Chapter VIII: On the Arctic Circle

While the boys did not expect to be gone longer than a week, or ten days at the most, on any one spoke of their prospecting wheel, and carried good grub to last them for this length of time, they nevertheless took the precaution to stock up with enough alcohol, compressed tea, hard tack and pemmican for themselves, and dried fish for the dogs, to stave off starvation for a month in the event of meeting with an accident, getting stormbound, or wanting to make a longer stay.

With a team apiece of seven dogs and a load of only a hundred and fifty pounds it was possible for them to ride on their sleds a good deal of the time. But this does not mean that they could very often actually sit on them but the way they did it was to stand on the rear ends of the runners and hold on to the handle bars.

The night before they made their first trip out they packed their traveling mess-gear, which consisted of a collapsible stove and alcohol for fuel, grub and the few other necessary things of their outfit, on the sleds, so that they could make a start the next morning at day-break.

They crossed the Big Black River and drove due north over the tundra (a Russian word, pronounced _toon-dra_,) which is a rolling prairie, without any trees on it; the soil is black and soft, or _muck_ as it is called, and on it both mosses and lichens grow. They drove due north and in the course of time Bill announced that according to the sun, his watch and his stomach there should be a period of rest and of eating. According to Jack’s calculations they had made about twelve miles and were moreover right then on the Arctic Circle.

“After we gets through with the eats, Jack, I wants you to edicate me on this Arctic Circle thing,” said Bill as he threw the dogs their fish.

Jack was busy opening the thermos bottles of hot tea and getting out the sandwiches.

“What do you want to know about it?” he asked absent-mindedly, for he was not a little bit interested in this at the particular moment.

“I wants to know _why_ is the Arctic Circle, and everything else about the bloomin’ thing. The way I’ve doped it out it is like a meridian or the equator, that is, it’s a line that you can’t see and yet it’s there or here just the same. I’m settin’ on it and I know it but I can’t prove it, As man to man, now, I’m askin’ you what is it?” asked Bill with great earnestness.

Jack looked at him and laughed.

“You asked a question and then answered it yourself in the next breath. You’ve said all there is to say about it except that it’s a circle running round the North Pole like an ostrich feather on a lady’s hat, only, different from the latter, it extends on all sides of the pole to latitude sixty-six degrees and thirty-two minutes north.”

“But why is it?” persisted Bill.

Jack thought a moment.

“The chief reason the Arctic Circle is so called is because it is the circle below which the sun does not drop in mid-summer. If we were here on the Arctic Circle in summer we’d see the sun at midnight just above the horizon, and the farther north a person goes in summer the higher he will see the sun above the horizon at midnight. Lots of tourists come up here every summer just to take a look at the midnight sun, and the natives call them _sunners_.”

“An’ we won’t get to see it then?” kicked Bill; “it’s just my luck. If it ’ud be rainin’ soup I’d be standin’ out in it with a fork.”

“We’re not up here to see the sun at midnight,” Jack came back at him, “we’re lucky if we get a glimpse of it at noon. What we’re up here for is to get the yellow stuff.”

“Oh yes, I kinda lost sight o’ the bloomin’ gold for a minute,” was Bill’s reply.

It was great sport, now that their loads were light, for the young drivers to flourish their whips and crack them in the dry air, while the dogs, fed-up, fresh and eager, raced along, with tinkling bells where the going was good, as though they were making a dash for the pole. The boys and their outfit would have made a capital movie, but there wasn’t a cinematograph camera nearer than Skagway on the south or St. Michaels on the west.

At this time of the year, the period of daylight on the Arctic Circle is very short and as darkness came on they pulled up on the banks of a stream to make camp.

“This must be the Rat River,” said Bill.

“It is, but it certainly isn’t much at this point. We’re close to its head waters though and that accounts for it. It empties into the Porcupine River about sixty or seventy miles west of here. It might be worth our while to make a survey up and down the river for a few miles, so to-morrow let’s go down stream.”

They had not gone more than five miles the next morning when their attention was attracted by a huge fire a couple of hundred feet back of the north bank and they drove up to see what was going on.

“Bet it’s the Yeehats barbecuin’ a caribou,” suggested Bill who was dying by inches for the want of a caribou steak.

