It occurred to Dick that this stream might be one of the tributaries of the Wapiti River, which they must cross ere long. He was discussing this possibility with Toma, shortly after lunch, when Sandy came up shaking his head.
“A pretty business! A pretty business!” he muttered, taking a place beside them. “They’re as frightened as sheep. Too bad we had to come across that cabin. Hope nothing serious grows out of this.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dick.
“Just look at them.”
Dick turned and looked toward the place Sandy indicated. The dog drivers were assembled there in an excited, gesticulating group.
“I overheard part of it,” said Sandy. “They’re telling each other that they don’t want to go on, that they’re afraid, that no white man’s medicine can save them from the horror of the plague.”
“But all of them have been vaccinated,” Dick protested.
“Sure. But they don’t realize what that means. They have guessed, somehow, that the men who lived in that cabin died. They know the meaning of that red cloth, and it has struck terror into their hearts. I heard Fontaine say that he, for one, intended to turn back.”
“Mere talk,” objected Dick. “They’ll get over it. The thing is fresh in their minds now and, of course, they’re worried. By tomorrow or the next day they’ll have forgotten all about it.”
“Do you think so. I can’t help feeling that in some way Lamont is at the bottom of this. He’s stirring them up.”