Tom was brought in and Sam followed, and both were placed near the sheet iron stove of which Tony Bings’s cabin boasted. Then the old miner bustled about to get the whole party something to eat and to drink.
“I’ve got slathers o’ stores,” he told Jack Wumble, in answer to a question on that point. “Got a good supply in durin’ the summer. I was out here last winter an’ come near starvin’ to de’th, an’ I made up my mind it shouldn’t happen ag’in. So eat yer fill an’ welcome.”
“We’ll pay for all we use, Tony,” answered Wumble. “These chaps with me are rich,” he added, in a whisper.
“At first I thought it might be some good-fer nuthin’ fellers from up the mountains,” went on Tony Bings. “Once in a while they come here and git things an’ don’t pay for ’em. If they come ag’in, I’ll shoot ’em,” he went on, with determination.
He listened with interest to the story the others had to relate, and was not surprised when he learned how the old hut had been tossed over by the tornado and carried along on the ice. He said his own shelter was protected by the rocks around it and also by the heavy stones which he had placed on the roof.
All of the newcomers were so exhausted that after eating their fill they were glad enough to lie down and rest. Tony Bings told them not to worry—that he would stay awake, to tend the fire and watch out generally.
“You ain’t nowhere near Subler’s Stores,” he told Dick. “You got off the track entirely. Instead of going towards Dawson you’ve been goin’ away from it.”
All of the boys and Jack Wumble slept soundly that night. Tony Bings did not arouse them and consequently it was long past daylight when they opened their eyes.
When Dick came to the window of the cabin to look out he uttered a cry of surprise. The sun was shining and all around could be seen immense stretches of ice and snow. It looked as if they were in the midst of desolation.
“What a change from a week ago!” he said to Sam.
“A fellow could hardly believe it, Dick,” was the reply.
“How do you feel?” went on the big brother.
“All right, only somewhat stiff.”
Tom was still asleep. When he awoke the brothers were worried to see that he did not seem to be as clear in his mind as he had been the day before.
“Where is Ike Furner?” he asked, suddenly. “Say, I’ve got to be on my way, if I am going to get those nuggets of gold.”
“Tom, take it easy,” begged Dick. “Don’t you remember me?” And he looked his brother full in the eyes.
“Sure I know you, Dick,” was the wondering answer. “Why do you ask me such a question? Let me see, what was I saying?” Tom put his hand to his forehead. “Hang it all, it’s slipped my mind entirely,” he groaned.
“Never mind, Tom, let it go. You just think of Sam and me, and the folks at home. And don’t forget Nellie,” Dick added, in a whisper.
“Nellie!” gasped the sufferer. “Oh, yes, Nellie! As if I could ever forget her! Say, Dick, how soon will I see her, do you suppose?”
“I’ll send for her as soon as we get home, Tom.”
“And when will that be?”
“Oh, not so very long. Now do keep quiet. And don’t think of anything but just home and Nellie,” he added, pleadingly.
“All right, I’ll do just as you want me to,” returned Tom, and then laid back and was silent.
Sam had listened to what was going on and now he and Dick walked to the far end of the cabin, to talk in whispers.
“He isn’t over it yet, Sam. And it almost looks as if he never would get over it, that is, altogether.” Dick’s face showed his deep concern.
“Oh, Dick, don’t say that! He’s got to get over it! Oh, if only we could get some first class doctor to do something!”
“Well, we’ve got to get to some city first—Dawson or some other place.”
“Here is news!” cried Jack Wumble, coming forward at that instant. “Tony tells me that there will be a party going through to Dawson inside of a week or ten days. He advises that we wait till they go and go with ’em.”
“It will be much safer,” said Tony Bings “It’s a fearful journey alone—in sech weather.”
“Who are those folks who are going?” asked Dick.
“One of the men who run the Yukon Supply Depot at Crovet, twenty-four miles from here. He will come along with four or five of his helpers, and most likely a dog train, and he always stops here.”
“That will be all right—but a week or ten days—that’s a long time to wait,” and Dick sighed.