“Look again,” said Jack, and then Bill saw the winter diggings of some miners, three all told, one white man and two Indians, busy with picks and shovels.

“Lookin’ for our gold,” was Bill’s idea of it.

“More likely they are mining for some on their own account. A great deal of placer mining is done up here in the winter--has to be done in winter as a matter of fact--because the ground is so low and wet that they can’t do any digging in the summer time, for the hole fills up with water as fast as the dirt is thrown out.

“The way they work it according to what Rip Stoneback told me, is like this. The miner cuts all the fire-wood he can in the summer, which isn’t a great deal as it is so scarce in these parts, and builds his _sluice-box_; then when winter sets in and it begins to freeze, he clears the moss off of a small patch. On this clearing he builds a fire and keeps it going until the ground is thawed down a foot or so when he digs it out; then he builds another fire, digs out the thawed ground and repeats the operation until he has sunk a shaft through the muck and gravel to bed-rock.

“Now between the gravel and bed-rock is a layer of gold-bearing dirt called _pay-streak_ and this is hoisted to the surface by means of a windlass on the ends of whose rope are spliced a couple of buckets; and this windlass, of course, sets over the shaft. Usually two men go down in the shaft and pick the frozen pay streak from the ground. The shafts vary in depth from fifteen to forty feet depending on what part of the country the mine is located.

“The third man stays on top to draw up the buckets and with a wheel-barrow wheels the gold-bearing dirt back and dumps it in a pile where it will be in no danger of getting washed away by the melting snows when spring comes. In the spring when water is plentiful the fun begins for then the _clean-up_ takes place and the men who were as poor as Indian dogs all winter wax rich and take their winnings back to civilization where they can be separated from it.

“The _clean-up_ means that the color-bearing dirt is shoveled into the sluice-box, that is, a trough without ends, into which the miner has contrived to keep a steady stream of water running. The water washes away the dirt and leaves the free gold just as it does in the more primitive method of panning.”

The miners were as glad to see the boys as the latter were to see them, yes even more so. They immediately knocked off all work and there was a regular “chin-fest,” as Bill called it, from that time on. They made the boys stay to supper and improvised bunks in their cabin for them to sleep on. After Art Jennings, who, as you will gather from his name, was the lone white man, had heard the news of the outside world they talked about three other things only, the first of which was gold, the second gold and the third gold.

“This placer minin’ is altogether too slow a game for me,” remarked Bill when they were on their way again. “What I wants is to see moosehide sacks of it piled up like cordwood, I do.”

“Well there are moosehide sacks of it _cached_ right here in Yeehatville on the Circle. From the Pacific Ocean on up to the Arctic Ocean there’s gold. In every stream and river, as well as the land between them, this precious metal is found in either particles or in nuggets. Take the Klondike! it’s not much larger than the Rat River here and yet so much gold was found there its name became known all over the world. Every river in Alaska and the Yukon, I suppose, is just as rich but you don’t hear much about them because the Klondike was the first and so outshone all the rest. We’ll get ours yet, don’t worry,” said Jack hopefully.

Each trip the boys made from their base of supplies took them from one to two weeks. Their marches in and out were usually made in a couple of days and when they had worked away from their permanent base as far as they wanted to go they would set up a temporary camp.

If the weather was not too severe, that is to say below zero, they pitched their tent, but when it got to twenty, forty or sixty below, or a blizzard struck them as it frequently did in mid-winter, they made a better camp by cutting out blocks of snow and piling them up into a dome-shaped shelter like the igloo of the Eskimo, but which Bill, who always persisted in nick-naming everything that was new to him, called a _butter-dish_.

Building a snow igloo was a simple matter after they had put up a couple, and the boys got it down to such a fine point that they could do the complete job in two or three hours. Of course this was largely the result of Jack’s experience in the Arctic which enabled him to go about it in the right way. He had brought his saw-knife with him for this express purpose. This useful tool is about eighteen inches long and one and three-fourths inches wide and while one of the edges of it is sharp like a knife the other edge has teeth cut in it like a saw.

