by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER IX HELP FROM THE SKY
True to Mark's prophecy, dawn of the following day found them on themove. By the light of a candle, hotcakes and coffee had been stowed awayunder their belts. Now they were ready to pack up.
As Mary stepped from the tent her eyes fell upon a pair of lifeless eyesthat seemed to stare down upon her. One of the hunters had killed amoose. All this time, well out of the reach of thieving wild creatures,its head had hung there in a tree. It seemed now a little strange thatthose dead eyes could give her such a start.
"Nonsense!" she whispered, stamping her foot. "Enough to dread withoutthat." And indeed there was. Despite the fact that the men agreed on thesolidness of the ice, she dreaded the take-off. What if the ice werethinner in some places than at others? What if it should give way at justthe wrong time? What of the planes? Were they truly fit for service? Andwhat of those hand-made skis? All these fears were banished by theexcitement of breaking camp. Tents were taken down, bedding was made intobundles, and bags were packed. Bill, now quite able to walk, but witharms still smothered in bandages, was helped down the trail.
Mary thrilled anew as she approached the small blue and gray plane. "Aticket to adventure," she whispered for the hundredth time. Then her facesobered. Was this to be the end of adventure or only its beginning? Anhour's safe flying would bring them to the cabin where there awaiteddishes to wash, beds to make, paths to shovel, all the daily round."Yes," she told herself with renewed interest, "yes, and Madam Chicaskito wonder about. Where adventure ends, mystery begins."
One thing pleased her, she was to travel with Bill and Mark in thesmaller plane. She liked being with her friends. She was very fond ofSpeed Samson, the smiling young pilot. She feared and hated Peter Loome.
"I am taking the hunters straight to Anchorage. They seem to be in onegrand rush," Dave Breen, pilot of the large gray plane, said. Then asideto Mary he whispered, "They're paying me well. Hunt me up in Anchorageand I'll buy you a hot fudge sundae." Mary smiled her thanks. They werefine fellows, these pilots, just how fine she was later to learn.
The take-off was exciting. She shuddered as they glided over the ice. Anominous crack-crack-crack sent chills up her spine, yet the ice held.There had been a light snowfall. The snow was sticky, it would not letthem go. Round and round the lake they whirled. Louder and louder themotors thundered. Then someone shouted "Up!" and up they went whirlingaway over the treetops.
Once again the glorious panorama of dark forest, gray crags, windingstreams and blankets of snow lay beneath them.
"We're going home! Home!" Mary shouted in Mark's ear. Mark noddedsoberly. He was listening. Listening for what? Mary knew well enough, fortrouble, motor trouble.
"There will be no trouble," she assured herself. Once again she thoughtof home. What a place of joy that once deserted valley of the North hadbecome for them. She thought of the worried millions in the cities andscattered over the plain far to the south of them--worried millionswondering where the next week's food supply was to come from. She thoughtof their well-lined cupboards, of their cellar bursting with good thingsto eat, then sighed a sigh of content.
This mood was short-lived. Even she caught and understood the strangeshudders that shook the small plane. A moment of this and they wentcircling downward toward the shining white surface of a small lake. Onceagain her heart was in her mouth. They had left the higher altitudeswhere the nights were bitter cold. They were equipped with skis. Wouldthis new lake be frozen hard enough for that? Scarcely time for these fewflashing thoughts and bump--they hit the lake. Bump--bump--bump. Whatglorious bumps those were. They meant one more happy landing.
Dismounting, the girl stared aloft while the large gray plane circledover them. Once, twice, three times it circled through the blue, then,with a sudden burst of speed, like some wild duck that had heard the bangof a hunter's gun, it sped straight away.
Florence was walking disconsolately back and forth along the pier atAnchorage early that same afternoon. She was deep in her own thoughts.Having gone for a visit to Palmer, she had been invited to come for astay at Anchorage. Sending a note back to her cousins, she had taken thetrain for Anchorage.
Strangely enough, Mary had met high adventure, while she was meeting withbitter disappointment. She had so hoped that her lone fifty-dollar billwould somehow carry her to that charmed city of her grandfather, Nome,Alaska.
"No chance!" she murmured low. "Not a chance in the world." And yet, shedared hope.
Now catching the drone of an airplane motor, she shaded her eyes to lookaway toward the east. Standing where she was, she watched the large grayplane come driving in, then circling low, make a perfect landing.
"Oh!" she breathed. "If only--" she did not finish, but marched soberlyon her way.
Having made a round of the city's stores, she was headed back to the homeof her hostess. "Tomorrow," she thought, "I shall go back to our happyvalley." But would it be so happy for her? When one longs to be in oneplace, can he be truly happy in another? Who knows? As it turned out,Florence would not be obliged to test her ability to be happy.
Of a sudden, as she walked along, she heard someone call: "Florence!Florence Huyler!" Turning about, she found herself facing a totalstranger.
"You are Florence Huyler," the man smiled.
"How--how did you know?" she gasped.
"If you hadn't been, you wouldn't have turned about so quickly," helaughed. "Ever try calling out quite loudly, 'John!' at the edge of alarge crowd? No, of course not. Just try it sometime. You'll be surprisedat the number of Johns that turn to answer.
"But that--" his voice changed, "that's not the point. Suppose you heardof the accident?"
"Accident? No! I--" her face paled.
"Now, now! nothing to be excited about," he warned. "You've been awayfrom home so you haven't heard. Your friend Bill got clawed up a bit by abear. Say!" his voice rose. "Want to come in here and sit on a stoolwhile I tell you? I'm dying for a cup of coffee."
"Al--all right."
Three minutes later, their feet dangling from stools, they were drinkingcoffee, munching doughnuts, and talking.
"So you see," the aviator ended his story, "your cousin did me a mightyfine turn. I got a good fee for bringing those hunters out and so if youor he ever need a lift, just signal me by Morse code or any other way andI'll turn my motor over P.D.Q.
"Of course," he added, "I'm off to Nome tomorrow, but I'll be back. Backbefore you know it. Not such a long trip that.
"But say!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter?" The girl's face had turnedpurple.
"Choked! Well, I'll be! Here, let me--" He began pounding her on theback.
"Just--just a--a--piece of dough--doughnut," she managed to sputter atlast. "Went--dow--down the wrong way."
"Do you get that way often?" he grinned.
"Only when people tell me they're going to Nome."
"What's so awful about that?"
"Awful? It's glorious. If only--"
"If only what?"
"If only I were going!"
"And why not?"
Fishing in her pocket, she displayed her only banknote.
"That's good money," the pilot felt of it with thumb and finger.
"But not enough," she shook her head sadly.
"For what?"
"A trip to Nome."
"To Nome! You want to go to Nome? You're off, child! You're off rightnow. There's just room for one more. Got the Bowmans to take up, three of'em. Big reindeer people. Grand folks! Just room for you."
"Tha--" Florence could not finish. She had choked again, but not on adoughnut. Mutely she held out the crumpled bill.
"Put it in your pocket, child," his tone was gruff but kind, "you'll needit. But say! Why do you want to go to Nome?"
"Got a grandfather up there."
"And haven't seen him for a long time," he added for her.
"Never saw him!"
"What? Never saw your g
randfather? Say! That's terrible. I had two of'em. Grand old sports. Both gone now. Say! That's great! And you're goingwith me to hunt up your grandfather. That, why that's like movingpictures. Going? Of course you're going! Due to take off at nine a. m."He slid off the stool, then held out a hand. "Glad to have met you. Meetyou again right here at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Will you be here?"
Would she? If necessary she would form a one-man line and stand righthere in the snow and cold until the sun rose and the clock said a halfhour after eight.