Curlie’s prompt action had averted the catastrophe, but where was the driver of that powerful dog team that had left the supply cabin, and where now could she be?
Curlie was seated in the tent, nodding over his radiophone instruments and thinking of this problem and many other things. He remembered the gratitude of the Eskimo upon the return of the stolen reindeer herd, thought too of the frank praise of the explorer, Munson, when he had parted with him on the trail to Dawson. The jewels had gone with Munson to Dawson. So all matters were cleared up and Curlie was ready for some new undertaking.
In the corner of the tent Joe Marion was having a last romp with his “faithful four,” Ginger, Pete, Major and Bones. To-morrow he would return them to the owner from whom they had been hired in Valdez.
“Do you know,” he said, a suspicious huskiness creeping into his voice, “I once heard an old sourdough musher say that of all the things he had in the Arctic, he hated most to part with his dogs. I laughed at him then, but now I know it’s true.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Curlie. “It’s queer, but you—”
He broke off suddenly. His nose began wiggling like that of a rabbit eating clover. He was getting something from the air. That something was a whisper, the whisper of the Whisperer. It said:
“Hello - Curlie - are - you - there? You - didn’t - see - me - there - up - at - the - top - of - the - world - on the shore - of - the Arctic - did you? I thought - you - had - better - not.
“But - Curlie - they - want - you - on the - trail - that - leads - over - the - Great - American - Desert. Big - things - Curlie - I heard - them - calling - you. You may - see - me - there - for - that - is - my - home - and I - am - going - back.”
The whisper ended. Curlie sat staring into space, thinking: “Is the Whisperer a real person or only a ghostly spirit of the air?”
Almost as if in answer to the question came a call from the station at Valdez, a relayed message telling him to report for duty on the American Desert at once.