[to be continued.]
SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES.
BY KIRK MUNROE.
CHAPTER XIX.
A BATTLE WITH WOLVES.
The remainder of the journey up the Tananah was uneventful, but so long that the new year was well begun ere the sledge party left it and turned up the Gheesah branch, which flows in from the east. An Indian guide, procured at the last village by the promise of a pound of tobacco for his services, accompanied them on their four days' journey up this river, and to the summit of the bleak wind-swept divide, five hundred feet above timberline. This gave the dogs a hard pull, though Jalap Coombs insisted upon lightening their load by walking; nor from this time on would he again consent to be treated as an invalid.
The summit once passed, they plunged rapidly down its farther side and into the welcome shelter of timber fringing a tiny stream, whose course they were now to follow. Their guide called it the Tukh-loo-ga-ne-lukh-nough, which, after vain attempts to remember, Phil shortened to "Tough Enough." Jalap Coombs, however, declared that this was not a "sarcumstance" to the names of certain down-East streams among which he was born, and to prove his assertion began to talk glibly of the Misquabenish, the Keejimkoopic, the Kashagawigamog, the Kahwcambejewagamog, and others of like brevity, until Phil begged him to take a rest.
That night, while the camp was buried in the profound slumber that followed a day of unusually hard work, and the fire had burned to a bed of coals, the single long-drawn howl of a wolf was borne to it with startling distinctness by the night wind. As though it were a signal, it was answered from a dozen different directions at once. The alert dogs sprang from their snowy beds with bristling crests and hurled back a challenge of fierce barkings; but this, being an incident of nightly occurrence, failed to arouse the tired sleepers.
Within a few minutes the dread howlings had so increased in volume that they seemed to issue from scores of savage throats and to completely encircle the little camp. If was as if all the wolves of the forest, rendered desperate by famine, had combined for a raid on the supper of provisions so kindly placed within their reach. Nearer and nearer they came, until their dark forms could be seen like shadows of evil omen flitting among the trees and across the open moonlit spaces.
The dogs, at first eager to meet their mortal foes, now huddled together, terrified by overwhelming numbers. Still the occupants of the camp slept, unconscious of their danger. Suddenly there came a rush, an unearthly clamor of savage outcry, and the sleepers were roused to a fearful wakening by a confused struggle within the very limits of the camp and over their recumbent forms. They sprang up with yells of terror, and at the sound of human voices the invaders drew back, snapping and snarling with rage.
"Timber wolves!" shouted Serge. "Your rifle, Phil! Quick!"
Emboldened by this re-enforcement, the dogs advanced to the edge of the camp space, but with low growls in place of their former defiant barkings.
Phil was trembling with excitement; but Serge, steady as a rock, was throwing the No. 4's from the double-barrel and reloading with buckshot, at the same time calling to Chitsah to pile wood on the fire, and to the other Indians not to fire until all were ready. Jalap Coombs seized an axe, and forgetful of the bitter cold, was rolling up his sleeves, as though he proposed to fight the wolves single-handed. At the same time he denounced them as pirates and bloody land-sharks, and dared them to come within his reach.
"Are you ready?" cried Serge. "Then fire!" And with a roar that woke the forest echoes for miles, the four guns poured their contents into the dense black mass, that seemed just ready to hurl itself for a second time upon the camp.
With frightful howlings the pack scattered, and began to gallop swiftly in a wide circle about the fire-lit space. One huge brute, frenzied with rage, leaped directly toward the camp, with gleaming eyes and frothing mouth. Ere a gun could be levelled, Jalap Coombs stepped forward to meet him, and with a mighty swinging blow his heavy axe crushed the skull of the on-coming beast as though it had been an egg-shell. Instantly the dogs were upon him, and tearing fiercely at their fallen enemy.
With the first shot Phil's nervousness vanished, and as coolly as Serge himself, he followed with levelled rifle the movements of the yelling pack in their swift circling. At each patch of moonlit space one or more of the fierce brutes fell before his unerring fire, until every shot of his magazine was exhausted.
"NOW," CRIED SERGE, "ALL MAKE A DASH TOGETHER!"
"Now," cried Serge, "we must scatter them. Every man take a firebrand in each hand, and all make a dash together."
"Yelling," added Jalap Coombs.