After that Tony Bings told his story, how he had come to that neighborhood and “struck it rich,” as he confided to Jack Wumble. He was very enthusiastic about the diggings back of his cabin, and in the end got Wumble to promise to join him in his hunt for gold in the Spring.
“I’ve heard o’ sech cases,” he told the boys, after learning about Tom’s trouble. “It’s too bad! I sure do hope your brother will git over it. It ain’t nice to have a crazy pusson in the family.”
After that several days went by slowly. At times Tom seemed to improve and then he would sink back, sometimes becoming quite wild, so the others had to watch him closely. But he grew stronger physically, which was something to be thankful for.
On the third day it started to snow again, and this kept up for twenty-four hours. It was as cold as ever, and the sheet iron stove was kept almost red hot, so that the party, and especially Tom, might not take cold.
On the next morning, much to the surprise of everybody, Tom got up and insisted on walking around the cabin.
“I feel almost well,” he told his brothers. “But I’d give a good deal to be home.”
That afternoon came a great shouting, and the cracking of whips outside the cabin. At once Tony Bings’s face lit up.
“It’s the men from the Supply Depot!” he cried. “I reckon it’s Schmidt.”
“Hello, in dare!” was the cry. “Vos you alife alretty, Tony? Vy can’t you oben der door und let a feller in, ain’t it?”
“Hello, Gus!” answered the owner of the cabin, and threw open the door, and in bustled a big, fat German, heavily clad, and wearing thick gloves and ear-warmers. The newcomer stared in astonishment at the Rovers and Jack Wumble.
“Sure und I tidn’t know you vos have combany, Tony,” said Gus Schmidt.
“My friends,” said the old miner, and introduced them. “Tell yer men to come in, and welcome,” he went on, and Schmidt went to the door, and called to three men who were with him. They drove up with several dog teams, which they were taking to Dawson for supplies that had come up to that city by way of the Yukon River.
Gus Schmidt, despite his rather uncouth manner, was a whole-souled man, and Dick and the others took to him at once. He listened gravely to the story they had to tell, and readily agreed to take the Rovers and Jack Wumble with him. Wumble was invited by Tony Bings to remain at the cabin for the winter, but said he would first see the Rovers as far as Dawson, and visit his own claim, and then would return with Schmidt’s party.
Of the newcomers one was a German like Schmidt and the other two were Canadians. The latter knew all about the dogs and dog sleds, managing the rather savage animals with scarcely an effort. The dogs had originally belonged to some Alaskan Indians and had cost the owners of the Supply Depot considerable money.
The start for Dawson, so many miles away, was made on the following morning. The boys and Jack Wumble shook hands with Tony Bings, who refused point blank to accept any money for what he had done for them. Tom was placed on one of the best of the big sleds and made as comfortable as circumstances permitted.
“All apoardt!” cried Gus Schmidt, gaily, and cracked the long whip he carried. The Canadians understood and cracked their own whips, and away went the whole party, over the fields of ice and snow, in the direction of Dawso
n.
CHAPTER XXIX
TOM’S WILD RIDE
“Talk about fields of ice, Dick! Just look around us!”
It was Sam who spoke. The party had come to a halt for the midday meal. They had stopped in the shelter of some big rocks, now thickly covered with snow and ice.
Snow and ice were on all sides—the latter glistening brightly in the sunshine. It was a wonderful transformation from the green and brown that had decked the landscape before winter had set in so suddenly.
“I’d hate to be out in this alone,” remarked the big brother. “A fellow could get lost without half trying.”
“Dick, what do you think of Tom?” went on Sam, in a lower tone.
“He’s in a bad way again, Sam,” was the reply. “Poor fellow! If only we had him where we could place him under the care of some good doctor, some specialist. That is what he needs.”
Tom was indeed in a bad way. All morning he had talked in a rambling fashion, to himself and to the others around him. The Canadians were getting afraid of him and the Germans shrugged their shoulders.
