The half-breed smiled an evil smile, and pointed at his eye. Harry remembered the fight in the snow igloo, the blow with which he had closed his opponent’s eye, and now he remembered the face.
“Bimeby plenty sorry,” the half-breed said. “No fire ghost come now.”
Harry and Joe were led back to the camping-spot. There lay the body of the dead; and as the half-breed looked at it he scowled and looked at his own roughly bandaged limb, which caused him to limp painfully. He pointed at the corpse and then at the two prisoners.
“One dead now,” he said; “bimeby two dead.” Then he laughed a mirthless laugh.
Strongly guarded by five fierce-looking outlaws with rifles, there was no reasonable chance of escape, even when the lashings were taken from their hands as well, and the two boys submitted to being loaded with the venison they had shot, and marched on up river. A quarter of a mile away they found their dog team harnessed into the sled and their belongings securely packed upon it, guarded by a single outlaw. Here, too, was another team of four dogs and a sled, and traces of several days’ camping. It was evident that in coming up the Kukpowrak they had marched right into the camp of the outlaw Ankuts who had personated the ghost wolves, and whom they, with the lucky aid of their impromptu fire spirit, had so signally defeated. Now the tables were turned; but they were totally unprepared for the further surprise that was in store for them. That was to come many days afterward, however.
The Ankuts cooked venison here and made a meal. The chief outlaw bound up his wound more carefully, and though it was slight, insisted on riding as they went on up river. This overweighted the sleds, and the boys were forced to shoulder part of the load. Indeed, they soon found that, though they were not treated harshly, their position was much that of slaves, and they were so closely watched that escape seemed impossible without great risk of being shot down in the attempt. Thus for two days they followed the course of the Kukpowrak, then they bore off to the left across a nearly level table-land a day’s journey.
There was no sign of human being on this three days’ march; bare tundra and gray limestone or blue slate rocks made the scene one of peculiar desolation, yet, though neither the highbinders nor the boys knew it, a solitary figure kept watch of all their movements and was never far behind them. All the savage hunter had been roused in Harluk, and he trailed the band with the vindictive persistency of an Apache brave. He lived on an occasional ground squirrel or small bird knocked over among scrub willows, and kept his precious ammunition for more deadly use. It had been well for the highbinders if they had reckoned more carefully with Harluk. He had seen his comrade Konwa dead. He had seen one of the enemy fall by his own hand. Henceforward the gentle and timid Eskimo was changed into a bold, aggressive, cunning, and bloodthirsty fighting man. The highbinders were to hear from Harluk again.
At the end of the third day’s journey they came to a scene of wild and singular beauty. The table-land opened out into an oval valley rimmed at the further end with abrupt, sharp-pointed hills, at the base of which another river flowed northward. This valley, to the surprise of the boys, seemed a bit out of another world. In it was no snow, and the grass was already tall. Moreover, there the willows grew to a much greater height than elsewhere, and were already pale green with young leaves. Compared with the gray, bare, Arctic desolation through which they had traveled, it was like a bit of paradise.
Harry, tired out and discouraged, groaned at the sight of this beauty spot. “What’s the matter with you?” asked Joe.
“It makes me homesick,” said Harry. “It reminds me of the marshes down by the Fore River in early May. It’s like home.”