With a swift turn he tightened the rope, then with the “de—de—dum” of his symphony upon his lips, strained every muscle until he felt the rope slack, then eased away as he saw the raft tilt for the glide. Then he relaxed his muscles and stood there watching.
With a slow graceful movement the small raft glided out upon the water. An eddy seized it and whirled it about. Three times it turned, then the current caught it, and whirled it away. The rope was tight now, and every muscle of the grand old man was tense. A battle had begun which was to decide whether or not the two girls were to reach the station and fulfill their mission.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TRAIL OF BLOOD
That same evening Patsy made her second startling discovery. An hour before night was to set in, she had harnessed a sled deer and struck out into the hills in search of a brown yearling that had been missing for two days.
“Strange where they all go,” she murmured as she climbed a hill for a better view of the surrounding country. “Marian was right; unless we discover the cause of these disappearances and put an end to them, soon there will be no herd. It’s a shame! How I wish I could make the discovery all by myself and surprise Marian with the good news when she gets home.”
As she scanned the horizon away across to the west, she saw a single dark figure on the crest of a hill.
“Old Omnap-puk,” she said, taking in with admiration the full sweep of his splendid antlers. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him for a long while. We can’t lose you, can we? And we can’t catch you,” she said, speaking to the lone figure.
Old Omnap-puk was neither reindeer nor caribou; at least this was what Marian had said about it. She believed that he was a cross-breed—half reindeer and half caribou. He was large like a caribou, larger than the largest deer in the herd. He had something of the dark brown coat of the caribou, but a bright white spot on his left side told of the reindeer blood that flowed in his veins.
But he was very wild. Haunting the edge of the herd, he never came close enough to be lassoed or driven into a brush corral. Many a wild chase had he lead the herders, but always he had shown them his sleek brown heels.
Many times the girls had debated the question of allowing the herders to kill him for food and for his splendid coat; yet they had hesitated. They were not sure that he was not a full-blooded reindeer; that he was not marked and did not belong to someone. If he was a stray reindeer, they had no right to kill him. Besides this, it seemed a pity to kill such a wonderful creature. So the matter stood. And here he was on their feeding ground.