“I dink he besser peen in an asylum, ain’t it,” said Gus Schmidt. “A feller can’t vos dell vot such a feller vos going to do next alretty!”
“We’ll have to watch him,” had been Dick’s answer.
One of the Canadians was preparing dinner, aided by one of the Germans. To show that they did not wish to shirk any camp duties, Sam and Dick did what they could to assist. The dogs and the sleds were off to one side. Tom sat on one sled, wrapped in heavy blankets, for it was still very cold.
Suddenly there came a wild shout from the Canadian who was doing the cooking. With a saucepan he pointed to the dogs and sleds. All of the others gazed in that direction and Sam and Dick set up a cry of alarm.
And well they might, for the sight that met their eyes filled them with fear. In some way Tom had gotten one of the sleds with its dogs away from the others and jumped aboard. With a crack of a whip he was off, standing on the sled and yelling like a demon.
“Tom! Tom! Stop!” screamed Dick and Sam in unison. “Come back here!”
“I’m off for gold! Nuggets of gold!” yelled the one who was not right in his mind. “Don’t you dare to follow me! Off for gold! Gold! Gold!” And then the sled with its rider passed out of hearing, the dogs doing their best, urged on by the continued cracking of the long whip.
“We must catch him!” said Dick. “Quick! before he gets out of sight over some hill, or around some rocks!”
“He has der pest sled und der pest dogs!” groaned Gus Schmidt. “I said ve must keep an eye on him, yah! Of he busts dot sled somepody got to pay for him!”
“We’ll pay, never fear,” answered Sam. “But we must catch him! We don’t want him to get hurt.”
“You come mit me,” said the leader of the outfit, motioning to Dick. “It ain’t no use for all of us to go after him. De udders da stay right here. Ludvig, you hear?”
“Yah,” came from the other German, and he nodded his head.
In a few minutes Gus Schmidt had one of the other dog teams ready for use. He was about to jump on the sled when he paused.
“Besser ve took somedings along,” he suggested. “Somedings to eat und to trink, hey? Und some plankets, yah?” and he commenced to haul over the packs.
“Why, do you think the chase will be a long one?” asked Dick, anxiously.
“I can’t vos tell dot. Mebbe him peen long. Dem vos schmart togs, I tole you dot.”
A pack containing food and blankets was hastily thrown together and strapped to the sled. Then Dick was assigned a place and Gus Schmidt hopped aboard.
“Of ve ton’t got back tonight go on to Riss Rifer,” he directed the others.
“Good-by, Dick, and good luck!” called out Sam, and Jack Wumble waved his hand.
“You take care of yourself, Sam,” was the brother’s parting caution.
The dog sleds had done some fairly fast traveling before, but the rate of speed now set by Gus Schmidt almost took away Dick’s breath. On and on bounded the sled, the dogs yelping wildly at first, but then settling down to a steady pace. Up one hill awl down another they dashed, sending the loose snow flying in all directions. Soon the camp was left out of sight, even the smoke gradually disappearing from view.
Tom and his outfit were nowhere to be seen, having long since passed over a hill to the northward. Gus Schmidt had, however, noted the direction with care. He had noted, too, that the runaway had taken a somewhat curved course, and now he attempted to catch him by taking a straight route for the same point.
For over an hour the chase kept up, and then, reaching the top of a long hill, they saw, far to the northward, a dog sled moving to the eastward.
“I dink I got him now!” cried Gus Schmidt, and once more he cracked his long whip and again his team bounded forward. Quarter of an hour passed and they drew closer to the other team, and then both the German and Dick set up a cry of dismay.
It was not the sled on which Tom had run away. The dogs were different and on the sled sat two men, strangers.
“Yes, we saw the sled you are after,” said one of the men, when the others had come up and put a question to him and his companion. “It passed us, going like the wind and the driver yelling like a madman.”
“And how was it headed?”
“About due North,” answered the other man on the sled. And then he and his companion moved forward again.
“I dink ve haf to go pack und look for der tracks,” said Gus Schmidt. “Too pad, dot vosn’t our sled, ain’t it?”
