A Ticket to Adventure

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XVI THE GOLDEN QUEST

  Florence was seated at the table the next day doing justice to a lateafternoon breakfast of hot cakes and coffee when Jodie arrived.

  "Plans have been changed," he gave her a rare smile. "No whoopee, but agrand ball. That's what it's going to be. Full dress affair."

  "Full dress?" the girl's lips parted in a gasp of surprise. Then with asigh, "Oh, well," she opened the draft in the small cook stove and setthe flatirons on.

  A half hour later she stood before Jodie garbed in the only silk dressshe had with her, a full-length affair of midnight blue, trimmed inermine.

  "Keen!" was the boy's comment. "Needs just one northern touch. You wait,"he burst through the door and was gone.

  Fifteen minutes later he reappeared with a soft, bulky package under hisarm.

  "Here you are." With one swift movement he cast away the paper wrappingand threw a gorgeous white fox fur about her neck. "And there you are,"he stood back admiringly. "Queen of the ball!"

  "Jodie! Is it mine?" her eyes shone.

  "Sure 'nuff. Present from the gang. Great stuff, I'd say--dog-musher oneday, queen of the ball the next. Nothing like contrast in this jolly oldworld of ours."

  Jodie was not wrong. The winter nights are long in Alaska, but not toolong for a jolly good time. A waxed floor, a peppy ten-piece orchestra,including two Eskimo drummers, a joyous company and sixteen hours ofdarkness, who could ask for more? Florence did not ask. She made the mostof every fleeting hour. For, she thought in one sober moment, beforeanother forty-eight hours have flown, we'll be on the trail once more.

  And so they were, off on the long trek that, they hoped, would bring themto the lost gold mine and to the end of good old Tom Kennedy's lifelongdream.

  They trailed away into the cold, gray dawn, two teams and fourpeople--Tom Kennedy, Florence, Jodie, and At-a-tak. Not only had theEskimo girl gladly loaned the gray team for the occasion, but she hadoffered to accompany them as seamstress for their native clothing.

  Not a word was said as the city faded into the distance and blue-grayhills loomed ahead. They were off on the great quest, man's age-longsearch for gold.

  They had been trotting along behind their sleds for some ten miles when,as it will on Arctic trails, the wind began pelting them with hardparticles of snow. This time, however, that wind was with them.

  "Ah," Jodie breathed joyously, "twenty below zero and the wind at ourbacks! What time we shall make!"

  "But look at the whirl of that snow!" Florence was alarmed. "We'll losethe trail."

  "No fear," Tom Kennedy assured her. "The first few days of trail are likea paved road to an oldtimer. It's the end that counts. We--"

  "Look!" Florence broke in, pointing away before them. "The PhantomLeader."

  "Yes! Yes!" At-a-tak echoed. "The Phantom Leader."

  "There _is_ something," Jodie agreed. "Something white. It moves. Now itis gone."

  "No! No! There it is," Florence's voice was eager. "Jodie! Grandfather!The Phantom Leader! That means good luck."

  "I hope so," Jodie was straining his eyes for a better look. "There! See!He has stopped."

  "Or--or fallen," Florence was ready to go racing on ahead of the team.Jodie held her back.

  "You never can tell," he counselled.

  "There! There! He _is_ gone!" the girl cried a moment later.

  "Over a ridge. We'll see him again," Tom Kennedy explained.

  Indeed they did see him again and so close that Florence imagined herselflooking at a pair of eyes burning their way out of a field of white.

  "Oh! Ah!" she breathed.

  "If that's a dog," Jodie exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "he's the whitestone I've ever seen."

  "There! He's down!" Florence's voice was tense with emotion. "Poorfellow! He must be hurt!"

  "Who ever heard of a ghost being hurt?" Jodie laughed.

  "There--there he goes!"

  "This can't last forever," Jodie cracked a whip. His team sped on.

  For a full half mile they burned up the trail, then with a suddennessthat was startling, they all piled up in a heap at the back side of asnow bank. And there lying at Florence's feet was one of the most piteoussights the girl's eyes had rested upon: a collie dog, white as snow andso emaciated with hunger that every bone could be counted. He was whiningpiteously.

  "Poor thing," she murmured as she dug into her pack for cooked reindeermeat. "Poor old Phantom Leader!"

  "Well, I'm dumbed!" was all Jodie could say. Tom Kennedy said nothing atall. At-a-tak stared as one must stare when, for the first time, he seesa ghost within his reach.

  "Where did he come from?" Florence asked as the dog voiced thanks for thefood offered him.

  "Not from Nome," said Kennedy. "No such dog there."