With this saw-knife Jack or Bill would saw out the hard frozen snow into blocks which for the lower layers of the igloo measured about two feet in length and eighteen inches wide and high; as the upper layers were reached they used smaller and smaller blocks. Finally when all of the snow-blocks but one were laid up and the igloo was as hemispherical as the half of a ball, the last block, which they beveled on four sides, was set in the center and this held all of the other blocks out like the keystone of a bridge.

They made these snow igloos about six feet in diameter on the inside of the base so that they could lie down comfortably. To get into the igloo they left one of the snow blocks of the first layer out and through this hole they also took in the grub they needed, the alcohol stoves and the sleeping bags. To close the hole it was only necessary to push in the snow block when they were pretty well housed in.

What, then, with their fur clothing, a log house at their permanent base and these snow igloos at the ends of their trips, they were able to keep quite comfortable. Nearly every one who has never put in a winter in the Arctic, or sub-Arctic, regions seems to think that the extreme cold is a thing to be feared, but it isn’t if one has the right kind of clothes, enough food and if, when outside of the shelter, he does not stop but keeps right on going or working. But the long hours of darkness often get to be mighty monotonous.

Being boys, however, nothing could chill their ardor or cast a gloom on their spirits for any length of time and they were always ready for a frolic. Thus it was when they were sledding on streams where the ice was good they had some great races. Each contended that his team was the swiftest that ever pulled a sled and this difference of opinion invariably led to a challenge to prove it.

The dogs entered into the spirit of the races with as much zest as their young masters and when they were abreast and the signal to _go_ was given, the whips cracked and the dogs jumped to get first place. Onward they dashed with an ease and grace that made them seem more like rubber balls bouncing along low on the course, than four-footed animals whose business it was to work.

But the spirit of sport was strangely strong in these living, vibrant creatures and as they fairly flew along over the course they voiced their joy by short howls and yelps when they were in the lead or their anguish by whines and cries when they dropped behind.

Jack was, perhaps, a better driver than Bill but in his own heart he gave the credit to his team when they won and win they nearly always did. Bill was a good “sport” though and never got “sore” when he lost a race; he always took the blame on himself for his poor driving and nothing could shake his belief that his was the fastest team, bar none, in all Alaska.

There were a few times though when Bill’s team won. One of these rare occasions was when a snowshoe rabbit ran from a bank onto the ice intending to cross to the other side; finding himself in front of a terrible pack of running dogs or wolves, he knew not which, that were bent on catching him, instead of going on across to safety he ran straightaway ahead of them.

Sate, Bill’s lead-dog, spotted him first and he ran as he had never run before; the dogs of his team felt this super-burst of speed on his part and as the rabbit paced him, so he paced them with the highly gratifying result, to Bill, that his team jumped ahead of Jack’s by a length. The boys urged their teams on with their “yow-yows,” and the bells jingled joyously while the wild race was on.

The dogs of both teams had forgotten that there were such things as a trace or trail, while the boys had lost sight of the treasure they were seeking and let nothing impede their mad flight toward destruction. At the end of a quarter of a mile Bill’s team was nearly three lengths ahead of Jack’s and he felt the race well won. His dogs had lost all interest in the race, indeed, they did not know they were racing for it was the rabbit they were after now. Then little snowshoe fooled them, for he made a sharp turn and ran up the bank.

Sate likewise turned as sharp as the high speed he was making would allow; the team swerved abruptly, slipped and slid for half-a-dozen yards, the sled upset and everything was piled up in a heap. Jack’s team shot by them like an arrow and they ran for another quarter of a mile before he could stop them in their mad flight. When he got back he had to admit that Bill’s team had won the race but it cost them an hour’s work to make good the damage done. There was no more racing that day.

“You see, Jack, as I always told you, my team is faster than yourn and all it needs to show speed is a rabbit for a pace maker,” was Bill’s comment as he picked himself up.

In their goings and comings they ran across all sorts of wild animal life from the little lemmings, a mouse-like animal with short ears and tail, which looks like a miniature yellow rabbit, to the giant moose. In between these two extremes they saw squirrels, snowshoe rabbits, red and black foxes, lynxes, gray wolves and caribou. They had also seen the tracks of bears, for the species of bear that live in the sub-Arctic regions does not hibernate.

