“That’s queer! Mighty queer,” he murmured. “Still, they may have made rapid time and got in ahead of the outlaw. May be close in, too close to risk an answer. No harm to keep on trying, though.”
It will be remembered that Curlie had not listened in on any of the messages sent by the exploring party. As a consequence he was totally ignorant of their plight and unable in any way to account for his companions’ sudden change of course.
“Queer business!” he told himself as he prepared to send his third signal. “Mighty queer!”
Every half hour for three hours he sent out the signal. Then, just as he was about to give it up, his receiver rattled and a succession of short, sharp, meaningless sounds began to pour forth.
“That’s Joe!” he smiled delightedly. “Nobody up here can talk that language. Now we’ll know what’s what.”
His conclusion was correct. It was Joe speaking. When Curlie had decoded the jumbled message he needed only to signal back an answering O. K. In short, concise sentences, Joe had told him all that he needed to know.
“And now,” he sat down rather dizzily on his sled, “where does that leave me? Far as I can see, it leaves me guardian of that food supply until the party gets in. It’s the best I can do. And, unless I miss my guess, it’s going to be some job! I’m to be a guard without a gun. And the fellow I’m going up against has a gun, probably two or three of them.”
After a few moments had elapsed, he spoke again: “Short day’s journey now. No use risking coming upon him in the night. Might as well take another snooze and freshen up a bit.”
At that he crept into his sleeping-bag once more, but not to sleep at once. His mind was too full of thoughts for that. The curtain to the crowded third act of this little drama of life which he had been playing was, he felt sure, about to rise. What was it to be like? What gun-play, what struggles, what battle of wits would be enacted upon that white and glistening stage with no audience save the stars?
His mind was filled with a thousand questions. Who was the outlaw? Was he the smuggler chieftain or was he not? What grudge did he hold against the great explorer that he would travel all this distance to satisfy it? Or did he hold a grudge at all? Was he merely coming here to winter in safety? Would he camp by the food depot or would he destroy it? Who was his companion? Or did he have no companion? Had it been he who had appeared in the mirage or had it not?