CHAPTER XVIII
A MYSTERIOUS ATTACK
After a moment of indecision the man driving the team of powerful dogs, who, as you remember, was standing looking down at the two columns of vapor which marked the spot where Curlie Carson slept, spoke to his dog team. He had been debating the advisability of descending the hill and entering that clump of willows. What he now said to his dogs was:
“You mush!”
The dogs leaped forward and, since he had given them no order as to direction, they raced away straight along the ridge and not down to the willows.
A hundred yards farther on he dug his heels in the snow as he clung to the handle of the sled and shouted: “Whoa!”
Again he appeared to debate the question. This time he was more prompt in his decision.
Again the team followed the ridge, while away in the willow clump, all unarmed and defenseless, Curlie Carson slept and his newly acquired reindeer munched on at the dead willow leaves. The deer was sleek and fat. He would have made prime feed for the traveler’s dogs as well as for him and his companion. And as for Curlie; well, perhaps the man might have rejoiced at meeting him alone and unarmed. Of that we shall learn more later.
Curlie slept longer than he had intended doing. His weary brain and tired body yearned for rest and once this was offered to them they partook of it in a prodigal manner.
At last he awoke, to poke his head out of the sleeping-bag and to stare up at the stars.
“Where am I?” he asked himself. “Ah, yes, now I remember; in a clump of willows. I have a mysterious reindeer but no rifle. I have some frozen fish. This clump of willows, where is it? Where is our camp? Joe Marion, Jennings, where are they? Who can tell?” He sat up and scratched his head.