The Radio Boys Rescue the Lost Alaska Expedition Part 24

CHAPTER XXI.-A WAILING CRY.

"Jack, Jack," he shouted, as he ran through the fog, blindly, but remembering to veer away from the river bank a little to avoid the danger of tumbling in. "Jack, Jack, where are you?"

A shadow, fog-distorted, loomed before him, big, enormous. A hand gripped his shoulder and brought him to a halt.

"Here I am, Bob. What's the matter?"

Bob rubbed the back of a big hand across his eyes.

"I heard something out there," he said, pointing into the fog upon the river. "I guess I'd been asleep, or daydreaming, anyway. I couldn't be sure I had heard anything. It came twice-that sound. Then there was silence. So I came down here to ask whether you had heard, too."

"But, Bob, what was it? What did you hear? I heard nothing."

"Jack, it was the sound of a baby's cry."

Bob's voice was solemn. A shiver ran through Jack, as if a breath of cold air had fanned him. In that fog-enwrapped isolation, in that far northern wilderness, what could a baby be doing? It was preposterous.

More, it was uncanny.

"Bob, you were asleep. Yes, sir, you certainly were dreaming. A baby.

Huh."

"Maybe so," Bob said, reluctantly. "But, true as I live, Jack--"

The other's grip on his shoulder tightened.

Out of the fog came a wailing sound, distant, thin, but unmistakable. It was the cry of a baby, if ever there was such a thing.

But this time it came not from the river, but from inland. The two listened, straining to hear, but the cry died away without being repeated. They looked at each other, an unnamable fear gripping them.

"Jack, I'm afraid," confessed Bob in a whisper. "I don't know-there's something strikes a chill into me-I-I--"

He paused. Jack nodded.

"I feel the same way, Bob," he said, low-voiced. "What a pair of fools we are, though," he added, brightening. "That must be some bird, or animal, perhaps."

Almost unconsciously, they had been making their way southward and now another figure rose up in the fog before them-that of Frank. He was about to speak, when once more the wailing cry rose, and this time it came from two quarters, from the river and from farther inland. The three stood, silent, speechless, and in that moment, while the echoes of the cries still rang in their heads, Farnum and Art materialized out of the fog.

"Good, there you all are," said Farnum, in a low, tense voice. "Follow me to camp."

And without a word of explanation he started at right angles away from the river, for they had taken their stations in such fashion that Frank, holding the middle position, would be directly opposite the camp. This was in order to enable them to reach it without losing their way in the fog.

"What is it, Art?" asked Jack, his voice matching Farnum's.

"Indians," answered Art, tersely. "Stick close together and don't make no noise."

It was a situation to tax the nerve of the bravest, and the three boys hurrying along in the wake of Farnum and Art could not be accused of cowardice for experiencing a chill premonition of trouble ahead. Often had Farnum spoken of the cruelty of these far northern Indians. Bitter had been their experiences with Lupo's half-breeds, in whose veins flowed the blood of the Indians of the north.

As they hurried along, there flashed through their minds some of the stories Farnum had told. Had they gotten so far, so near the end of their quest for the "Lost Expedition" only to be wiped out by Indians, on the very eve of success? Such thoughts raced through the mind of each. But they were determined fellows, accustomed to confront danger, used to tight places. The first onrush of panic was swept aside, and, by the time they tumbled into the little hollow in which camp had been pitched, and where Mr. Hampton awaited them, each had himself well in hand.

Mr. Hampton looked at their determined faces, and a smile of grim approval was his greeting.

"Indians, boys," he said. "Farnum told me. I suspected as much. Now, we have no trees here for bulwark, but this little hollow is good enough.

Let us lie down and line the edge of the pit. We'll be pretty close together, and if any Indians stumble on us they'll get a warm reception.

Listen." He spoke in a low voice. "There goes that cry again. Does it sound closer? Yes," as the other nodded, "I thought so. Quick. Take your positions. Jack, my boy, you stay beside me."

There was a little tremor in his voice. That was all. But Jack understood. He clasped his father's hand strongly, then threw himself p.r.o.ne beside him, while the others ranged themselves in a circle as commanded.

Once more came the wailing cry from the inland. Once more it was answered in kind from the water. But to all it was apparent that the sounds were farther removed, and Mr. Hampton broke the painful silence with a whispered:

"They're moving on, moving away."

"Look, Dad," Jack exclaimed excitedly. "I can see those rocks ahead where a minute ago was only the white fog. Why, the fog's lifting. It's lifting, Dad, sure enough."

"You're right, Jack," his father replied, low-voiced, but there was anxiety rather than jubilation in his tone. "That will make it bad for us. We'll be exposed to sight."

Once again came the wail, faint and far away. As faint came the reply from the water. Both cries were to the north. Originally they had come from that direction. Now they were withdrawing whence they had come.

What could it mean?

The next minute a rattle of rifle fire broke the silence. At the same time a cold breeze blew across the crouching figures in the shallow pit and the fog began to shred out fast before it.

Farnum sprang upright, gazing to the north. The others also gained their feet. The shooting now was fast and furious.

"I can't understand," said Farnum, in a puzzled tone.

With an exclamation, Jack seized his father's arm.

"Dad," he cried, "you said Thorwaldsson might be near."

"Yes, why-"

"That's it," said Art, in a tone of conviction. Mr. Farnum turned towards him.

"You mean?"

"Jack guessed it. Thorwaldsson's being attacked."

Jack nodded.

"That's what I meant, Dad."

"You're right, Jack," said his father. "Come on. It can't be anything else. n.o.body but Thorwaldsson is in this wilderness. We must help him.

Stick close together."

And scrambling out of their shallow pit, Mr. Hampton started on the dead run towards the direction of the shooting, with the others at his heels.