“Then hold tight and help yourself all you can.”
“I sure will. But please don’t let go!”
“Not if we have to go over ourselves,” Tom assured him.
A stunted “rampick” grew close to the edge of the trail. The rope was passed around this, one turn being taken so that they could rest and still keep their grip on the rope if they desired. Then the long haul began.
Inch by inch, resting at times when they were out of breath, the two, the boy and the old trapper, hauled Jack up to a point where they were able to knot the rope about the “rampick” and lift their comrade up to safety with their hands.
Thanks to the softness of the snow bank into which he had been hurled, Jack had not received additional injury, except for a few bruises. They rested for a time and then old Joe and Tom resumed the tramp to La Roche’s place. Carrying Jack between them and making frequent stops, it was dark when they reached there and found a warm welcome.
Tom promised La Roche liberal pay to take them back to Camp Yukon Rover, and after some demur the trapper consented. The next day he hitched up his dog sled for Jack’s convenience, and they started on again under his guidance. They paused on the homeward trail to bury old Joe’s faithful mamelukes, who had proven themselves, as have many others of the kind, faithful unto death.
Then the journey was resumed, for old Joe had promised to accompany the boys to their camp. Tom wanted his uncle and Mr. Chillingworth to meet the old man who had been such a good friend to them and helped them over so many stumbling blocks.
On their second day on the trail they espied an Indian coming toward them. It proved to be Pegic, the friendly Indian with whom they had camped. He set up a shout on seeing them.
“That Injun sure has suth’in on his mind,” said La Roche, noticing such unusual signs of excitement in the son of a stoical race.