“First they must be fed, then we will talk to them.”
Troubles seldom come singly. Hardly had the last pancake been devoured, than Terogloona, looking up from his labors, uttered an exclamation of surprise. A half mile up from the camp the tundra was brown with feeding reindeer.
“Scarberry’s herd,” he hissed.
“Oh!” exclaimed Patsy. “They dare to do that? They dare to drive their deer on our nearest and best pasture? And what can we do to stop them? Must Marian’s mission be in vain? Must she go all that way for nothing? If they remain, the range will be stripped long before she can return!”
Pressing her hands to her temples, she sat down unsteadily upon one of the sleds of the strangers.
She was struggling in a wild endeavor to think of some way out. Then, of a sudden, a wolfdog jumped up at her very feet and began to ki-yi in a most distressing fashion.
Looking up, she saw that three of Scarberry’s deer, having strayed nearer the camp than the others, had attracted the dog’s attention. Like a flash, a possible solution to her problem popped into Patsy’s head.
With a cry of delight she sprang to her feet. The next instant she was her usual, calm self.
“Terogloona,” she said steadily, “come into the tent for a moment. I have something I wish to ask you.”
The task which Marian had set for herself, the scaling of the mountain to the dark spot in its side, was no easy one. Packed by the beating blast of a thousand gales, the snow was like white flint. It rang like steel to the touch of her iron shod staff. It was impossible to make an impression in its surface with the soft heel of her deerskin boots. The only way she could make progress was by the aid of her staff. One slip of that staff, one false step, and she would go gliding, faster, faster, ever faster, to a terrible death far below.