by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER VII REVENGE FOR A LOST COMRADE
For a second, as he stood there on the sled, with the big Arctic moonrising above the forest, with the crack of the strange rifle, the roar ofdogs and the howl of wolves dinning in his ears, Joe fancied himselfacting a part in the movies. It was too strange to seem real.
This lasted but a second; then, realizing that the battle was more thanhalf won but that some of his dogs might be in danger, he sprang from thesled. The next instant with the butt of his rifle he crushed the skull ofa wolf whose fangs were tearing at the throat of a dog. The wolf,crumpling over, lay quivering in death.
As he bent over the prostrate dog he saw that it was Sport.
Frightened, bewildered, disheartened by the crack-crack of the newcomer'srifle, the remnant of the wolf-pack took to its heels. Soon save for thegrowl and whine of dogs, silence reigned in meadow and forest.
The man with the rifle stepped forward. To Joe's surprise he saw that itwas Jennings.
"Why! It's you!" he exclaimed.
"Who did you think it might be?" laughed the miner.
"Why, it might have been most anyone. Might even have been the manCurlie's looking for, the outlaw of the air. I thought you were withCurlie. Curlie's coming--must be most of the way here."
"Then," said Jennings quickly, "I'd better go back and meet him, then heand I will go back and bring the other sleds. Here," he handed Joe twoclips of cartridges, "guess they'll not come back. Never can tell though.You'll be safe with these." He turned and walked quickly away.
Left with his dogs and his outfit, Joe made a thorough examination ofthings. Three of his dogs, Ginger, the leader, Major, the sled guard, andBones, his team-mate, were sitting on their haunches or curled up lickingtheir wounds.
"Sport's done in," he murmured with a queer catch in his throat. "Dogsget to be a fellow's pals up here. Pete's missing. Rushed out after theretreating enemy to avenge his team-mate, I guess. Only hope he doesn'tget the worst of it."
Five dead wolves lay near the sled. These he dragged into a pile. "Enoughpelts there for a splendid rug," he told himself. "I'll get some Indianwoman to tan them."
Then, realizing that it would be some time before his companions wouldreturn, and having nothing else to do, he began skinning the carcasses.He had nearly completed the task when, from the edge of the forest, therecame a long-drawn howl.
"What, again?" he exclaimed seizing his rifle. "All right, come on. I'mready for you this time."
A pair of fiery balls shone out of the shadowy edge of the forest.
Lifting his rifle he took steady aim. His breath came quick. To shoot inthe quiet calm of perfect self-composure was quite different from apitched battle.
He had a perfect bead on the spot between the eyes, when the creaturemoved.
He came a few paces closer; then again halted and howled.
And now once more the boy had a perfect aim. His finger was on thetrigger. It was a high-power rifle. The shot could not fail.
"Now!" he whispered to himself. "Now!"
But at that instant a strange thing happened. Old Ginger, the leader,answered the creature's call. The answer was not hostile but friendly.
Joe's rifle dropped with a soft plump into the snow. The next instant hecupped his hands and shouted.
"Pete! Pete, you old fool, come on in here. You nearly got shot."
It was indeed Pete, the huskie. He had returned safely from hisexpedition of revenge for a lost comrade.
As he came trotting in, head up and ears pricked forward, he marchedstraight up to Joe, as a huskie will, and jamming his nose straightagainst his leg, gave a big sniff. After that he curled up with hiscomrades to lick his wounds.
Two hours later the camp in the forest was once more in order. The meathad been piled high upon a hastily made cache of strong boughs, ropedbetween trees. The dogs had been bedded down with spruce boughs. All wassnug for the night.
They were preparing to turn in. To-morrow would be a busy day. They wouldspend the greater part of it in camp. The broken sled must be mended.Joe's dogs must be allowed to recover from the first shock of the battle.Jennings would repair the sled. Curlie and Joe would go ahead breakingthe trail on snowshoes for a few miles. This would be the day's work;that and keeping a sharp lookout for the outlaw of the air.
"The outlaw of the air!" Curlie was thinking of him when there came arattle from the loud-speaker attached to the receiving set tuned for longwave lengths.
Leaping to the tuner, he touched its knob, twisted it first this way,then that. He touched a second and a third knob, then bent his ear forthe message.
"Another government affair," he told himself. Then, suddenly, as ifbursting out from the very room, came a loud, "Bar-r-r-r!"
Instantly his hands flew to the radio-compass as he muttered.
"That's him, the outlaw!"
He measured the distance accurately, calculated the direction, thenlocated it on the map.
"There!" he murmured. "He's right there. Not forty miles. A little offthe trail. For safety from discovery I suppose. Camped there for thenight. By a forced march we could reach that spot before nightfallto-morrow. Question is, shall we do it?"
Throwing on his coat, he went out of the tent. There for ten minutes hebathed his temples, throbbing with excitement, in the cold night air.Pacing up and down on the narrow trail he debated the problem.
"If we try to steal upon him, he may discover us first and elude us," hetold himself. "If he does that, probably we can't catch him, for his dogswill be fresher than ours. If we wait for him here, he may take someIndian trail which cuts around this point and we may never see him. Sothere it is."
It was a difficult decision but much quiet thinking led him to believethat there was more to be gained by waiting than by moving. They oughtnot break trail beyond the point where they now were. That would but givethe man warning. Early in the morning, he would send Joe exploringacross-trail for any other trail that might pass close to this one. Theywould move camp to a position a few yards off trail in the forest. Thenhe would set a watch.
Instinctively, as he entered the tent, he examined the clip of cartridgesin his rifle.
"Not looking for him to-night, are you?" grinned Joe.
"No, not looking for him, but you never can tell," said Curlie soberly.
"Think it's necessary to set a watch?"
"No. That dog that guards your sled, old Major, is watch enough. He'lllet us know if anyone comes down the trail, and even if they shouldattempt to escape us they couldn't do it--not with two of our teams inprime condition."