The Winds of Chance Part 60

"Dem dogs go better for l'il rest. We boil de kettle, eh?"

Rock wiped the sweat from his face. "You're certainly hitting it off, old man. We've made good time, but I haven't seen any tracks.

Have you?"

"We see 'em bimeby."

"Kind of a joke if they hadn't come, after all--if they'd really gone out to Hunker. Gee! The laugh would be on us."

"Dey come dis way," 'Poleon stoutly maintained.

Soon a blaze was going; then, while the ice in the blackened tea- bucket was melting, the drivers sliced a slab of bacon into small cubes and fed it sparingly to their animals, after which they carefully examined the dogs' feet and cleaned them of ice and snow pellets.

The tea was gulped, the hardtack swallowed, and the travelers were under way again almost before their sweaty bodies had begun to chill. On they hurried, mile after mile, sweeping past bends, eagerly, hopefully scanning every empty tangent that opened up ahead of them. They made fast time indeed, but the immensity of the desolation through which they pa.s.sed, the tremendous scale upon which this country had been molded, made their progress seem slower than an ant-crawl.

Eventually 'Poleon shouted something and pointed to the trail underfoot. Rock fancied he could detect the faint, fresh markings of sled runners, but into them he could not read much significance. It was an encouragement, to be sure, but, nevertheless, he still had doubts, and those doubts were not dispelled until Doret again halted his team, this time beside the cold embers of a fire. Fresh chips were scattered under the bank, charred f.a.gots had embedded themselves in the ice and were frozen fast, but 'Poleon interpreted the various signs without difficulty.

"Here dey mak' breakfas'--'bout daylight," said he. "Dey go slower as us."

"But they're going pretty fast, for all that. We'll never get them this side of Forty Mile."

"You don' spec' it, do you? Dey got beeg scare, dem feller. Dey runnin' so fas' dey can."

Forty Mile, so called because the river of that name enters the Yukon forty miles above the Boundary, was a considerable camp prior to the Dawson boom, but thereafter it had languished, and this winter it was all but deserted. So, too, was Cudahy, the rival trading-post a half-mile below. It was on the bars of this stream that the earliest pioneers had first found gold. Here at its mouth, during the famine days before the steamboats came, they had cached their supplies; here they had brewed their hootch in the fall and held high carnival to celebrate their good luck or to drown their ill-fortune.

Rock and his companion pulled up the bank and in among the windowless cabins during the afternoon; they had halted their dogs before the Mounted Police station, only to find the building locked and cold. The few faithful Forty-Milers who came out to exchange greetings explained that both occupants of the barracks had gone down-river to succor some sick Indians.

Rock was disgusted, but his next question elicited information that cheered him. Yes, a pair of strangers had just pa.s.sed through, one of them an active, heavy-set fellow, the other a tall, dark, sinister man with black eyes and a stormy demeanor.

They had come fast and they had tarried only long enough to feed their dogs and to make some inquiries. Upon learning that the local police were on the main river somewhere below, they had held a consultation and then had headed up the Forty Mile.

"UP Forty Mile?" Rock cried, in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"We seen 'em go," his informant declared. "That's what made us think there was something wrong. That's why we been on the lookout for you. We figgered they was on the dodge and hard pressed, but we couldn't do nothing about it. You see, it's only about twenty- three miles to the Line up Forty Mile. Down the Yukon it's forty.

They been gone 'most two hours, now."

"What do you want 'em for?" another bystander inquired.

"Murder," Rock exclaimed, shortly; then he heaved his sled into motion once more, for 'Poleon had started his team and was making off through the town. Down into the bed of the smaller stream the pursuers made their way and up this they turned. Again they urged their dogs into a run. It took some effort to maintain a galloping pace now, for the teams were tiring, and after some mental calculations Rock shook his head doubtfully. Of course, his quarry was at a disadvantage, there being two men to one sled, but-- twenty-three miles, with a two-hour start! It was altogether too great a handicap. The lieutenant had figured on that last forty miles, the last five or ten, in fact, but this change of direction had upset all his plans and his estimates. Evidently the McCaskeys cared not how nor where they crossed the Line, so long as they crossed it quickly and got Canadian territory behind them. Barring accident, therefore, which was extremely unlikely, Rock told himself regretfully that they were as good as gone. Two hours! It was too much. On the other hand, he and 'Poleon now had a fresh trail to follow, while the fleeing brothers had unbroken snow ahead of them, and that meant that they must take turns ahead of their dogs. Then, too, fifty miles over drifted trails at this season of the year was a heavy day's work, and the McCaskeys must be very tired by now, for neither was in the best of condition. In the spring, when the snows were wet and sled runners ran as if upon grease, such a journey would have been no great effort, but in this temperature the steel shoes creaked and a man's muscles did not work freely. Men had been known to play out unexpectedly.

