And now, late in what should have been the evening of the Arctic day, there arose, as if expressive of the thought in the minds of all, that strangest and most mournful sound that comes to the ears of man—the united howling of the dogs of the Far North.
There may have been two or three hundred of them in all, perhaps more, in the Loucheux village and the remainder of the Eskimo encampment, but all of them in unison, if not in accord, raised their voices in a tremulous wail which fairly made the blood run cold.
It was the voice of the far-off, mysterious, and unconquered North!
XII
THE RAT PORTAGE
Before our young adventurers now lay the most dangerous part of their entire journey in the northern wilderness—that famous Rat Portage over the Rockies, at which, twenty years earlier, so many parties bound for the Klondike met disaster. Our young friends had no guides to lead them through this unknown country, any more than had the first Klondikers in the gold stampede which came down the Mackenzie and undertook to get across to the Yukon. No map of that region existed, or at least not in the knowledge of any of our party. They were, therefore, as helpless as any explorers ever were in any portion of the world, and were about to venture into a country as wild as any upon the North American continent.
It was no wonder, then, that their leader, himself a wise and cautious man and well versed in all the expedients of outdoor life, hesitated and pondered, as, standing upon the high crest of Fort McPherson boat landing, he looked out to the low, dull slopes of the Rockies, far ahead. He had heard all the stories about this risky undertaking, and had been cautioned repeatedly by the old trader at Fort McPherson against endeavoring to get through with no companions but these young boys. He knew that his supplies would be no more than sufficient, and that there was no place to get further supplies. Above all, he pondered over the dissimilarity of opinions expressed about the distances and difficulties of the proposed route across the Rockies. Some said it was a hundred miles to the summit, others said seventy-five, others a hundred and forty. Some said it would take a week to get to the top, others two weeks, others three, and yet others said it could not be done at all. Some said there was one lake at the portage on the summit, others said there were five. No one could give any clear idea of the country that lay out yonder beyond the dull, brown tundra.
It was a mysterious land, potent with difficulties and possibly alive with dangers. Uncle Dick loved these young companions of his beyond all price, and he knew his own responsibility in undertaking to lead them through. At times he regretted the whole journey as a mad enterprise which never ought to have been taken on. But at length, like any born leader, he pitted the difficulties against the privileges, made his decision; and, having made it, adhered to it.