The team was turned back, and for the best part of half an hour they looked for the missing trail. At last it was discovered, and once more they moved rapidly forward, this time due North.
Fortunately there was little wind, otherwise Dick could not have stood that long and wild ride. As it was, he felt chilled to the bone, and his feet were like two lumps of ice. Gus Schmidt must have surmised this, for presently he stopped the sled and motioned to the youth.
“Ve git off und rundt a leetle. It vos do us goot,” he remarked, and swung himself down on the icy snow. Dick followed, so stiff at first that he could scarcely put one foot before the other. They set off on a walk, the dogs pulling them, and gradually increased their speed to a run.
Then Dick felt better.
All through the afternoon the chase kept up. They saw nothing of Tom. But the track he had left was a plain one and to that they stuck closely.
At last it grew so dark that they could see the track but indistinctly. They had to reduce their speed to a walk for fear of turning off.
“He ought to be stopping for the night,” said Dick.
“Such a feller might not sthop at all,” answered the German. “He might go on und on bis der togs trop dead, yah!”
Finally Gus Schmidt came to a halt and announced that they must go into camp for the night. The dogs needed the rest. They could continue the chase at the first sign of dawn.
“Do you know where we are?” asked Dick.
“Out in der ice und snow, dot ist all I know,” said the German. “I nefer vos here pefore.”
“If we are not lost we are next door to it,” murmured Dick.
They had brought along a little tent and sleeping bags, and after supper made themselves as comfortable as possible. The dogs had been fed and they snapped and snarled over the bones thrown to them.
Only once during the night were Dick and his companion disturbed. From a distance came a yelping which the dogs at once answered.
“What is that?” asked the youth, sitting up. “Not the dogs of the other sled?”
“Nein, dot vos foxes,” answered Gus Schmidt. “Ton’t podder mit dem. Da ton’t come here—da vos afraid of ter dogs.” And he turned over to go to sleep again.
Dick could not sleep with any ki
nd of comfort. He was utterly exhausted, yet his mind was continually on Tom. What was his poor brother doing, all by himself, amid that desolation of ice and snow?
At daybreak they were on the way again. The sun had come up, but soon it was hidden by a heavy bank of clouds, and then the snowflakes commenced to fall.
“Dot ist pad,” said Gus Schmidt, shaking his head.
“You mean, it will wipe out the trail?” said Dick.
“Yah—der drail to find your prudder und der drail for us to git pack py. Maype ve besser go pack now.”
“No! no! don’t turn back! Please don’t go back!” pleaded Dick. “He can’t be so very far ahead of us. We are sure to catch up to him in a very short while now. If we—”
Dick did not finish, for a strange sight ahead caught his eye. Coming towards them was a dog team on a gallop. Behind the team was an overturned sled, empty.
CHAPTER XXX
GOOD-BYE TO ALASKA—CONCLUSION
“Is that your sled?”
“Yah. Vait, I vos sthop dem!” yelled Gus Schmidt, and with a dexterity that was really marvelous he turned his own team about and in a few seconds was traveling after the runaways.
“Wait! I’m going to get off! To look for my brother!” cried Dick, and as the German slackened his speed for a few seconds, the oldest Rover boy sprang out in the snow. He went sprawling, but was not injured. Almost before he knew it, the two sleds had disappeared and he was left alone.
All around him were the vast and mysterious fields of ice and snow. Far off he could hear the barking of the dogs, but this soon died out, and then came utter silence—a silence that seemed to fairly weigh him down. And now the snow started to come down harder than ever.
Had Dick Rover been less stout-hearted than he was he would have then and there given up the hunt for his brother. But Dick had the stuff of a real hero in him, and he went forward through the snow, bending low to escape the wind and to keep his eyes on that slowly disappearing trail.
Thus half an hour went by, and by that time, weighed down as he was by his heavy clothing and heavy footwear, Dick was well-nigh exhausted. He stopped to rest and to get his breath, and then, struck with a sudden idea, let out that old familiar locomotive whistle of Putnam Hall fame.
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