Part 18 (1/2)

”We ar-re, that!” shouted the Irishman, with a new light in his eyes.

”Ye're a gr-rand lad, wid a hear-rt, in ye're ribs, that's th' heart av a foightin' man. F'r all ye're small soize, ye're th' gamest wan av th'

three av us. An' uts Pathrick O'Brien'll folly ye to th' top av' th'

narth pole, av ye say th' wor-rd.”

A week was spent in exploring the valley of the Ignatook and in prospect panning at different points along the mysterious boiling creek whose hot, black gravel showed an unbelievably rich pay streak.

O'Brien improved rapidly from day to day. The despairing, furtive look faded from his eyes, which glowed with a new hope and a new-born determination to do a man's part in the accomplishment of a purpose. His wild dash for the river showed the utter futility of attempting to recover Carlson's map, for the loss of which he blamed himself bitterly.

Nevertheless, the words of the boy put new heart into the lonely man, who ceased mumbling and muttering of Florida, and threw himself with a will into the work in hand.

The high rock-cliffs that flanked the valley of the Ignatook curved toward the west in two solid walls, unbroken except at a point two miles above the old mine, where a narrow ravine led in a long, winding slope to the level of the surrounding plateau.

It was by way of this ravine, O'Brien a.s.sured them, Carlson had taken his departure; and that this fact was known to the White Indians was clearly demonstrated when, each day they saw silent fur-clad figures silhouetted against the clearcut skyline. There was something ominous and forbidding in the att.i.tude of the silent sentinels of the frozen wastes who thus guarded the exits from the valley of the creek-of-the-steam. Time and again Connie glanced from the immutable watchers to the blackened bones upon the gravel at his feet. These were men, once; had they really drunk the poison water? Or, had they been held prisoners until they starved, by the human vultures that gloated in their lonely perches high among the rim-rocks?

”If you couldn't outguess 'em, why didn't you rush 'em?” he asked one day, addressing a sightless, grinning skull. And behind him, O'Brien laughed.

”They won't foind our-rn here, will they, b'y?”

”You bet they won't!” exclaimed Connie, and shook a small fist at a solitary, motionless figure on the brink of the high rock wall.

To the westward of the mouth of the ravine the walls drew close together, so that the hot black waters of the creek completely filled the narrow gorge and effectively blocked any further ascent of the valley.

”I don't like to huht no one, needless,” said Waseche Bill, as they sat about the fireplace one evening discussing plans for escape; ”but we-all got to get out of heah--an' we ah _goin'_ to get out too--an' if it comes right down to a matteh of _them_, oah _us_, why it's theah own fault if they get huht.”

”Yis,” agreed O'Brien, ”Oi shpose ye're roight. But, somehow--ye see--they divoided grub wid me phwin they wuz hungr-ry.”

”I know, O'Brien, but that don't give 'em no right to hold us heah, an'

to stahve us an' steal ouh dawgs, neitheh. We need them dawgs to get back with--an' we ah goin' to keep 'em. We-all cain't stay heah no longeh--much. 'Cause, outside of the meat an' fish, we ah runnin'

pow'ful shoht of grub. An', besides, the days is gettin' longeh mighty fast, an' the trail ahead of us is a long trail--even if we have good luck, an' if the snow softs up on us we cain't haul no load, an' when it melts we cain't cross no rivehs, an' if we get to the mountains yondeh, we won't have no ice-trail to get out on. No, seh! We got to get out of heah--an' we got to go _now_--an' if anyone tries fo' to stop us, why somethin's goin' to happen--that's all.”

”They's wan way--an' ondly wan, that we c'n me'be give um th' shlip,”

said O'Brien. ”'Tain't no use thryin' ut in th' dar-rk, f'r th' rayvine is narrow an' they've a foire at th' head uv ut. We'll be travellin 'heavy, an' we can't git t'rough um wid a whoop an' hurrah, loike we done in th' village--but we moight shlip by in th' shnow.”

”In the snow?” asked Connie. ”What do you mean?”

”Sur-re, they's a star-rm brewin'--th' soigns is roight, an' th' fale av ut's in th' air. Wan day, or two, an' she'll br-reak, beloike, on th'

tur-rn av th' moon. Phwin she thickens up, th' Injuns'll hit f'r th'

_igloos_ as fasht as their legs'll carry thim, an' not a nose'll they shtick outsoide till ut quits shnowin'. F'r they've a fear in their hear-rts f'r th' star-rm, an' they've no shtummick f'r to be ketched out in ut----”

”Them, an' me--both!” interrupted Waseche Bill.

”Ahroo! Now, come on! Ut's f'r their own good we're doin' ut. Oi know th' fur-rst fifteen er me'be ut's twinty moiles av th' thrail to th'

Kandik. We'll wor-rk ut loike this: They know they's a star-rm comin'--Oi seen a little knot av um on th' edge av th' clift a jabberin'

an' p'intin' into th' Narth. We'll let um see us fetchin' wood into th'

moine, loike we wuz gittin' ridy to hole up f'r th' star-rm. Th' sleds we'll load jist insoide th' mouth av th' tunnel, an' phwin they hit f'r th' village we'll har-rness th' dogs an' shlip up th' rayvine, an' out achrost th' bench. They's a bit av a mountain out yondher, me'be ut's tin moiles, an' on th' soide av ut we c'n camp snug in th' scr-rub, till th' shnow quits. Our tr-racks'll be burried, an' ut'll be a couple av days befoor they foind out we're gone, an' be th' toime they've picked up our thrail, we'll be out av their raych--f'r they'll venture not far-r to th' west, havin' fear-r av phwat lies beyant.”