  "Some reindeer herder's dog, or a miner's, like Jack London's Buck in the_Call of the Wild_," said Jodie. "Find his story and you may learn oftragedy."

  No time now for such musings. The long trail lay ahead.

  "We'll take him along for luck," said Florence. What luck? How could sheknow now?

  "We'll have to, of course," they all agreed. "No true Alaskan ever leavesa starving dog on the trail."

  So the "Phantom Leader" was stowed away on top of the canvas packing onJodie's sled, and the little caravan once more moved on into the greatunknown.

  Long days followed, days of pushing forward along untracked rivers andover low mountains where no man lived, and no living creature moved savethe fox, the wolf, and the snowshoe rabbit. Nights there were when thesky was like a blue sea filled with the lights of a thousand ships. AnArctic gale came sweeping down upon them. Blotting out the landscape, itdrove them into camp. For two days and nights with their littlesheet-iron stove beating back the frost, they lay on their sleeping bagslistening to the beat of snow against their tent.

  Their food supply dwindled. No wild caribou had been seen, but joysuddenly filled their hearts when at last they came to the spot where theriver they followed forked.

  "That," Tom Kennedy exulted, "is the fork. Up this stream we must go."

  Did they have faith in his judgment? How could they doubt it? YetFlorence thought of their meager food supply and shuddered.

  "Jodie and I will go out to look for game," said Tom Kennedy.

  "Sure. We'll have some great luck," Jodie agreed.

  "I'll set up camp and cut some wood." Florence was no weakling. She couldplay a man's part.

  As for At-a-tak, she wandered away in search of snowshoe rabbits' tracks.More than once her cunningly set snares had provided their pot with adelicious stew.

  It was after Florence had set up camp and while the others were stillaway that she began hearing puzzling sounds. Coming from the distance,they sounded like the crackle of a wood fire. But there was no fire.

  "What is it?" she asked of the white collie, the "Phantom Leader," wholay on the snow close beside her. Well fed and cared for now, the dog hadregained his strength. He had become a prime favorite with all. But oh!how he could eat! And in the harness he was just no good at all. Neitherhis nature nor his training fitted him for this.

  "Come on, Phantom," the girl murmured. "Earn your dinner. Tell me whatthose sounds are."

  For answer the dog rose to his haunches and growled. His sharp nosepointed straight down the trail over which they had come. Each moment thefaint clatter increased in volume. At the same time a burst of wind sweptup the valley and a swirl of fine particles cut at the girl's cheek.

  "Oh, dear! Another storm!" Still she waited and listened.

  "Phantom! What is it, you--" Suddenly she broke short off. As her whisperceased, her lips parted, her eyes bulged in astonishment, for at thatinstant from behind a clump of low spruce trees a head appeared. Thehead, long and white with small mottled brown spots, carried a pair ofmassive antlers. The creature stood staring at them, apparently quiteunafraid.

  "A--a caribou!" she whispered. "Food, plenty of food
for dogs and men.All the rifles gone, too. And yet--"

  The creature was beautiful. If a rifle were in her hands could she havekilled it? She did not know.

  Then like a flash the truth came to her, this was not a caribou but areindeer, a domestic reindeer. Caribou are brown. Only reindeer arewhite.

  "And there are others," she said to the dog, "many more. Listen!" As shestood there in silence there came again that confused crack-cracking.That, she realized, was many reindeer crack-cracking their hoofs as theytrotted over the snow.

  "Reindeer," she whispered in awed excitement, "many reindeer here, twohundred miles from the nearest range. Something wrong somewhere, that'ssure!"

  Truly here was a situation. Her companions were gone. Here was a problemto be solved.

  "They might be back any time," she told herself, "but they may not comebefore the storm breaks." Something seemed to tell her that here was amatter that needed looking into. Had this herd wandered away, beenstampeded by wolves, or--her heart skipped a beat--had some northernoutlaws driven the reindeer into the wilds that they might live upon themand perhaps later sell the unmarked yearlings?

  "It might be Eskimo," she thought. Her grandfather had told how the deerhad at one time belonged to the Government and to the Eskimo, and howwhite men had gained control of great herds, how some of the Eskimo,feeling themselves defeated, had turned bitter and at one time or anotherkilled deer that did not belong to them.

  "It might be dangerous to go and see what it's all about," she toldherself. "Might--"

  A flash of light had caught her eye, a gleam from the white reindeer'sear. "A marker," she exclaimed. "John Bowman's marker! Ah, that'sdifferent!" She had seen Bowman's deer at Nome. "Come on, Phantom!" shecalled to the dog. "We'll have to look into this."

  Inspired by this call to service, Florence climbed up the slope. Then,crouching low that she might not startle the reindeer, she followed backalong the trail.

