[CHAPTER XIII]
MUSIC OF THE SLEDGE-BELLS
The cold winter morning that succeeded that memorable day at the Anvik Mission witnessed an animated scene in the open space between its stout log buildings. Fur-clad figures hurried in all directions, bringing last things and finishing the lading of the three sledges that were to constitute the up-river brigade. To each of these were attached seven dogs, it having been decided at the last moment to add two extra haulers to each team, as both dogs and fish for their feed were much cheaper at Anvik than they would be beyond that point. Then, too, with such strong teams a high degree of speed could be maintained, for while two of the sledges carried six hundred pounds each, the third was laden with but half that weight, so that if either of the boys became exhausted he could ride, and so avoid the necessity of a halt.
Each dog’s harness was composed of three bands of seal-skin, two of which passed over his back and were toggled or buttoned under the belly, while the third, which was extended into traces, crossed his chest. The leader was attached to the end of a long pulling thong of walrus hide, while the traces of the other dogs, who ran in pairs, were knotted and made fast to the same line at proper intervals. The two steer-dogs were hitched directly to the hauling-bar in front of the sledge.
The load of each sledge, enveloped in stout canvas, was immovably bound to it by a simple but ingenious net-work of raw-hide lashing, so that the whole might roll over and over without being loosened or disarranged.
At ten o’clock, or just as the laggard sun of those short days was rising, the last hearty handshakes were exchanged, the fervent “God bless yous” and final farewells were uttered, and the start was made.
Kurilla, who was to act as runner and break a trail through the snow, went first. Then came Phil’s team, with the string of tiny bells attached to Musky’s harness jingling merrily in the frosty air; after him followed Serge, whose cheery good-nature and ready helpfulness had won for him a warm place in every Anvik heart; and the rear was brought up by Chitsah.
On the very brow of the steep descent to the river Phil turned for a parting wave of his hand and a last glance at the place that had grown to seem so much like home in the past six weeks. His less sentimental dogs sprang down the narrow track with such suddenness that poor Phil, who still held to the sledge with one hand, was jerked abruptly forward, threw the sledge from the path in his effort to save himself, and plunged with it down the bank. By thus taking a header, Phil, his dogs, and his sledge reached the bottom even in advance of Kurilla, sadly demoralized, but except for a few bruises and a terrible snarl of trace-lines none the worse for the accident.
When a few minutes later Serge reached the spot with his anxious and now familiar inquiry, Phil cut him short by saying,
“No, old man, I’m not hurt, though, of course, I might have been. But I was willing to risk it for your sake.”
“For my sake!” cried Serge, in amazement.