Part 17 (2/2)

FIGHTING THE NORTH

”Wheheveh was yo' aimin' fo' to go to?” interrogated Waseche, when they were once more safely seated about the fireplace in the room at the end of the old mine tunnel.

”Sure, ut's th' map!” answered O'Brien, in a tone of the deepest dejection.

”The map! What about it?”

”Ut's in me other pants!” wailed the Irishman. ”Back in th' _igloo_!”

”The _igloo_! The _igloo_--back there?”

”That same,” nodded O'Brien, shamefacedly dropping his glance before the wrathful glare of Waseche's eyes. ”Ye see, ut's loike this: two years ago, Oi bruk away fr' th' haythins an' made th' Ignatook. Car-rlson an'

Pete Mateese wuz here thin, an' Oi shtayed wid um f'r a month, until wan day Oi wuz fis.h.i.+n' in th' river, an' they shwooped down an' caught me befoor Oi c'd git back into th' valley. Afther that they watched me clost, an' befoor Oi c'd git away ag'in Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese wuz gone. 'Twuz thin Oi found his map, pegged to a caribou haunch on top av th' pile yondher, an' Oi shtayed here an' wor-rked till Oi'd all th'

gold Oi c'd pack, an' thin Oi shtar-rted f'r th' Kandik. They caught me, av coorse, bekaze th' heft av thim cans, along wid phwat grub Oi wuz dhraggin' on th' sled, wuz more thin a wan man load. They're sooperst.i.tious about th' creek, an' th' gold, too, an' they slung th'

cans back into th' valley.

”That's two toimes Oi got away, an' since that they ain't watched me so clost, f'r they've lur-rned that widout dogs, Oi can't make ut to th'

outside--an' Be Jabbers! nointeen toimes since, Oi've been dhrug back, but Oi always kep' th' map f'r fear that sometoime Oi'd git to use ut--an' now, phwin we've got th' chanst, Oi've gone an' murdhered us all be layvin' ut behint--an' all on account av th' dance an' th'

_potlatch_, be rayson av which Oi wint an' changed me britches!”

The man's grief was so genuine, and his dejection so deep that the wrathful gleam faded from Waseche Bill's eyes, and Connie moved nearer and placed his hand upon the Irishman's shoulder.

”Never mind, O'Brien. You didn't mean to leave the map--we know that--don't we, Waseche?”

”Sho', he didn't,” answered the man, gloomily. ”But that don't help the _case_ any. How we-all ah goin' to get out of heah, now, is mo'n I know----”

”Me nayther,” a.s.sented O'Brien. ”Av Oi'd shtayed in Kildare, Oi w'dn't be here now. We bether go back an' settle down wid th' Injuns--av we c'n make friends wid um ag'in, befoor they har-rpoon us--f'r Oi'll niver see Flor-ridy, now!”

Connie leaped to his feet and stood before the two men, who looked into the narrowing grey eyes that flashed in the flickering flare of the blubber lamp.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”You make me tired!” cried Connie. ”Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around.”]

”You make me _tired_!” cried the boy, ”both of you--with your talk of not getting out of the Lillimuit; and of going back to the Indians! Why, they'd eat up our dogs, and then we _couldn't_ get out! What's got into you, Waseche? Buck up! Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around!

”Carlson came in by the Tatonduk--and he went out by the Kandik--his first trip, when he showed the nuggets he brought back. Who made Carlson's map? He was a sourdough--but he has nothing on _us_! He found his own way out--and so will we! If we miss the Kandik, we'll find a pa.s.s of our own--or a river--or a creek! We're not afraid of the Lillimuit. It hasn't got us yet! And it isn't going to! We've got the dogs, and we've got the grub--and we've got the nerve to back them.

We'll hike to the outside on our own trail--and we'll turn around and come back after the gold!

”But, if we don't make it--and have to die out there in the White Country--when they find us, they'll know _men_ died! We'll be, anyway, _one_ day's mus.h.i.+ng ahead of our last camp fire!”

Waseche leaped to the boy's side and grasped the small, doubled fist.

”They sho' _will_, kid!” he cried. ”They sho' _will_! But they ain't a goin' to find us bushed! I wisht yo' daddy c'd of heahd yo' then--He was _some_ man, Sam Mo'gan was, an' he'd sho' be proudful of his boy!

”I'm plumb 'shamed, pahdneh, fo' to gloomed up on yo' that-a-way--ain't we, O'Brien?”

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