Part 16 (1/2)

”Let 'em go, kid!” cried Waseche, and the sharp crack of the dog whips rang on the air to the cries of: ”Mus.h.!.+ Hi! Hi! Mush-u! Mush-u!”

Both teams shot away toward the inclined trail of the river. Neck and neck, they ran over the crusted snow, while the three free dogs romped and raced beside them.

While most of the Indians followed directly in the wake of the retreating men, a few of the wiser ones cut straight for the head of the trail down which the outfit must pa.s.s. Waseche's eight _malamutes_, travelling lighter than Connie's big ten-team, forged to the front and gained the incline at the same moment that three Indians led by Annunduk, the young chief, leaped out upon the trail. The natives, tired by their long exertions at the dance, had thrown away their weighted harpoons and, except for a short club that Annunduk had s.n.a.t.c.hed from a _cache_ frame as he ran, were unarmed.

Waseche dodged a blow from the club and an Indian who tried to throw himself upon the flying sled was hurled from the trail and rolled end over end down the steep hundred-foot slope to the river.

A quarter of a minute later McDougall's big _malamutes_ swung into the trail and would have dashed past the spot before the Indians could have collected their senses, had not O'Brien, with Irish impetuosity, leaned far over the side and aimed a mighty blow of his fist at the head of Annunduk. The blow swung wide and O'Brien, losing his balance, pitched headlong into the snow almost at the Indian's feet.

Connie, whose attention was upon the rus.h.i.+ng dogs, felt the sled leap forward as the man's weight was removed, and without an instant's hesitation halted the dogs in their tracks and, clutching his dog whip, ran to the a.s.sistance of O'Brien, who was clawing and rolling about in the snow in a vain effort to regain his feet.

There was not a second to lose. By the light of the stars the boy saw Annunduk leap forward with club upraised, while the remaining Indian was making ready to spring upon the defenceless man from behind. Connie redoubled his efforts and, just as the chief raised his club for a long shoulder swing at O'Brien's head, the boy's fifteen-foot gut lash sang through the thin air. There was a report like a pistol-shot and, with a loud yell of pain, Annunduk dropped his club and clutched frantically at his face.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”The boy's fifteen-foot lash sang through the thin air.”]

Meanwhile the other Indian had almost reached the Irishman who had scrambled to his hands and knees. Connie leaped backward to get the range of his long whiplash, but before the boy could draw back his arm, the air roared with a long, throaty growl and Slasher, the savage wolf-dog, with back-curled lips and flas.h.i.+ng fangs, leaped past and launched himself full at the throat of the Indian. With awful impact, the great tawny brute landed squarely upon the man's chest, carrying him backward into the snow. The next instant the air was filled with frightened shrieks and ferocious, full-mouthed snarls as the wolf-dog tore and wrenched at the heavy skin s.h.i.+rt, while the terrified Indian protected his face with his arms.

The whole incident occupied scarcely a minute, and Connie half-dragged the dazed O'Brien to his feet and hurried him to the sled. With a loud whistle to Slasher, the boy cracked his whip above the ears of the leader and, just as the head of the trail became black with pursuing Indians, the _malamutes_ shot away, with Slasher running beside them, growling fiercely and shaking a great patch of quill-embroidered s.h.i.+rt front which waved from his tight-clamped jaws.

Down on the river, Waseche Bill was in the act of swinging his dogs for a dash over the back trail when the long ten-team rushed out onto the rime-carpeted ice. All danger from pursuit was past, and they jogged the teams slowly northward, while all about them fell the frost spicules in a feathery s.h.i.+mmer of tinsel. Ten minutes later O'Brien pointed out the trail which pa.s.sed between two enormous rocks and entered the valley of the Ignatook, the creek of the stinking steam, into which the Indians dared not venture. And it was with a grateful sense of security and relief that they headed the dogs for the spot where they were to camp, in the old tunnel of the lost mine of the Ignatook--at the end of the dead man's lonely trail.

CHAPTER XV

O'BRIEN'S CANS OF GOLD

When Connie Morgan and Waseche Bill awoke, the morning after their midnight escape from the village of the strange Indians, they found O'Brien busily engaged in the preparation of breakfast.

The tunnel of the ancient mine, that had been the abode of Carlson and Pete Mateese, was merely a rude entry which followed the slant of an outcropping ma.s.s of native copper. The entry was approximately five feet high and six feet wide, and led obliquely into the face of a rock-cliff for a distance of a hundred feet where it widened into a chamber, or room, perhaps twenty feet in diameter and seven or eight feet in height.

Three walls of the room were formed by the copper ore which showed plainly the marks of the primitive tools of the forgotten miners. The fourth wall was of solid rock--the wall of the fissure that contained the vein of ore. At the angle formed by the roof and the rock wall, a wide crack, or cleavage cleft, slanted sharply upward and outward to a point on the face of the rock-cliff high above the mouth of the tunnel, and thus formed a natural chimney for the rude fireplace that had been built directly beneath it.

The odour of boiling coffee was in the air and by the fireplace squatted O'Brien, prodding tentatively at the caribou steaks that sizzled noisily in the long-handled frying pan. Upon a flat stone that had evidently served for a table, an ancient lamp which consisted of a rudely hammered copper pan containing blubber grease and a bit of moss wicking, flared its smoky illumination.

”Good marnin' to yez,” greeted the Irishman, as the two partners slipped from their sleeping bags and drew up close to the fire. ”Sure, bhreakfasht'll be riddy in wan minit--an' a good job ut is, to be settin' wanst mor-re amongst Christians, an' aytin' whoite man's grub, inshtead av suckin' a shtrip av blubber, along av th' flat-faced Injuns, yondher.”

Connie laughed:

”Yes, but you nearly spilled the beans when you tumbled off the sled.”

”Ahroo! Dar-rlint! Ut's a gr-rand lad ye ar-re! Ye shud av seen um!” he cried, turning to Waseche Bill. ”Oi wanted to git jist th' wan swoipe f'r um to remimber me by, but Oi mished um fair an' square, an' over Oi wint loike a frog off a log in a bog. An' jist phwin Annunduk wuz about to presint his soide av th' case wid a bit av a club th' heft av a pick handle, crack! goes th' b'y's whiplash fair in th' face av um, an' phwin th' other goes to jump on me back, Whirra! They's a roar loike th' Zoo tur-rned loose f'r recess, an' th' wolf-dog's a-top av um, fang an'

claw! Ye shud av seen ut! 'Twuz a gr-rand soight!”

Waseche smiled proudly as he listened to the Irishman's account of the accident on the trail.

”Yo' say, they won't follow us in heah?” he asked.

”Niver a wan av thim. They think this valley is th' counthry av th' evil spirits. We're safe now--an' hooray, f'r Flor-ridy, an' th' land av suns.h.i.+ne!”

”We-all ain't out of the woods yet. I'm sho' glad to be shet of them Injuns, though. How many times did yo' say they'd brung yo' back?”

”Twinty-wan toimes. But, Oi hadn't no dogs--an' thim two tomatty cans is heavy!”

”Where are the cans?” asked Connie, who had only half believed the Irishman's tale of gold.