It was true. As she stared down at a little willow lined valley, she saw the outline of a tent. From the very center of it there appeared to burst that weird purple light.
“Well,” she concluded, “I am at least sure that they’ve killed one of our deer; killed several, probably. No doubt they have been living off our herd.”
For a moment she stood there undecided; then, with reluctant feet, she turned back. It was the only wise thing to do. She was alone and unarmed. To follow that trail further would be dangerous and foolhardy.
But what should she do, once she had reached her own camp? She was convinced in her own mind that the slain creature was one of their deer; yet she could not prove it. Should she lead her armed herders to the stranger’s tent and demand an explanation? Oh, how she did wish that Marian was here!
As she walked homeward she felt terribly depressed. There was a girl in that tent of the purple flame. She had seen her. She had hoped that sometime, in the not too distant future, they might be friends. Such a friend in this lonely land, especially since Marian and Attatak were gone, would be a boon indeed. Now she felt that such a thing could never be. It was as if a great gulf had suddenly yawned between them.
After reaching her camp and sipping a cup of tea and munching at some hard crackers, she sat for hours thinking things through. Her final decision was that for the present she could do nothing. Marian might return any day now. In such matters her judgment would be best and Patsy did not feel warranted in starting what might prove to be a dangerous feud.
CHAPTER XIX
PASSING THE RAPIDS
As the raft, which had been dragged from the bank of the river by the hermit of the mysterious lodge, swung out into the ice strewn current, it shot directly for the glacier’s end as if drawn by a magnet.
Taking a quick turn of the rope about a point of rock, the aged man braced himself for the shock which must come when the raft, with its load of sleds and other trappings, had taken up the slack.
All too soon it came. Bracing himself as best he could, he held his ground. The strain increased. It seemed that the rope must snap; that the old man’s iron grip must yield. Should the raft reach the glacier it would be lost forever. The muscles in the man’s arms played like bands of steel. Blood vessels stood out on his temples like whipcords, yet he held his ground.