  Behind her, sticking close to her heels, was the "Phantom Leader."

  "Good old Phantom," she murmured. The dog let out an all but inaudibleyap-yap.

  A biting breath of air struck her cheek. Snow rattled against her parka.The storm was on its way.

  Creeping down the slope, she peered through the branches. "Reindeer," shemuttered, "still more reindeer. There must be hundreds! Must be--"

  Suddenly she drew back among the dark boughs. Had she caught a glimpse ofa skulking figure? She could not be sure. The dog crowded close to her,trembling. Why did he tremble? Could he sense danger?

  Creeping back up the ridge, she once more turned her back upon her camp.She must make some fresh discoveries. But the storm was beginning inearnest now. All about her were swirls of blinding snow. Now she couldsee for a distance of forty yards, and now but a few feet.

  "Wild spot this," she said to the dog. "Reindeer will be stampeded by thestorm. They may rush over the ridge and perish."

  Slowly a plan was forming in her mind. She would get behind the herd,then drive it forward to the narrow sheltered valley at the edge of whichtheir camp was made.

  "They'll be safe there," she told herself. But if there were outlaws,marauders behind this herd? She shuddered. Ah, well, she must risk it.She owed that to her friend and her grandfather's friend, John Bowman.

  For a quarter of an hour she battled her way against the storm. Then,seized with sudden fear lest she lose contact with the herd, she hurrieddown the slope.

  She had just reached the bed of the frozen stream when, for a space ofseconds, the air cleared. Through that half-light she saw two darkfigures. They were moving up the slope. Were they a man and a sled, ortwo men? She could not be sure. A second more and all was blotted out inone wild whirl of snow.

  Looking down, she saw what appeared to be an answer to her question--asled track in the snow. Bending down, she examined it carefully. "Eskimosled," was her verdict. The tracks were too close together for a whiteman's sled, and the runners too broad. They were wooden runners, made ofdriftwood.

  Already she was out of touch with the herd. Whatever happened, she musthasten on.

  "Phantom, where are you?" she exclaimed in sudden consternation. Whereindeed was the collie? He was gone, had vanished into the ever-increasingstorm. A feeling of loneliness, almost of despair, swept over her. Whyhad she taken such chances? In a strange land one must exercise caution.

  "Got to get going." As she hurled herself forward before the storm, shewas fairly lifted from her feet by the violence of the wind. Now spinninglike a top and now sailing along like a kite over the snow, she missed aspruce tree by inches, went hurtling over some young firs, then trippedover tangled branches to at last land sprawling on all fours over a snowbank.

  "Whew! What a--" she broke short off to listen. What was that? A dogbarking?

  "Yes! Yes!" She was on her feet. "It's Phantom and I know the meaning ofthat bark. He hasn't started a rabbit, nor is he afraid. He's drivingcattle, reindeer! And why not? He's a collie."

  Once again, more cautiously, she took up the trail. Her course was clearenough now. All she had to do was to follow on, perhaps give the dog aword of encouragement now and then. She would herd the reindeer up theravine. Soon they would be at camp. From that point the deer could spreadout in the narrow protected valley.

  "Yes, that's it," she said aloud. "There's Phantom now."

  She caught fleeting glimpses of the dog. Now he was here, now there, andthere. What a fast worker he was! The moment a deer lagged, he was at itsheels.

  And the reindeer? She saw them indistinctly, like a picture out of focus.But there must be hundreds of them. How had they been driven all thisway? And why?

  She cast apprehensive glances to right, left, then back. There had beensomething secretive about the way that man back there on the trail hadacted. She saw no one now. The snow fog was closing in.

  "Go, Phantom! Go after them!" she cried. "Good old Phantom!" How glad shewas that they had responded to the Phantom's appeal and had saved him.

  Just then she caught the gleam of a light, and heard a shout. It was hergrandfather's voice. She was nearing the camp. It was all right now. Thedeer were safe from the storm and from--from what else? She could not besure. Only one thing she knew, they were John Bowman's reindeer and JohnBowman was her friend.

  An hour later, with the wind tearing and cracking about their tent, thefour of them, grandfather, Jodie, Florence, and At-a-tak, sat on theirsleeping bags in awed silence listening to the rush and roar of thestorm. At their feet, dreaming day-dreams, lay the collie who on that dayhad covered himself with glory. That splendid herd was safe from thestorm. Tomorrow when the storm had gone roaring on towards the north,they would begin unraveling the mystery that had to do with the presenceof these reindeer in this wild, uninhabited region.

  "Wandered away," said grandfather.

  "Somebody stole," said At-a-tak.

  "Perhaps the regular herders are taking them somewhere," said Jodie.

  But who could surely know? They must wait and see.