The Purple Flame Part 13

"Are there any houses on the way?"

"None."

"Then, without our sleds, we would not dare undertake the journey."

"No. It would not do. You would starve or freeze."

It required all Marian's power of will to remain standing as she faltering said; "Then we are defeated. We-we must turn back. We-" She could not go on.

The aged man studied her face for a moment. Then quietly he asked:

"Is it very important that you get to the station; that you see the Agent?"

"Oh, very, very important! We-"

Again he motioned for silence. "Do not tell me now. I think it can be arranged that your sleds may pa.s.s the rapids. It _shall_ be arranged. I promise it. Come, you are worn out. It is time you should sleep."

CHAPTER XVII AGE SERVES YOUTH

The two girls had carried no suit-case, satchel or duffel bag on this trip. Their spare clothing was stowed away in their sleeping bags. When their host had lighted their way to the room that was to be theirs for the night, and had retired to his large room, they tip-toed back to their sleds, unlashed their sleeping bags and carried them as they were to their room.

For some hours Marian had not thought of the ancient treasure found in the cave, but once she began unrolling her sleeping bag she was reminded of it. A piece of old ivory went clattering to the floor. With a cry of surprise she picked it up, then carefully removed the other pieces of ivory, copper and ancient pottery and stood them in a row against the wall.

Again there came the temptation to give them a thorough examination.

Events transpired later that caused her to wish that she had done so. But weary and troubled by the turn affairs had taken, she again put off this inviting task. She slipped at once into her sleeping gown and plunged beneath the covers of the most delightful bed she had ever known. Attatak followed her a few seconds later.

They found themselves lying upon a bed of springy moss mixed with the fragrant tips of balsam. Over this had been thrown wolfskin robes. With one of these beneath them, and two above, they snuggled down until only their noses were showing.

They did not sleep at once. Left to himself, the mysterious old man had seated himself at his organ, and now sent forth such wild, pealing tones as Marian had never heard before. He was doing Dvorjak's wildest symphony, and making it wilder and more weird than even the composer himself could have dreamed it might be made.

Throughout its rendition, Marian lay tense as a bow-string. As it ended with a wild, racing crash, she settled back with a shiver, wondering what could throw such a spell over an old man as would cause him to play in that manner.

Had she known the reason she would have done little sleeping that night.

The aged host was tuning his soul to such a key as would nerve him for a Herculean task.

Since Marian did not know, she puzzled for a time over the trail they must travel in the morning; wondered vaguely how her host was to keep his promise of bringing their sleds safely past the rapids; then fell asleep.

As for their host, fifteen minutes after the last note of his wild symphony had died away, he tip-toed down the silent corridor which led to the door of the room in which the girls were sleeping. Having convinced himself by a moment of listening that they were asleep, he made his way to the spot where their two sleds had been left. These he examined carefully. After straightening up, he murmured:

"Took their sleeping-bags. That's bad. Didn't need 'em. Can't disturb 'em now. Guess it can be managed."

After delivering himself of this monologue, he proceeded to wrap the contents of each sled in a water-proof blanket, then dragged them out into the moonlight.

Having strapped an axe, a pick and a shovel on one sled, he tied the other sled to it and began pulling them over the smooth downhill trail that led toward the falls.

For a full mile he plodded stolidly on. Then he halted, separated the sleds, and with the foremost sled gliding on before him, plunged down a steep bank to the right. Presently he came toiling back up the hill for the other sled.

At the bottom once more, he stood for a moment staring into the foaming depths of a roaring torrent.

"Pretty bad," he muttered. "Never did it before at this time of year.

Might fail. Might-"

Suddenly he broke off and began humming, "Tum-te-tum-tum-tum." He was going over and over that mad symphony. It appeared to give him strength and courage, and seizing the pick, he began hacking away at some object that lay half buried in the snow.

Fifteen minutes later he had exhumed a short, square raft.

"Built you for other purposes, but you'll do for this," he muttered.

"Other logs where you came from."

He set both sleds carefully upon the raft; then with yards upon yards of rawhide rope, lashed them solidly to it.

This done, he began running out a heavier rope. This he carried up the bank to a spot where there was a ma.s.s of jagged rock covered here and there by hard packed snow.

More than once he slipped, but always he struggled upward until at last he stood upon the topmost pinnacle. A heroic figure silhouetted in the moonlight, he stood for a full five minutes staring down at the racing waters below. Dancing in the moonlight, they appeared to reach out black hands to grasp and drag him down.

Before him, on the opposite side, gleamed a high white bank. A sheer precipice of ice fifty feet high, this was the end of a glacier that every now and again sent a thousand tons of ice thundering into the deep pool at its foot.

Beneath this ice barrier the water had worn a channel. A boat drifting down on the rushing waters would certainly be sucked down beneath this ice and be crushed like an eggsh.e.l.l.

What the old man intended to do was evident enough. He meant to set the raft, laden with the sleds and trappings so precious to his young guests, afloat in those turbulent waters and then to attempt by means of the rope to hold it from being drawn beneath the ice, and to guide it a half mile down the river to quieter waters below. There was no path for him to follow. Jagged rocks and ice-like snow, slippery as gla.s.s, awaited him; yet he dared to try it.

Here was a task fit for the youngest and the strongest; yet there he stood, the spirit of a hero flowing in his veins-age serving youth. The gallantry of a great and perfect gentleman bowing to fair ladies and daring all. How Marian would have thrilled at sight of this daring act.

With a swift turn he tightened the rope, then with the "de-de-dum" of his symphony upon his lips, strained every muscle until he felt the rope slack, then eased away as he saw the raft tilt for the glide. Then he relaxed his muscles and stood there watching.

With a slow graceful movement the small raft glided out upon the water.

An eddy seized it and whirled it about. Three times it turned, then the current caught it, and whirled it away. The rope was tight now, and every muscle of the grand old man was tense. A battle had begun which was to decide whether or not the two girls were to reach the station and fulfill their mission.

CHAPTER XVIII THE TRAIL OF BLOOD

That same evening Patsy made her second startling discovery. An hour before night was to set in, she had harnessed a sled deer and struck out into the hills in search of a brown yearling that had been missing for two days.

"Strange where they all go," she murmured as she climbed a hill for a better view of the surrounding country. "Marian was right; unless we discover the cause of these disappearances and put an end to them, soon there will be no herd. It's a shame! How I wish I could make the discovery all by myself and surprise Marian with the good news when she gets home."

As she scanned the horizon away across to the west, she saw a single dark figure on the crest of a hill.

"Old Omnap-puk," she said, taking in with admiration the full sweep of his splendid antlers. "It's the first time I've seen him for a long while. We can't lose you, can we? And we can't catch you," she said, speaking to the lone figure.

Old Omnap-puk was neither reindeer nor caribou; at least this was what Marian had said about it. She believed that he was a cross-breed-half reindeer and half caribou. He was large like a caribou, larger than the largest deer in the herd. He had something of the dark brown coat of the caribou, but a bright white spot on his left side told of the reindeer blood that flowed in his veins.

But he was very wild. Haunting the edge of the herd, he never came close enough to be la.s.soed or driven into a brush corral. Many a wild chase had he lead the herders, but always he had shown them his sleek brown heels.