"Yes, yelling louder than the wolves themselves."
The plan was no sooner proposed than adopted. Musky, Luvtuk, big Amook, and the rest, inspired by their master's courage, joined in the assault, and before that fire-bearing, yelling, on-rushing line of humanity and dogs the gaunt forest raiders gave way and fled in all directions.
The whole battle had not lasted more than five minutes, but it resulted in the death of nineteen wolves, six of which were despatched by the sailor-man's terrible axe after the fight was over, and they, more or less wounded, were slinking away toward places of hiding. But the dogs found them out, and they met a swift fate at the hands of Jalap Coombs.
As he finally re-entered the camp, dragging the last one behind him, he remarked, with a chuckle: "Waal, boys, I ruther guess our boat's 'high line' this time, and I'm free to admit that this here wolf racket beats most kinds of fishing, for genuine entertainment, onless it's fishing for sharks, which is exciting at times. I'm pleased to have met up with this school, though, for it's allers comforting to run across fresh proofs of my friend old Kite Roberson's knowingness. He useter say consarning the critters, Kite did, that wolves was sharks and sharks was wolves, and that neither of 'em warn't no fit playthings for children, which it now seems to me he were correct, as usual."
"He certainly was," replied Phil, who, leaning on his rifle, was thoughtfully regarding the shaggy beast that Kite Robinson's friend had just dragged into camp. "But aren't these uncommonly big wolves? I never knew they grew so large."
"They don't generally," answered Serge; "but these are of the same breed as the great Siberian wolves, which, you know, are noted as being the largest and fiercest in the world."
"I don't wonder now that the dogs were frightened," continued Phil, "for this fellow looks twice as big as Amook—and he's no puppy. But, I say, Serge, you're an awfully plucky chap. As for myself, I must confess I was so badly rattled that I don't believe I should have even thought of a gun before they were on us a second time."
"If they had made a second rush, not one of us would be alive to talk about it now," remarked Serge, soberly; "and it was only the promptness of our attack that upset their plans. In dealing with wolves it is always safest to force the fighting; for while they are awful bullies, they are cowards at heart, like all bullies I ever heard of."
"Captain Duff, for instance," said Phil, with a reminiscent smile. Then he added, "Anyhow, old man, you got us out of a bad scrape, for it isn't every fellow who would know just how to deal with a pack of wolves, especially when awakened from a sound sleep to find them piling on top of him."
"I don't believe it was quite as bad as that," objected Serge. "I expect only the dogs piled on top of us when they were driven in. By-the-way, did you know that four of them were killed and several others badly hurt?"
"No, I didn't," cried Phil, in dismay. "What ones are killed?"
"Two from my team, one from yours, and one from Chitsah's."
"Oh, the villains!" exclaimed the young leader. "Another victory like that would cripple us. Do you think there is any danger of them coming back?"
"Not just now; but I shouldn't be surprised to hear from them again to-morrow night."
"All right. I'm glad you mentioned it. Now we'll see if we can't have an interesting reception prepared for them."
"Pizen?" queried Jalap Coombs, who had lighted his pipe, and was now complacently watching the skinning of the dead wolves, which had been undertaken by the three Indians.
"Worse than that," answered Phil, significantly.
By the time the Indians had finished their task and breakfast had been eaten the usual starting-hour had arrived. Two of the wolf-skins were allotted to the guide, who was to leave them at this point, and he set forth on his return journey with them on his back. Rolled in them were the single dried salmon, which would form his sole sustenance on the journey, and the cherished pound of tobacco, for which he had been willing to work so hard. In his hand he bore an old flintlock musket, that was the pride of his heart, not so much on account of its shooting qualities, which were very uncertain, as by reason of its great length. It was the longest gun known to the dwellers of the Tananah Valley, and consequently the most valuable, for the Hudson Bay Company's method of selling such guns was to exchange one for as many marten, fox, or beaver skins as could be piled from stock to muzzle when it stood upright.
"I hope the wolves won't attack his camps," remarked Phil, as they watched the lonely figure pass out of sight on the back trail.
"Him no camp," declared Kurilla.
"But he must. Why, it's a four days' journey to his home."
"No. One day, one night. Him no stop. Wolf no catch um. Yaas."
