the food depot next day. As soon as the exploring party had been made comfortable, Joe and Curly set out to solve two problems, the problem of the whisperer and that of saving the rubies and diamonds. The question of the whisperer was soon settled, or at least they believed it was. For leading away from the island, they found a three-day-old sled track. The sled had been drawn by eight powerful dogs. There were no human footprints beside the sled track. "'So what happened to the outline skipped?' was Joe's comment. "'Yes, and if I had had time to look about, I might have stopped her,' Curly lamented. "'What do you have wanted to do that?' "'I don't know. She seems to be a pretty good sort. Never did us anything but good. Know how she came to be traveling with that rascal is more than I can guess. "'Well, she's gone. How about our diamonds?' Curly led the way to the spot of the tragedy. There had been no snow. The spot was not hard to find. As Curly had expected, the ice had frozen to a depth of six or eight inches. "'But where are the diamonds?' he exclaimed as he failed to catch any gleam from them. A thorough search revealed not a single stone. "'Perhaps the whisperer came back and got them,' suggested Joe. "'Couldn't. The ice was too thin, then.' Suddenly Joe bent over to examine a hole the size of a lead pencil in the ice. Looking over, he chipped away at the ice for a second, then, straightening up, gave out a wild shout. "'Whoopee!' he held in his hand a splendid solitaire. "'Melted its way into the ice,' he explained. A careful search revealed other such holes, and after two hours the boys had succeeded in securing twenty-eight stones. When they felt they had rescued the last one, they turned toward camp. "'We're rich,' laughed Joe. "'Twenty thousand dollars worth of cut stones and fifty thousand worth of reindeer.' Rich for a day. The stones we must turn into the customs department, and the reindeer herd must be returned to its rifle owners. I must get McGregor, the deputy, on the air at once and find out about that. Three weeks later the two boys were once more on the Valdez Glacier, just one day's journey from the port where they might catch a boat for Seattle and the great outside. Their adventures on the Yukon Trail were about at an end. One question remained unsolved. Who was the whisperer, and where was she? It had been established as a fact that the outlaw was the leader of the band of smugglers. Since he had been deprived of his illegal gains by the loyal action of Munson, the explorer, in breaking up his band, he had planned a cruel revenge, that of destroying his supply station and leaving him with his faithful companions to starve. Curley's prompt action had averted the catastrophe. But where was the driver of that powerful dog-team that had left the supply cabin, and where now could she be? Curley was seated in his tent, nodding over his radio phone instruments and thinking of this problem and many other things. He remembered the gratitude of the Eskimo upon the return of the stolen reindeer herd. Thought too of the frank praise of the explorer Munson when he had parted with him on the trail to Dawson. The jewels had gone with Munson to Dawson, so all matters were cleared up and Curley was ready for some new undertaking. In the corner of the tent Joe Marion was having a last romp with his faithful four, Ginger, Pete, Major, and Bones. Tomorrow he would return them to the owner from whom they had been hired in Valdez. "'Do you know?' he said, a suspicious huskiness creeping into his voice. I once heard an old sourdough musher say that of all the things he had in the Arctic he hated most apart with his dogs. I laughed at him then, but now I know it's true.' "'Yes, sir,' answered Curley. "'It's queer, but you,' he broke off suddenly, his nose began wiggling like that of a rabbit eating clover. He was getting something from the air. That something was a whisperer, the whisperer of the whisperer. It said, "'Hello, Curley, are you there? You didn't see me there, up at the top of the world, on the shore of the Arctic. Did you? I thought you had better not. But, Curley, they want you on the trail that leads over the great American desert. Big things, Curley. I heard them calling you. You may see me there, for that is my home, and I'm going back.' The whisper ended. Curley sat staring into space, thinking, "'Is the whisperer a real person or only a ghostly spirit of the air?' Almost as if an answer to the question came a call from the station at Valdez, a relayed message telling him to report for duty on the American desert at once. "'Who?' he breathed as he mopped his brow. "'I may solve that mystery yet.' How he struggled toward its solution, and how he continued to be of service to his country, and his fellow men, by the aid of his radio phone and his wonderful ears, will be told in the next book entitled The Desert Patrol. End of Chapter Twenty-Seven. End of On The Yukon Trail by Roy J. Snell. Recording by Tom Penn.