by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER VII
THE BLUE ENVELOPE DISAPPEARS
When Marian heard the voice outside the cabin on the wreck, sherealized that a new problem, a whole set of new problems had arisen.Here was a man. Who was he? Could he be the grizzled miner who haddemanded the blue envelope? If so, what then? Was there more than oneman? What was to come of it all, anyway?
All this sped through her mind while she was drawing on her parka. Thenext moment she had opened the door, stepped out and closed the doorbehind her.
"Ah! I have the pleasure--"
"You?" Marian gasped.
For a second she could say no more. Before her, dressed in a jauntyparka of Siberian squirrel-skin, was her frank-faced college boy, he ofthe Phi Beta Ki.
"Why, yes," he said rather awkwardly, "it is I. Does it seem sostrange? Well, yes, I dare say it does. Suppose you sit down and I'lltell you about it."
Marian sat down on a section of the broken rail.
"Well, you see," he began, a quizzical smile playing about his lips,"when I had completed my--my--well, my mission to the north of CapePrince of Wales, it was too late to return by dog-team. I waited for aboat. I arrived at the P. O. you used to keep. You were gone. So wasmy letter."
"Yes, you said--"
"That was quite all right; the thing I wanted you to do. But you seethat letter is mighty important. I had to follow. This craft we'resitting on was coming this way. I took passage. She ran into a messof bad luck. First we were picked up by an ice-floe and carried farinto the Arctic Ocean. When at last we poled our way out of that, wewere caught by a storm and carried southwest with such violence that wewere thrown upon this sandbar. The ship broke up some, but we managedto stick to her until the weather calmed. We went ashore and threwsome of the wreckage into the form of a cabin. You've been stayingthere, I guess." He grinned.
Marian nodded.
"Well, the ship was hopeless. Natives came in their skin-boats fromEast Cape."
"East Cape? How far--how far is that?"
"Perhaps ten miles. Why?"
He studied the girl's startled face.
"Nothing; only didn't a white man come with the natives?"
"A white man?"
"I've heard there was one staying there."
"No, he didn't come."
Marian settled back in her seat.
"Well," he went on, "the captain of this craft traded everything onboard to the natives for furs; everything but some food. I bought thatfrom him. You see, they were determined to get away as soon aspossible. I was just as determined to stay. I didn't know exactlywhere you were, but was bound I'd find you and--and the letter." Hepaused.
"By the way," he said, struggling to conceal his intense interest,"have--have you the letter?"
Marian nodded. "It is in my paint-box over in the cabin."
The boy sprang eagerly to his feet. "May we not go fetch it?"
"I can't leave my friend."
"Then may I go?" He was eager as a child.
Then after a second, "Why, by Jove! I'm selfish. Haven't given you achance to say a thing. Perhaps your friend's in trouble. Of courseshe is, or she'd be out here before this. What is it? Can I help you?"
"She's only chilled and recovering from a trifling shock. The tidalwave threw her into the sea."
"Oh!" The boy stood thinking for a moment. "Do--do you intend toremain in Siberia all winter?"
"We had no such intentions when we came, but the storm and the whiteline caught us. No more boats now."
"The white line of ice from the north? No more boats this season?"
Then quickly, "Say, you two can keep my cabin. The shack on the beachis poor, and I dare say you haven't much food. There's a bunk belowthe deck where I can be quite comfortable. We'll be snug as a bug in abushel basket."
Marian lifted a hand in feeble protest. What was the use? They weretrapped in Siberia. Here was an American who seemed at least to be afriend.
"I'll go for your things. You stay here. Any dogs?"
"Three."
"Good! I'll be back quicker than you think."
He was away. Bounding from ice-cake to ice-cake he soon disappeared.Marian turned to enter the cabin.
Lucile was still asleep. Marian sat down to think. She was notcertain that their position was at all improved. They knew so littleof the young stranger. She felt almost resentful at his occupation ofthe wireless cabin. They could have been quite cozy there alone. Thenagain, in quite another mood, she was glad the stranger was here; hemight suggest a means of escape from the exile and might assist incarrying it out. At any rate, if they were forced to go to East Capefor food, they would not be afraid to go under his guard.
She fell to wondering if he had reached the shore safely. Leaving thecabin, she climbed to the highest point on the rail. There she stoodfor some time scanning the horizon.
"Strange he'd be way down there!" she murmured, at last. "Quarter of amile south of the cabin. Perhaps the ice carried him south."
The distance was so great she could distinguish a figure, a mere speck,moving in and out among the ice-piles that lined the shore.
For a moment she rested her eyes by studying the ship's deck. Thenagain she gazed away.
"Why," she exclaimed suddenly, "he has reached the cabin! Must haverun every step of the way!"
In the cabin on shore, the young stranger began packing the girl'spossessions preparatory to putting them on the sled.
"Some careless housekeeper!" he grumbled as he gathered up articles ofclothing from every corner of the room, and, having straightened outMarian's paint-box, closed its cover down with a click. He arrived atthe schooner an hour later. The sled load was soon stowed away in thewireless cabin.
He brought a quantity of food, canned vegetables, bacon, hardtack,coffee and sugar from his store below. Then he stood by the door.
Marian was bustling about the cabin, putting things to rights.
"Wants to make a good impression," was the young man's mental comment.
Lucile, a trifle pale, was sitting in the corner.
Presently Marian caught sight of him standing there.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "you are waiting for your reward?"
"Any time," he smiled.
"You shall have it right now--the blue envelope."
She seized her paint-box, and throwing back the cover lifted thepaint-tray. Then from her lips escaped one word:
"Gone!"
He sprang eagerly forward.
"Can't be," Lucile breathed.