And Kurilla was right, for the Indian would push on over mile after mile of that frozen solitude without a pause, save for an occasional bite from his dried salmon and a handful of snow to wash it down, until he reached his own far-away home.
CHAPTER XX.
CHITSAH'S NATURAL TELEPHONE.
Seventeen green wolf-skins formed a heavy sledge-load, especially for the weakened dog teams, but fortunately Jalap Coombs's feet were again in condition for walking, and snow on the river was not yet deep. So it was determined to carry them at least for the present. On the evening following that of the encounter with wolves, Phil, leaving the work of preparing camp to the others, unpacked the Eskimo wolf-traps of compressed whalebone that he had procured at Makagamoot. He had twenty of the ingenious little contrivances, and wrapped each one in a strip of frozen wolf meat that he had saved and brought along for the purpose. When all were thus prepared he carried them about a quarter of a mile from camp, and there dropped them at short intervals in a great circle about it. He knew the dogs would not stray that far, since their experience of the night before, and so felt pretty certain that the traps would only find their way to the destination for which they were intended.
The first blood-chilling howl was heard soon after dark, and a few minutes later it was apparent that wolves were again gathering from all quarters. Then the anxious watchers caught occasional glimpses of dim forms and sometimes of a pair of gleaming eyes, that invariably drew a shot from Phil's rifle. Still, the wolves seemed to remember their lesson, or else they waited for the occupants of the camp to fall asleep, for they made no effort at an attack.
As time passed, the wolf tones began to change, and defiant howlings to give place to yelps and yells of distress. Soon other sounds were mingled with these—the fierce snarlings of savage beasts fighting over their prey. The traps were doing their work. Those wolves that had eagerly gulped them down were so stricken with deadly pains that they staggered, fell, and rolled in the snow. At the first symptoms of distress others sprang upon them and tore them to pieces, at the same time battling fiercely over their cannibal feast. So wolf fed wolf, while the night echoed with their hideous outcries, until finally the survivors, gorged with the flesh of their own kind, slunk away, and after some hours of bedlam quiet once more reigned in the forest.
So Phil's scheme proved a success, and for the remainder of that night he and his companions slept in peace. At daylight they visited the scenes of wolfish feasting, and found everywhere plentiful evidence of what had taken place; but this time they gathered in neither rugs nor robes, for only blood stains and bones remained.
For another week did the sledge party journey down the several streams that, emptying one into another, finally formed the Conehill River, or, as the gold-diggers call it, Forty Mile Creek, because its mouth is forty miles down the Yukon from the old trading-post of Fort Reliance. As the first half of their long journey drew toward a close they became anxious as to its results and impatient for its end. When would they reach the settlement? and could they get there before their rivals who had followed the Yukon? were the two questions that they constantly asked of each other, but which none could answer.
Phil grew almost despondent as he reflected upon the length of time since they left old Fort Adams, and gave it as his opinion that the other party must have reached Forty Mile, long since.
Jalap Coombs was firm in his belief that the other party was still far away, and that his would be the first in; for, quoth he: "Luck allers has been on my side, and I'm going to believe it allers will be. My old friend Kite Roberson useter say, speaking of luck, and he give it as his own experience, that them as struck the best kinds of luck was them as worked the hardest for it, and ef they didn't get it one way they was sure to another. Likewise he useter say, Kite did, consarning worriments, that ef ye didn't pay no attention to one 'twould be mighty apt to pass ye by; but ef ye encouraged it by so much as a wink or a nod ye'd have to fight it to git red of it. So, as they hain't no worriments hove in sight, what's the use in s'arching for 'em?"
As for Kurilla, whenever his opinion was asked, he always grinned, and returned the same answer:
"You come pretty quick, mebbe. Yaas."
So each day of the last three or four brought its fresh hope; at each succeeding bend of the stream all eyes were strained eagerly forward for a sight of the expected cluster of log huts, and each night brought a disappointment.
At length one evening, when Phil, who had pushed on longer than usual, in an effort to end their suspense, was reluctantly compelled by gathering darkness to go into camp, Chitsah suddenly attracted attention to himself by running to a tree and pressing an ear to the trunk. As the others stared a smile overspread his face, and he said something to his father, which the latter instantly interpreted.
