Part 3 (1/2)
In what was little less than complete enthusiasm, the curious guest sprang speechless from the box, and took a few quick steps as if to arrange his thoughts.
”Don't think that's all,” exclaimed the hardly less enthusiastic Norman as he vaulted from the novel pilot-cage. ”I guess you see what we're driving at and why we called our machine _Gitchie Manitou_. You know that's Cree for--”
”I know,” broke in the stranger; ”Injun for 'Storm G.o.d'!”
”I thought it was 'G.o.d of the Winds,'” exclaimed Roy. ”But names don't count. If they did, we should have called it 'The Snow King,' because that's where it ought to s.h.i.+ne. See these landing wheels?” he urged.
”Well, they're only put on for use around here. If this machine ever gets where it belongs it's going to have runners like a sled, where these wheels are. And I've got a theory that these are all it needs to make a trip where dogs and sleds can't travel.”
The two boys, eager to continue their half-told description, paused for a moment. The stranger, his hat in his hand, seemed to be drinking in the story he had just heard, with an interest so profound that the puzzled boys could not grasp it.
”Young men,” said the man at last, ”I'm mighty glad to hear all this. I wish you'd let me do some talking myself for a few moments. Will you let me tell you something about myself? It won't take long. I hope,” and he motioned the two boys to the seats on the box, ”when I'm through, it will interest you.” That it did, the next chapter will amply prove.
CHAPTER III
COLONEL HOWELL MAKES A NOVEL PROPOSAL
”My name is Howell,” began the man; ”Hill Howell,” he went on, ”and in the places where I'm best known I'm frequently called 'Colonel' Howell, but I don't get that t.i.tle because I am a native Kentuckian. I secured it up in this part of the world--just why, I don't know. I'm not going to tell you the story of my life or of any remarkable adventures, because I'm only a plain business man. But I'll have to repeat to you some account of my experience in the Northwest before you understand why I'm so interested in your machine and in you young men.
”In Kentucky,” resumed Colonel Howell, after he had helped himself to a cigar from his vest pocket, ”we once thought we had oil. To prove how little we had, I spent my own small means and, while I got no oil to speak of, I got a considerable knowledge of this industry. This came just in time for me to make my way to Kansas. That was fifteen years ago.
There I found not only oil but considerable return for my labors. It didn't make me a rich man, but it gave me all the money I needed.
”Then I discovered that I had considerable of the spirit of adventure in me and I started for the Klondike. Like many another mistaken prospector, I determined to go overland and down the Mackenzie River. With a small party I started down the Athabasca River from Athabasca Landing. I would probably have gone on and died in the wilderness, as most adventurers did who took this route, but when we had gone three hundred miles down the river and were just below the Big Rapids, at a place they call Fort McMurray, I caught the odor of oil again and the Klondike fever disappeared.
”When I saw the tar sands and the plain signs of oil in the Fort McMurray region, I separated from the party and stopped in the new oil region.
There were a few prospectors in the vicinity and having got the oil mania again, I found I was not prepared to make more than a preliminary prospect. My former companions had consented to leave me but few provisions. I had to live practically alone and without adequate provisions or turn back towards civilization at once.
”To the others in the field I discredited the possibilities of the region and set out on foot, with a single Indian as a guide, to make my way to Athabasca Landing. Here I planned to secure food and proper tools and machinery to return to Fort McMurray and develop what I believed would be a sensational sub-arctic oil region.”
”I've heard about it,” broke in Norman. ”You pa.s.s Lac la b.i.+.c.he going there, don't you?”
Colonel Howell nodded and proceeded: ”It was impossible to return to Athabasca Landing by canoe, as the river is too swift. For that reason I made a thirty-day trip on foot and reached the Landing with the winter well advanced.
”Here I found I could not get what machinery I needed and I put off my project until the next season when the ice had gone out of the river. I returned to the States and in the following July I went back to the Landing ready to go down the river once more. I took with me, from Chicago and Edmonton, well-boring machinery and ample provisions for a year's stay in the wilderness. At Athabasca Landing I found it impossible to buy proper boats and I lost considerable time in making two large flatboats patterned after the Hudson's Bay Company's batteaux.”
”'Sturgeon heads,'” exclaimed Roy. ”I've always wanted to see one of them.”
”That's what they call 'em,” exclaimed the colonel. ”I guess I don't need to describe them to you. Well, when they were completed, I loaded my machinery, quite a batch of lumber, and my flour and pork--I freighted all of this one hundred miles from Edmonton--and with three workmen, set out down the river with an Indian crew and a couple of old-time steersmen.”
”Who were they?” broke in Roy, with apparently uncalled-for eagerness.
”The best on the river,” answered the colonel. ”Old Moosetooth Martin and Bill La b.i.+.c.he.”
”Why, they're here on the ground!” almost shouted Roy.
”Yes,” exclaimed Colonel Howell. ”Do you know them? I'm on my way back to the Landing now. They're going with me again.”
Roy's mouth was open, as if this was a statement not to be lightly pa.s.sed over, but Norman stopped him with an impatient: ”Go on, please.”
”I'll tell you about them later,” the colonel added, as if to appease Roy. ”They're both fine old Indians and I've been with them a good bit to-day. But even the best of them have their faults. You know, at the Grand Rapids these flatboats ought to be unloaded. Even then the best steersman is bound to lose a boat now and then on the rocks. Both Moosetooth and La b.i.+.c.he cautioned me against running the Rapids loaded, but as it would take a week to portage around the Rapids, I took a chance. Moosetooth got through all right, but La b.i.+.c.he--and I reckon he's the better man of the two--at least I had him on the more valuable boat--managed to find a rock and we were in luck to reach the bank alive.