After all, there was a possibility of pulling them down, and as long as there was that possibility the Mounted Policeman refused to quit.

Rock a.s.sured himself that this flight had established one thing, at least, and that was Pierce Phillips' innocence of the Courteau killing. The murderers were here; there could be no doubt of it.

Their frantic haste confessed their guilt. Friendship for the boy, pride in his own reputation, the memory of that ovation he had received upon leaving, gave the officer new strength and determination, so he shut his teeth and spurred his rebellious limbs into swifter action. There was no longer any opportunity of riding the sled, even where the trail was hard, for some of the Police dogs were limping and loafing in their collars. This was indeed a race, a Marathon, a twenty-three-mile test of courage and endurance, and victory would go to him who could call into fullest response his last uttermost ounce of reserve power.

Doret had promised that he would show his trail-mate how to travel, and that promise he had made good; all day he had held the lead, and without a.s.sistance from the lash. Even now his dogs, while not fresh, were far from exhausted. As for the man himself, Rock began to feel a conviction that the fellow could go on at this rate eternally.

Luck finally seemed to break in favor of the pursuers; accident appeared to work in their behalf. The day was done, night was again upon them, when Doret sent back a cry of warning, and, leaping upon his sled, turned his leader at right angles toward the bank.

His companion understood the meaning of that move, but the Police team was less responsive to command, and before Rock could swing them he felt his feet sink into soft slush.

"Dam' overflow!" Doret panted when the two teams were safely out upon the bank. "You wet your feet, eh?"

Apprehensively the officer felt of his moccasins; they were wet to the touch, but as yet no moisture had penetrated his socks. "You yelled in the nick of time," he declared, as he dried his soles in the loose snow.

"Dem feller got in it ankle-deep. I bet we fin' camp-fire soon."

This prediction came true. As the travelers rounded the next bluff they smelled the odor of burning spruce and came upon a trampled bed of boughs beside which some embers were still smoldering.

"Jove! That gives us a chance, doesn't it?" Rock panted.

His companion smiled. "We goin' start travel now, for sure. Dey can't be more 'n a mile or two ahead."

Down upon the river-bed the teams rushed. With biting lash and sharp commands the drivers urged them into a swifter run. Rock was forcing his dogs now; he made the smoke fly from their hides when they lagged. He vowed that he would not permit this French Canadian to outdistance him. He swore a good deal at his malamutes; he cursed himself as a weakling, a quitter; anger at his fatigue ran through him.

The travelers were up among the hills by now. Occasionally they pa.s.sed a deserted cabin, home of some early gold-digger. Valleys dark with night opened up to right and to left as the Forty Mile wound higher, deeper into the maze of rounded domes: the Boundary was close at hand. The hillsides hid their feet in black thickets of spruce, but their slopes were thinly timbered, their crests were nearly bare, and the white snow gave off a dim radiance that made traveling possible even after the twilight had deepened. By and by it grew lighter and the north horizon took on a rosy flush that spread into a tremendous flare. The night was still, clear, crackly; it was surcharged with some static force, and so calm was the air, so deathlike the hush, that the empty valley rang like a bell. That mysterious illumination in the north grew more and more impressive; great ribbons, long pathways of quivering light, unrolled themselves and streamed across the sky; they flamed and flickered, they writhed and melted, disappearing, reappearing, rising, falling. It was as if the lid had been lifted from some stupendous caldron and the heavens reflected the radiance from its white-hot contents. Mighty fingers, like the beams of polar search-lights, groped through the voids overhead; tumbling waves of color rushed up and dashed themselves away into s.p.a.ce; the whole arch of the night was lit as from a world in flames. Red, yellow, orange, violet, ultra-violet--the tints merged with one another bewilderingly and the snows threw back their flicker until coa.r.s.e print would have been readable. Against that war of clashing colors the mountain-crests stood out in silhouette and the fringe of lonely wind-twisted trunks high up on their saddles were etched in blackest ink.

