Part 20 (1/2)

”Swing those dogs in here!” he cried, pointing to Waseche's team that remained still harnessed. ”A little farther! Woah! That'll do--now, wait!” Swiftly he stooped, and with a few quick turns, bound the injured foot tightly to the back of the sled.

”Now, pull up--easy, at first--don't jerk! That's right!” he cried, as the leg stretched taut, ”now, make 'em _pull_!”

Again the boy dropped to his knees and worked rapidly with his fingers, while under O'Brien's urging Waseche's _malamutes_ humped and clawed as they pulled. There was a slight click, as the bone-ends snapped into place, and the Irishman heard the delighted voice of the boy:

”Woah! She's set! She's set! Ease off, now, and hand me the splints!”

The splints, rudely split from pieces of firewood, were applied and held in place by strips torn from the tarp, a blanket was wrapped about the injured member, and the patient made as comfortable as possible beside the fire in the lee of the shelter tarp. But it was an hour later before Waseche Bill opened his eyes and gazed inquiringly about him.

”What happened?” he asked, as a sharp pain caused him to stare in surprise toward his blanket-swathed leg.

”Sur-re, ye walked over th' edge av a clift, an' lit on th' rocks, a mather av siventy feet below--an' th' b'y, here, wuz over an' afther yez befoor ye lit. Yer leg's bruk squar-re in two, but th' lad set ut loike an-ny docther c'd done--an' bether thin most.”

”O'Brien helped!” interrupted Connie.

”Aye, a bit. An' so did the dogs. But, th' b'y--he wuz th' captain. Ye sh'd o' seed um shlip over th' edge on th' ind av his thread av a loine, into th' whirlin' scather av shnow, when ye c'd see nayther bottom nor soides. 'Oi'm a-goin afther Waseche!' he says--An' he done so.”

”O'Brien pulled you up,” said the boy, as Waseche leaned over and grasped the small hand in his own big one. He spoke no word, but in the pressure of the mighty hand-grasp the boy read the man-sign of _tillic.u.ms_.

CHAPTER XVIII

ALASKA!

They camped for the remainder of the day.

”'Tain't no use grumblin' on ouh luck,” remarked the philosophical Waseche. ”We got to camp right heah till the stawm weahs out. Chances is, we'll have the Injuns onto us in a day oah so; but we cain't go bl.u.s.te'catin' no mo' wheah we cain't see. Anyhow, they ain't no use borrowin' trouble--theh's a right smaht of it a-comin' to a man without him huntin' none. So fah, we're all to the good. The big Nawth's fightin' to hold her secrets, but she ain't handed us no knockout--yet.”

During the night the storm ceased, and with the first hint of dawn the outfit was made ready for the trail. Robes were spread upon Connie's light sled, and Waseche Bill placed in his sleeping bag and bound securely upon the robes with many turns of _bab.i.+.c.he_. The bundles of firewood, and O'Brien's cans of gold were transferred to the other sleds, and in the dull grey of the long morning twilight the outfit pulled southward over the bench, paralleling the edge of the ravine into which Waseche had fallen. Progress was slow. The fresh snow rolled up and clogged the free running of the sleds, so that both Connie and O'Brien mushed ahead of the dogs, breaking out the trail with their rackets. Hour after hour they mushed, seeking to cross the great fissure that gaped wide and deep between them and the distant mountains that loomed white and grand against the western skyline--the mountains that separated them from Alaska, and through whose fastnesses they must find a trail.

The belated sun peeped over the rim of the flat snow tundra behind them, and all three turned to view the welcome sight. Suddenly, O'Brien, with a sharp cry, pointed toward some tiny moving objects far to the eastward:

”The Injuns,” he cried. ”That haythen, Lemlak--th' wan that seen us layve th' Ignatook--he's put um on our thr-rail--an' ut's back we go, av they don't har-rpoon us--as sur-re's me name's Pathrick O'Brien!”

”It's back we _don't_ go! And you can bet your bottom dollar on that!”

cried Connie, as he glanced with flas.h.i.+ng eyes toward the two high-power rifles lashed side by side against the rail of McDougall's sled. ”Look!

There's the end of the ravine! We can head west now, and hit for the mountains!”

”Sur-re, they'll ketch up to us, befoor we git foive moile--we've got to bre'k thr-rail, an' they'll folly along in ut.”

They were drawing nearer to the white expanse that Connie had pointed out as the end of the ravine.

”Ut ain't th' ind! Ut's a shnow bridge!” exclaimed O'Brien, and the others saw, extending from side to side of the chasm, gleaming white in the slanting rays of the sun, an enormous snow arch.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Recklessly O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span of snow while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly.”]

Without waiting for a line, O'Brien rushed out upon the glittering span, while Connie and Waseche watched breathlessly. The great ma.s.s of snow that bridged the chasm looked as solid as the rock of Gibraltar, but the partners heaved a sigh of relief as the man reached the opposite side in safety and turned to retrace his steps. Connie's team, drawing the injured man, crossed first and was quickly followed by the two more heavily loaded sleds.

”Now, let's. .h.i.t for the mountains!” cried the boy, ”we've got miles and miles on them yet.”

”Hold on, son. We got lots of time, now. 'Spose yo' jes' bust open one of them theah bundles of wood an' staht us a little camp-fiah.”