On the Edge of the Arctic Part 3

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 shine. 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 Biche 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 Biche."

"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 Biche 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 Biche--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.

"All my iron tubing and drilling machinery disappeared in the Rapids.

There was no way to recover it and we went to Fort McMurray in the other boat. It carried my lumber and most of the provisions, but I couldn't work without tools. There was nothing to do but make the best of it and I left my three men to build a cabin and spend the winter in the wilderness while I went back on foot again to the Landing to buy a new outfit."

"Gee, that was tough," commented Norman.

"You boys have lived in the Northwest long enough to have learned the great lesson of this country," explained Colonel Howell. "This is a region where you can't have a program and where, if you can't do a thing to-day, you can do it some other time. And, after all, it isn't a bad philosophy, just so long as you keep at it and do it sometime. They seem to do things slowly sometimes up in this wilderness land, but they always seem to do them in the end. I guess it's the Indian way. I notice they always drive ahead until they get there, although there may be a good many stops on the way."

"Then what?" persisted Roy.

"I had to come back to the States--that was the end of last season,"

continued the man, "and now I'm on my way again to reach the Athabasca.

My outfit is in Edmonton, I hope. But this year I'll have a little less trouble. There's a railroad now between Edmonton and Athabasca Landing and I expect to get my equipment and my stores to the river in freight cars. I've been detained by other business and should have been in Fort McMurray by this time, as the ice goes out of the river late in May. And I have my boats this year that I bought before I left the Landing.

"But when I tried to arrange for my old steersmen to pilot me down the river again, I found that energetic Calgary had beaten me to it.

Moosetooth and La Biche are not the best boatmen on the Athabasca, but they are the ones I want. And I'm here, waiting for the show to close.

They will go with me, and I suppose their families as well," added Colonel Howell with a grimace, "directly to Athabasca Landing, and in a week from now there is no reason why we should not be drifting down the big river again."

"Then your trouble'll begin again, won't it?" asked Norman.

Instead of answering, Colonel Howell sat in silence a few moments.

"There's a good deal I might say about the country I'm going into," he continued at last, "but I think you young men understand it pretty well."

"Pretty well up into the Barren Lands, isn't it?" asked Roy.

"The last of the wilderness before you reach the treeless plains,"

explained the colonel, "but as far as Fort McMurray the region is a vast trail-less extent of poplar and spruce. The winter comes in November and lasts until June. In that period, when the nights grow long, you have a pretty good imitation of the Arctic. There are Indians here and there and game abounds, but the white man pa.s.ses only now and then. The dog and sled are yet the winter means of transportation and here you may find the last of the trappers that have made history in the great Northwest.

"Some of this region will undoubtedly in time provide farms, but as yet no farmer has learned how to use the rich black soil of its river lands in the short summer seasons. In time, powerful steamers will navigate the Athabasca and also, in time, there will be railroads. When they come,"

the speaker went on with a chuckle, "I hope to be able to supply them with oil. This at least is why, for the third time, I'm making my way into that little-known country."

"I hope you don't get dumped again," suggested Norman.

"How genuinely do you hope that?" asked Colonel Howell instantly and with renewed animation.

"Why, I just hope it," answered Norman, somewhat perplexed.

Colonel Howell hesitated a moment and then said abruptly: "You two boys are the best guarantee I could have against another accident. I want you to help me make a success of this thing. I've an idea and I got it the moment I saw your aeroplane to-day. Come with me into the wilderness."

"Us?" exclaimed both boys together.

"Why not?" hastily went on the oil man. "Don't you see what I've been driving at? Don't you recall the two long trails I made back to civilization--a month each time? Think of this: When I leave Athabasca Landing, the only way by which I can communicate with the world behind me is by courier, on foot; from Fort McMurray this means a tramp of four weeks for me, and even to a skilled Indian it means three hundred miles through the poplar forest."

"And what could we do?" asked the breathless Roy.