“Ah, you don’t know Grimm,” said his father. “The man who develops this Arctic oil region may become the richest in the world. Grimm is ambitious for that position. He’s got a lot of money so far, in one crooked way or another. But he’s not one of the big ones yet, not one of the richest. And he wants to be supreme. Well, he has overreached himself this time, for I’ve got the evidence, and I’ll see that we get more in Dawson and Seattle and New York. Mr. Grimm will no longer have the power or freedom to toy with men’s lives when I get through with him.”
Although Thorwaldsson lay as in a stupor and could not be questioned, the full account of what had befallen his expedition since it set out from Seattle was learned from the others. First of all, they had succeeded in retracing Farrell’s earlier footsteps, and had found the oil region and the river running through it. A thorough survey of the country had been made, with maps showing the outlet by water to the Arctic Ocean.
In fact, the party had made its way out the river into the Arctic Ocean and around the coast into the Coppermine. There they had encountered and made friends with a tribe of Eskimo. They had started down the Coppermine, or rather up, as it flows north into the Arctic, but had been attacked, losing half the members of their party and a large part of their equipment, including the radio. It was after this that the aviator of the expedition had attempted to fly to the outside with news of Thorwaldsson’s plight, the latter meanwhile being cared for through the following Winter by the friendly Eskimo at the mouth of the Coppermine, to which they had put back. The death of the aviator, near the MacKenzie, of course, was not known to the Thorwaldsson party until the news was imparted by the boys.
The course followed as they struck southward was not that pursued by Farrell when he had made his way back to civilization. On that occasion he had frequently been light-headed, and it was felt it would be unwise to trust now to his guidance. Instead, Mr. Hampton and Farnum decided to retrace their own trail back to the island in the lake where MacDonald had been encountered, and thence follow his course to the Fort of the Northwest Mounted Police.
Day after day they pushed ahead, the nights ever growing longer and colder, with frost on the ground in the mornings. The honking of the wild geese overhead, as they made their way south, also was a warning that the mantle of Winter soon would settle down.
“You see,” Art said to the boys one day, “Winter in this country not only means dreadful cold for which we ain’t prepared in the matter of clothing or snowshoes or nothing, but also it means there ain’t no food to be had. Yes, there’s plenty of game now, geese and duck everywhere along the streams, caribou plentiful. But you notice they’re all going south. When Winter strikes, there’ll be nothing in this wilderness but rabbit and beaver. Beaver’s all right—if you can dig ’em out o’ their huts. But rabbit—huh! Well, you can starve fine on rabbit.”
CHAPTER XXIII.—LONG JIM APPEARS.
Winter, after all, caught them in its icy grip far north of where they had planned to be when the cold should really set in. This was due to a variety of circumstances. The slowness of Thorwaldsson’s recovery was one of the retarding influences, which prevented them making the desired speed. After weeks of travel he was still in a comatose condition, and Mr. Hampton feared his brain had been affected by a bullet that ploughed along the left side of his head. The other wounded, although quick to recover, also acted as a hindrance, especially at the first.
Then, too, the season was unusual. Winter arrived weeks ahead of the expected time. And daily, as the ice on stream and river thickened, it became increasingly hard to break a way. Yet the canoes could not be abandoned, for, once snow began to fly, the travelers would have been helpless on land, without sleds or snowshoes. Sleds of a sort could be constructed, of course, and makeshift snowshoes made, too, but neither would be worth much, and the manufacture of them would take a good deal of time.
Two sentries were always posted at night now; one by a fire around which slumbered the prisoners, the other by a fire in the midst of a circle composed of the Hampton and Thorwaldsson parties combined. It was Jack’s turn to keep guard one cold but clear night, after a heavy snowfall, which had caused a great deal of suffering to all, and had brought them, indeed, to the verge of despair. For they were insufficiently clad, even though the skins of many animals slain for food in the past weeks had been saved and roughly cured for wraps; and, in addition, with the closing-in of Winter game had become so scarce that the camp was virtually on the verge of starvation.