Part 10 (1/2)

”Don't get scairt, son. It's only the aurora. It's like they said--Carlson, an' one or two mo' I've hea'd talk. The blood-red aurora in the night time, an' the thousan' suns in the day.” Waseche's sleeping bag was close against his own, and the sound of his voice rea.s.sured the terrified boy. Together, in silence, they watched the awful spectacle. Red lights--scarlet, crimson, vermilion flashed upon the snow, and among the far-off peaks which stood out distinctly above the farther wall of the long stretch of canyon that their viewpoint commanded. Upon the green ice at the entrance to the cavern the lights showed violet and purple. The boy stared spellbound at the terrible splendour of the changing lights, while above the hiss and crackle of the aurora he could hear the whimpering and moaning of the terrified dogs. He shrank back into his sleeping bag, pulling the flap tight to keep out the awful sights and sounds, and lay for hours waiting for something to happen. But nothing did happen and when he awoke again it was day. The dogs had ceased to whine, and Waseche Bill was moving about in the cave. The man had hung a robe over the entrance, but around the edges Connie could see narrow strips of light. The air was oppressive and heavy. His head ached. The acrid smell of smoke permeated the interior of the cavern and Connie wriggled from his sleeping bag and, while Waseche busied himself with the coffee and bacon, he broke out a bale of fish for the dogs.

”Cut 'em down to half ration, son,” warned the man, eyeing the scanty supply. ”We got to get out of this heah Lillimuit--an' we got to get out on what we got with us. I don't reckon they's a livin' critteh in the whole blame country, 'cept us, an' we got to go easy on the grub.”

”I heard a fox bark the other night,” ventured the boy.

”Yo' won't get fat on fox bahks,” grinned the man, ”an' that's all the clost yo' even get to 'em. Outside of white goats, them foxes is about the hah'dest vahmint to get a shot at they is.”

”Aren't we going to hit the trail?” asked the boy in evident surprise, when, after breakfast, instead of packing the outfit, Waseche lighted his pipe and stretched out on a robe.

”Not _this_ day, we ain't,” replied the man; ”An' me'be not tomorrow--if the wind don't come. Do yo' know how fah we'd get today?”

”How far?”

”I do'no--a hund'ed steps, me'be--me'be half a mile--'twouldn't be fah.”

”Tell me what's the matter, Waseche. What's going to happen? And why have you closed up the door?”

”It's the _white death_,” answered the man in an awed tone. ”Nothin'

won't happen if we stay inside. I've hea'd it spoke of, only I somehow--I neveh believed it befo'. As fo' the robe--hold yo' breath an'

peek out through that crack along the aidge. Hold yo' breath, mind--_don't breathe that air!_”

Connie filled his lungs and drew back the edge of the robe. Instantly his face seemed seared by the points of a million red-hot needles. He scarcely noticed the pain, for he was gazing in awestruck wonder where a thousand suns seemed dancing in the cloudless sky. As upon the previous day, the air was filled with dancing white specks, and the suns glared with a gla.s.sy, yellow brightness. They looked wet and s.h.i.+ny, but their light seemed no brighter than the light of a single sun. No blue sky was visible, and the mountain peaks, even the nearer ones, were nowhere to be seen. The whole world seemed enveloped in a thick haze of sickly yellow.

He let go the edge of the robe and drew back from the opening.

”Gee whiz! but it's cold,” he exclaimed, rubbing his stinging cheeks.

”How cold is it, pardner?” For answer Waseche s.h.i.+fted his position, reached swiftly beneath the bottom of the robe, and withdrew from the outside a small spirit thermometer which he held up for the boy's inspection. It was frozen solid!

CHAPTER X

THE _IGLOO_ IN THE SNOW

”Now, kid,” said Waseche Bill the following morning, ”we got to make tracks fo' the Tatonduk. We got too many dogs, an' we got to cut down on the feed. I hate to do it--on the trail--but they's no two ways about it. Three or fo' days ort to put us at the divide. I made a _cache_ the'h comin' in an' we'll be all right when we strike it.”

The two stood in front of the cavern, breathing deeply of the clear, pure air. A stiff breeze was blowing from the south-west, and the day was warm and pleasant. The sun had not yet risen, and as the dogs swung into the trail Connie glanced at the little thermometer lashed firmly to the back of his sled. It registered twenty degrees below zero, an ideal temperature for trail travel and the boy cracked his whip and yelled aloud in the very joy of living.

At the mouth of the canyon they swerved in a north-westerly direction, toward the northernmost reach of the Ogilvie Range. All day they mushed across the wide caribou barrens and flat tundra that separated the great nameless range behind them from the high mountains to the westward that lay between them and Alaska. For, upon ascending the Tatonduk, they had pa.s.sed out of Alaska into the unmapped Yukon district of sub-arctic Canada. Evening of the second day found them among the foothills of the mountains. Patches of stunted timber appeared and the lay of the land forced them to keep to the winding beds of frozen creeks and rivers. The end of the next day found them camped on the snow-covered ice of a small river. Waseche divided the few remaining fish, threw half of them to the dogs, and sat down beside the boy, who had prepared a meal of caribou _charqui_ and coffee:

”Seems like this _must_ be the creek--but I ain't sho'. I thought the one we tackled yeste'day was it, too--but it petered out on us.”

”I don't know,” replied Connie, ”I thought I'd remember the back trail, but since the big snow everything looks different. And I was in an awful hurry to catch up with you, besides.”

”Sho', kid, I know. I'd ort to took mo' pains myself, but I wasn't so pa'ticlah about gettin' back--then. Anyways, we'll try this one. We got to watch the grub now, fo' sho'. Them _malamutes_ is hongry! Day afteh tomorrow, if we don't find the _cache_, we'll have to kill a dawg.”

Connie nodded.

”We'll find it, all right. This looks like the creek. Still, so do they all,” he added reflectively.

The next day was a repet.i.tion of the day preceding. They followed the bed of the creek to its source in a narrow canyon which lost itself upon the steep side of a gigantic mountain. Wearily, they retraced their steps and once again among the foothills, turned to the northward.