On the Yukon Trail

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XVIII A MYSTERIOUS ATTACK

  After a moment of indecision the man driving the team of powerful dogs,who, as you remember, was standing looking down at the two columns ofvapor which marked the spot where Curlie Carson slept, spoke to his dogteam. He had been debating the advisability of descending the hill andentering that clump of willows. What he now said to his dogs was:

  "You mush!"

  The dogs leaped forward and, since he had given them no order as todirection, they raced away straight along the ridge and not down to thewillows.

  A hundred yards farther on he dug his heels in the snow as he clung tothe handle of the sled and shouted: "Whoa!"

  Again he appeared to debate the question. This time he was more prompt inhis decision.

  Again the team followed the ridge, while away in the willow clump, allunarmed and defenseless, Curlie Carson slept and his newly acquiredreindeer munched on at the dead willow leaves. The deer was sleek andfat. He would have made prime feed for the traveler's dogs as well as forhim and his companion. And as for Curlie; well, perhaps the man mighthave rejoiced at meeting him alone and unarmed. Of that we shall learnmore later.

  Curlie slept longer than he had intended doing. His weary brain and tiredbody yearned for rest and once this was offered to them they partook ofit in a prodigal manner.

  At last he awoke, to poke his head out of the sleeping-bag and to stareup at the stars.

  "Where am I?" he asked himself. "Ah, yes, now I remember; in a clump ofwillows. I have a mysterious reindeer but no rifle. I have some frozenfish. This clump of willows, where is it? Where is our camp? Joe Marion,Jennings, where are they? Who can tell?" He sat up and scratched hishead.

  "Well, I'm here. That much is good." He caught the sound of the reindeerstamping the ground. "So's the reindeer here. That is better. Only hope Ilearn to drive him."

  He did learn to drive the reindeer and that quite speedily. He found thata long rope of rawhide was fastened to the deer's halter. This was longenough to run back to the sled. It was, he concluded, used as ajerk-line, such as was once employed by drivers of oxen.

  The harness he found to be of very simple construction. Two woodenaffairs fitting closely to the shoulders and tied together at top andbottom with stout rawhide thongs, served as both collar and harness. Fromthe bottom of these ran a broad strap which connected directly with thesled. This strap was held up from the ground by a second broad strapwhich encircled the animal's body directly behind its forelegs.

  "Now," he told the reindeer, "we're going to try it over again. We got abad start last time. Fact is, you were away before the starter's whistleblew.

  "You see," he said, straightening out the jerk strap, "I'm going to holdon to this. If you get excited and speed up a little too much I'll pullyour head over on one side and make you go in a circle. That'll slow youup. Then I'll pile off the sled and dig in my heels. That should standyou on your head. You don't weigh much; not over three or four hundred.When I've put you on your head a few times I shouldn't be surprised ifyou'd turn into a very good, obedient little reindeer."

  It took but three try-outs to convince the reindeer that Curlie was notan ill-meaning sort of fellow but that he was one who meant to have hisown way. Then, like all other creatures who have been trained, he settleddown to business and carried his newly acquired master wherever he wantedto go; that is, he did up to a certain moment. After that moment thingschanged and Curlie was carried straight into trouble.

  When he left the clump of willows Curlie drove his reindeer up the slopeto the crest of the ridge. He did this that he might get a better view ofthe surrounding country, to determine if possible the direction in whichtheir former camp lay.

  Imagine his surprise on coming to a patch of soft, freshly blown snow atthe crest of the ridge, to find the tracks of dogs and sleds.

  "Fresh tracks!" he whispered breathlessly, "not ten hours old."

  He bent over to study these tracks. For a moment, he examined eachimprint of a dog's foot in the snow, each trace of sled runner and everyfootprint of the driver, then with a sudden bound he stood up again.

  "It is!" he exclaimed. "It is the outlaw! Passed while I slept. Why musta fellow be everlastingly sleeping his life away?

  "But then," he thought after a moment's deliberation, "perhaps it wasjust as well. What could I have done without help and without weapons ofany kind?"

  Seating himself on his sled while his reindeer pawed deep into the snowin his search for reindeer moss, he thought things through.

  "Joe Marion and Jennings," he told himself, "will sooner or later give uptheir search for me and will get back on the outlaw's trail. They realizethe importance of capturing him. They are brave fellows. They will nothesitate to undertake it without me. The surest way to get in with themagain is to stay on this trail. Only question is, shall I turn back tomeet them, shall I camp right here, or shall I follow up the outlaw atonce?"

  After some deliberation he concluded that going back over the trail wouldbe risky; he might miss his companions. They might get back on theoutlaw's trail after he had passed the spot on which they entered thetrail. Remaining inactive did not suit him; he was not that kind of aboy.

  "I'll follow the outlaw," he told himself. "I believe I've got a speedieroutfit than he has. White men seldom drive reindeer, so the outlaw won'tsuspect me even though he sees me at a distance. I can shadow him and,even unarmed as I am, may be able to prevent a disaster."

  Having come to this conclusion he led his reindeer to the crest of theridge, faced him north, leaped upon the sled, slapped him on the hip withthe jerk rein and was away.

  For ten miles to the crack-crack of the reindeer's hoofs, he shot awayover the snow. As the keen air cut his cheek, as the low, flat sledbobbed and bumped beneath him, Curlie thought he had never known anothersuch mode of travel. Surely a reindeer, when well broken, was the idealsteed of the Arctic.

  "And the beauty of it is," he told himself, "you don't have to go huntingout feed for him when the day is done. He finds it for himself under thesnow. You--

  "Hey, there!" he exclaimed suddenly. "What you doing?"

  The reindeer had suddenly paused in his flight to sniff the air. The nextinstant he had gone plunging down the snow-covered ridge.

  This was no time to think of stopping or turning him. Should either beaccomplished, Curlie and his sled would have gone spinning in a circle,at last to go rolling over and over in the snow, in which event Curliewould beyond doubt find himself at the foot of the ridge, very muchbruised and minus both sled and reindeer.

  The most he could do was to hold back the sled with his foot to preventits overtaking his mad steed, and to allow the deer to continue in hiswild race.

  The ridge here was long and steep. A half mile away it ended in a forestof scrub spruce trees which beyond doubt lined the bank of a stream.

  But what was this he saw as they neared the dwarf forest?

  "A herd of reindeer!" he murmured in astonishment. "Five hundred or athousand of them. Old Whitie, my friend here, smelled them and yearnedfor company. So he--"

  What was that? From the edge of the forest there leaped a tongue of fire,a rifle cracked, a bullet sang over his head, then another and another.

  "Say! Do they think I'm a reindeer rustler?" he groaned. "Want to killme?"

  Instantly he dropped from the sled to hide behind a snow bank.

  "Not much use," he told himself, "but it'll give a fellow time to think?Maybe those fellows are rustlers themselves and they think I'm an officeror something." His blood ran cold at the thought.