It was a weird, an unearthly effect; it was exciting, too. As always when the Aurora is in full play, the onlookers marveled that such a tremendous exhibition of energy could continue in such silence. That was the oddest, the most impressive feature of all, for the crash of avalanches, the rumble of thunder, the diapason of a hundred Niagaras, should have accompanied such appalling phenomena. It seemed odd indeed that the whine of sled runners, the scuff of moccasins, the panting of dogs, should be the only audible sounds.

There were other overflows underfoot now, but the cold had frozen them and the going was getting constantly better. The snow was thin and in places the sleds slewed sidewise and the dogs ran on slack traces across long stretches of bare glare ice. It was while negotiating such a place as this that Rock paid the price of his earlier carelessness. Doret's dry moose-skin soles had a sure grip, hence he never hesitated, but the lieutenant's moccasins were like a pair of tin shoes now and, without warning, he lost his footing. He was running swiftly at the moment; he strove to save himself, to twist in midair, but he failed. 'Poleon heard a cry of pain and dismay, so he halted his team and came striding back. Rock raised himself, then took a step, but faltered and clung helplessly to the handlebars. He began to curse furiously; he undertook to estimate the extent of his injury, then explained:

"My foot doubled under me and I came down on it like a ton of bricks. By Heavens! I believe something broke!"

'Poleon was solicitous. He blamed himself, too. "It's dem wet moccasin'. I should have stop' an' mak' you change," said he.

"We can't stop," Rock groaned. "I'll be all right as soon as--"

The words ended in another explosive oath as he again put his weight upon the injured member. Blasphemy poured from his lips as repeatedly he tried to force his foot to carry him. He cursed himself for a clumsy, blundering a.s.s; he shouted at his dogs; he sent his sled forward and lurched along behind it, half supporting himself, until 'Poleon finally halted him.

"It's no good mak' bad t'ing worse, M'sieu'," the woodsman declared. "You bus' him for sure, an' it's no use goin' furder.

S'pose mebbe we boil de kettle, eh?"

"And let them get away clean? When we had 'em? They can't be a mile ahead. Let 'em slip between our fingers?" raved the officer.

"I can't. I won't--"

"We mak' li'l fire an' look him over dat foot. Me, I t'ink you don' walk no more for two, free week'."

"You go! I'll deputize you! Get 'em, Doret, quick! You can do it!

I'll wait! Go ahead!"

The other nodded. "Sure, I can get 'em! I never have no doubt 'bout dat in de least, but it's better we fix you comfor'ble."

"They'll be across, I tell you--over the Line--"

"I came pas' dat place more 'n once or twice"--the French Canadian grinned--"an' I never seen it no Line." He forced his companion to lower himself upon the sled, then swung it toward the river-bank, calling upon his own lead dog to follow. Up and into the shelter of the spruce he drove the Police team; quickly he felled dry wood and kindled a fire. This took but a few moments, but Rock was wet with sweat and in consequence he was shivering wretchedly; his teeth were chattering even before the blaze had taken hold.

'Poleon continued to work with what speed he could, and in a surprisingly short time he had built a snug wickiup and filled it with boughs. This done, he unhitched and fed both teams, spread Rock's sleeping-bag under the shelter, and set a pail of snow to melt. By the light of the fire he examined the latter's injury, but could make little of it, for already it was badly swollen and every manipulation caused its owner extreme pain. There were no remedies available; there was not even a vessel of sufficient size in which to bathe the foot; hence 'Poleon contented himself by bandaging it and helping his trail-mate into bed.

Not since leaving Dawson had either man tasted hot food, but their hunger was as nothing to their thirst. Even in this length of time their bodies had shrunk, withered, inside their clothing, and for perhaps an hour they took turns greedily draining the pail of its tepid contents. Under intense cold the human body consumes itself at a rapid rate. Once it has burned itself out it preys upon those deep-hidden forces which nature holds in reserve, and the process of recuperation waits upon a restoration of a normal balance of moisture.

Both men were weighed down by an aching, nightmare fatigue, and as they sat gulping hot water, absorbing heat from within and without, their muscles set and they felt as if their limbs had turned to stone.

But, once the first mad craving for drink had been a.s.suaged, they fried bacon and made tea. Like wolves they fell upon the salt meat; they dipped the hot grease up in their spoons and swallowed it with relish; they crunched their hardtack and washed the powdery mouthfuls down with copious draughts from the blackened pail. When the tea was gone they brewed another scalding bucketful.