"Take a good look," the boy suggested.
Marian inspected the box thoroughly.
"No," she said with an air of finality, "it's not here."
"Your--er--the paint-box was a bit disarranged," he stammered.
"Disarranged?"
"Well, not in the best of order. Letter might have dropped out in thecabin. I dare say it's on the floor back there. Had you seen itlately?"
"Only this morning. I can't understand about the box. The wind musthave blown it down, or something."
"I dare say." The boy smiled good-naturedly as he recalled thedisordered room.
"I'll hop right back and look for it." He was away like a flash.
It was with a very dejected air that he returned. Marian could nottell whether it was genuine or feigned. Had he been in such haste tosecure the letter that he had taken it at once from the box? Was allhis later action mere stage-play?
"No," he said, bringing forth a forlorn smile, "I couldn't find it.It's not there."
That evening, after a supper served on a small tip-down table in thewireless cabin, after the boy had gone to his bunk below, and Lucilehad fallen asleep, Marian lay awake a long time puzzling over themysteries of the past and the problems of the future. Where had theblue envelope disappeared to? Did the boy have it? She resolved tosearch the cabin on the beach for herself. She felt half-inclined totalk matters over frankly with him.
There were mysteries which mightbe cleared up. She remembered with what astonishing speed he hadreached the cabin once he had sprung upon the shore. She remembered,too, how he had spoken of the disordered paint-box. She prided herselfon neatness. And that paint-box, was it not her work-shop, her mostprized possession? She longed to talk it over with him. But on theother hand, she could not bring herself to feel that her trust in himwas fully warranted. She hated above all things to be "taken in." Ifshe discussed all these things with him, and if, at the same time, theletter rested in his pocket, wouldn't she be taken in for fair?Wouldn't she, though?
"No," she pressed her lips tight shut, "no, I won't."
But even as she said this, she saw again the downhearted expression onhis face, heard his mournful, "I couldn't find it. It's not there."With that she relented, and ere she slept resolved to take up thematter of the mysterious disappearance with him the first thing in themorning.
But morning found the boy in quite a different mood. He laughed andchatted gayly over his sour-dough pancakes.
"Now you know," he said, as he shoved back his stool, "I like yourcompany awfully well, and I'd like to keep this up indefinitely, buttruth is I can't; I've got to get across the Straits."
"We'll be sorry to lose you," laughed Marian; "but just you run along.And when you get there tell the missionary breakfast is ready. Ask himto step over and eat with us."
"No, but I'm serious."
"Then you're crazy. No white man has ever crossed thirty-five miles offloeing ice."
"There's always to be a first. Natives do it, don't they?"
"I've heard they do."
"I can go anywhere a native can, providing he doesn't get out of mysight."
"A guide across the Straits! It's a grand idea!" Marian seized Lucileabout the waist and went hopping out on deck. "A guide across theStraits. We'll be home for Christmas dinner yet!"
"What, you don't mean--" The boy stared in astonishment.
"Sure I do. We can go anywhere you can, providing you don't get out ofour sight."
"That--why, that will be bully."
He said this with lagging enthusiasm. It was evident that he doubtedtheir power of endurance.
"We'll have to go to East Cape to start," he suggested.
"East Cape?" Marian exclaimed in a startled tone.
"Sure. What's wrong with East Cape?"
"Nothing. Only--only that's where that strange white man is."
"What's so terrible about him?"
Marian hesitated. She had come to the end of a blind alley. Shouldshe tell him of her experience with the miner who demanded the blueenvelope, and of her suspicion that this man at East Cape was that sameman?
She looked into his frank blue eyes for a moment, then said to herself,"Yes, I will."
She did tell him the whole story. When she had finished, there was anew, a very friendly light in the boy's eyes.
"I say," he exclaimed, "That was bully good of you. It really was.That man--"
He hesitated. Marian thought she was going to be told the whole secretof the blue envelope.
"That man," he repeated, "he won't hurt you. You need have no fear ofhim. As for yours truly, meaning me, I can take care of myself. Westart for East Cape today. What say?"
"All right."
Marian sprang to her feet, and, after imparting the news to Lucile, whohad by this time fully recovered from the shock of the previous day,set to work packing their sled for the journey.
All the time she was packing her mind was working. She had meant todiscuss the mysterious disappearance of the blue envelope with thecollege boy. Even as she thought of this, there flashed through hermind the question, "Why is he so cheerful now? Why so anxious to getacross the Straits?"
One explanation alone came to her. He had deceived them. The envelopewas secure in his possession. It had imparted to him news of greatimportance. He was eager to cross the Straits and put its instructionsinto execution. What these instructions might be, she could not tell.The North was a place of rare furs, ivory and much gold. Anything waspossible.
"No," she almost exploded between tight-set teeth, "no, I won't talk itover with him, I won't."
One thing, however, she did do. Under pretense of missing some articlefrom her wardrobe when on the beach ready to start for East Cape, shehastened to the cabin on the beach, and executed a quick search for themissing envelope. The search was unrewarded.
One thing, though, arrested her attention for a moment. As she leftthe cabin she noticed, near the door, the print of a man's skin-boot inthe snow. It was an exceedingly large print; such as is made by acareless white man who buys the first badly-made skin-boots offered tohim by a native seamstress. The college boy could not have made thattrack. His skin-boots had been made by some Eskimo woman of no meanability. She had fitted them to his high-arched and shapely feet, asshe might have done had he been her Eskimo husband.
"Oh, well," she exclaimed, as she raced to join her companions,"probably some native who has passed this way."
Even as she said it, she doubted her own judgment. She had never inher life seen a native wear such a clumsy and badly-shaped skin-boot.