"What!" cried Phil, incredulously. "He thinks he hears the sound of chopping?"
"Yaas," answered Kurilla. "Axe chop um white man. Plenty. Yaas."
"I too can hear something," exclaimed Serge, who had imitated Chitsah's movements, "though I wouldn't swear it was chopping."
"Hurrah! So can I!" shouted Phil, after a moment of intent listening at another tree. "First time, though, I ever knew that the public telephone service was extended to this country. The sound I heard might be a train of cars twenty miles away or a woodpecker somewhere within sight. No matter. If Chitsah says it's chopping, it must be, for he ought to know, seeing that he first heard it with the aid of the tree-telephone. So let's go for it. We can afford to travel an hour or two in the dark for the sake of meeting the white man who is swinging that axe."
"Of course we can," replied Serge.
"Ay, ay, sir!" answered Jalap Coombs.
"Mebbe catch um. Yaas," added Kurilla, sharing the general enthusiasm.
An hour later, as they rounded a projecting point, Phil uttered an exulting shout. A cluster of twinkling lights shone dead ahead, and our travellers' goal was won.
"Let's give them a volley," suggested Serge. "It's the custom of the country, you know."
So the guns were taken from their deer-skin coverings, and at Phil's word of command a roar from double-barrel, flintlock, and Winchester woke glad echoes from both sides of the broad valley, and from the rugged Yukon cliffs beyond. Then with cheers and frantic yelpings of dogs, the sledge brigade dashed on toward the welcoming lights.
"Hello the camp!" yelled Phil, as they approached the dark cluster of cabins.
"On deck!" roared Jalap Coombs, as though he were hailing a ship at sea.
"Hello yourself!" answered a gruff voice—the first hail in their own tongue that the boys had heard in many a week. "Who are you? Where do you come from? And what's all this racket about?"
"White men," replied Phil, "with dog-sledges, up from Yukon month."
"Great Scott! You don't say so! No wonder you're noisy! Hi, boys! Here's the first winter outfit that ever came from Yukon mouth to Forty Mile. What's the matter with giving them a salute?"
"Nothing at all!" cried a score of voices, and then volley after volley rang forth, until it seemed as though every man there must have carried a loaded gun and emptied it of all six shots in honor of the occasion.
Men came running from all directions, and before the shooting ceased the entire population of the camp, some three hundred in number, were eagerly crowding about the new-comers, plying them with questions, and struggling for the honor of shaking hands with the first arrivals of the year.
"Are we really the first to come up?" asked Phil.
"To be sure you are. Not only that, but the first ones to reach the diggings from any direction since navigation closed. But how did you come? Not by the river, I know, for when I heard your shooting 'twas away up the creek."
"We came by the Tananah and across the Divide," answered Phil. "There is another party coming by way of the river, though."
"Hark to that, boys! One train just arrived and another coming! I tell you, old Forty Mile is right in it. Daily express from all points; through tickets to Europe, Arup, and Arrap; morning papers and opera-houses, circus and theaytres. Looks like the boom had struck us at last. But say, stranger, what is the news from below?"
"New steamer on her way up the river, with saw-mill, mining machinery, and best stock of goods ever seen in Alaska," replied Phil, quick to seize the opportunity, and anxious to make his business known while he still had the field to himself. "We have come from her, and are on our way to San Francisco to send up a new stock for next season. So we have only stopped to take your orders and find out what will be the most acceptable."
"Hurrah!" yelled the crowd, wild with excitement. "Send us a brass band," shouted one. "In swaller-tails and white kids," added another. "What's the matter with moving the Palace Hotel up here?" suggested a third.
"Come, fellows, let up," cried the man who had been the first to welcome the new arrivals, and whose name was Riley. "We mustn't keep these gentlemen standing out here in the cold any longer. I reckon they're hungry, too, and wondering why we don't invite 'em to grub. So, men, just come into my shebang and make yourselves at home. There isn't much to it, but such as it is it's yours, so long as you'll honor yours truly."
"No, come with me," cried another voice. "I've got beans, Boston baked, fresh from the can." "I've got molasses and soft-tack," and "I've just made a dish of scouse." "Come with us," shouted others.
"No, you don't!" roared Mr. Riley. "They're my meat, and they are going to bunk in with me."