They did not come. Nothing but snow, and the shriek of that storm king whose rage he had so recently encountered while drifting to sea on the ice floe, and from whom only cruelty was ever expected, now whistled in his ears.
He knew he must keep on walking, so removing his snowshoes he stuck one in the snow drift and fastened a seal rope at the top. Taking the end of this in his hand, he circled round and round for hours to keep himself moving. At last he grew weary, and closed his eyes, still walking as before. It was more pleasant to keep his eyes closed, for then he saw visions of bright, warm rooms, blazing fires and cozy couches, and smelled the odors of appetizing foods. There were flowers, sweet music and children, and he was again in far-off sunny lands.
He grew drowsy. He would only rest a little in a soft white drift, and then go on again. Making a place in the bank with the snowshoe, while the wind whistled horribly and the whirling snow bewildered him, he lay down to——
Some men, one night, drove their dog-teams into Chinik. They had come from St. Michael, two hundred miles over the trail. They said the captain and his party left there many days before them, and by this they were surely dead, unless drifted out to sea, which really meant the same thing, as no man could live upon the ice during the recent great blizzard. An Eskimo woman heard what they said. She was a cousin to Punni Churah, but she said nothing.
An hour later, the woman and two men with dogs and sleds left Chinik for the Portage, going east. It was storming, but it was not dark, and they knew each foot of the way. At first, on the level, the woman rode in one of the sleds, but when it grew hilly, she trudged behind. Her sharp eyes now keenly searched every dark or obscure spot along the hillside trail. The wind lessened somewhat, and the moon came out behind the clouds.
The dogs finally stopped, throwing back their heads and howling; then, in more excitement, gave the short, quick bark of the chase.
The natives began poking about with sticks in the drifts, and Mollie (for it was she) soon found the unconscious man in the snow.
Quick work then they made of the return trip. They were only a few miles from home now, and the malemutes seemed to comprehend. Every nerve in their bodies tingled. Every tiny bell on their harnesses jingled, and the fleet-footed natives sped rapidly behind. The dogs needed no guidance, for they were going home, and well knew it. The voice of big Ituk, as he gave out his Eskimo calls, the sleigh-bells, and the creak of the sled runners over the frosty snow, were the only sounds heard on the clear morning air.
The life of the captain was saved.
The sequel of his story is not long. With the best care known to a native woman, brought up near and inside a Mission station, the captain was tended and brought back to life, though weeks passed before he was well. In fact, he was never strong again, and, needing a life-long nurse, decided, with Mollie's consent, to take her for his wife, and so the missionary married them. Then they settled permanently at Golovin Bay, where a trading post was already established, and where they are living happily to this day.