They often shot squirrel, rabbit and ptarmigan (pronounced _tar’-mi-gan_), a bird of the grouse order, and these served as dishes of great delicacy for the boys, as well as giving the dogs a welcome change from dried fish. Bill declared it to be the open season for bagging some big game and Jack agreed that they must. But it is hard to seek cached treasure and be big game hunters at the same time.

Once while they were moving leisurely along after a satisfying dinner and they were talking about hunting the caribou, moose and bear, the tables were suddenly turned on them when they became the _hunted_ prey of wild beasts, for a pack of famished wolves had scented them out and were headed straight for them.

Pell-mell came the lean, long-legged beasts with ears erect, ribs bulging out of their loose skins, tails drooping and starved to desperation. Instantly the boys halted their teams and had barely time enough to cut the dogs out of their traces before the pack was upon them. The dogs knew they were in for a fight to the death and braced themselves for it, while the boys drew their revolvers and stood on their sleds ready for the attack.

In less than a minute the wolves were upon them and the fight was on. The dogs met the onslaught with the strength and courage the wolves lacked; and in between pistol shots, each of which picked off a wolf, the dogs snapped in two the legs, and broke the necks of their savage ancestors with a crunch of their powerful jaws, or opened their bellies, which let their entrails half out, or severed the jugular veins when streams of blood spurted forth from the rips made by merciless fangs.

But the dogs suffered too, for often three or even four wolves would fight a single one and in this unequal struggle he would go down unless his master took a hand and evened up numbers by a few well-placed bullets. Nor was it easy for the boys to shoot the wolves, for the fight was so fast and furious it was well-nigh impossible at times to send a piece of cold lead into their miserable carcasses without the danger of hitting their dogs.

One of the curious things was that when a wolf got hold of the harness on a dog it mistook it for brute substance instead of inert leather and it would bite it viciously and shake it furiously without getting the living response that it had the right to expect.

When the number of wolves had been brought down to twice that of the dogs, they knew they were beaten and the moment this happened their courage failed them and those that were left with strength enough to take to their heels slunk quickly away.

An examination of the dogs showed that far from coming out of the fight unscathed every one of them was in a bad way and, still more sad to relate, Jennie and Prince, two of the outside dogs of Jack’s team, had to be shot to put them out of their misery. As the dogs were so badly off and the harness cut up and chewed to pieces the boys had to make camp on the spot.

They dressed the wounds of the dogs as well as they could and gave them half-a-can of pemmican apiece--a food that the dogs liked above all else. While the dogs laid down and rested and nursed their hurts, their masters built an igloo, for they couldn’t tell when they would be able to move on. While the igloo was going up there was nothing but kind words and praise for the dogs and it could be seen by the looks in their eyes and the expressions on their faces that they knew every word which was said to and about them, and enjoyed and appreciated it all. As Bill saw them now he was more thoroughly convinced than ever that these particular dogs were endowed with human brains and not just common dog brains.

“I always told you my team could outrun yourn and you’ll have to admit they out-fought yourn too,” said Bill boastfully after the gloom had somewhat worn off.

“I don’t see how you make that out,” Jack flared up.

“Well, two of your dogs will never _mush_ again pullin’ a sled after them here on earth--though they may haul a little red cart with angels in it when they go tearin’ along the trails o’ heaven.”

“That’s no argument at all,” returned Jack soberly, “and you can’t get away with it either. Why, I saw ’Frisco rip the throats open of one wolf after another when four of them were at him at once. Prince and Jennie went down in a fluke--in a fluke I tell you--and that is the only reason they lost out.’”

“This is soitenly tough luck,” said Bill as he was going over the wounds of the dogs before they turned in.

“And I’m two dogs short,” moaned Jack, “though I’m mighty glad they were not the malamutes.”

“Never youse mind, Buddy. I’ll give youse one of mine and we’ll still be even.”

“I don’t want any of your dogs, Bill, I’ll just drive my five dogs along until we strike an Indian village or some camp and then I’ll buy a couple of Siwashes. But I’m sure sorry to lose Prince and Jennie for they were a couple of dandy dogs to say the least.”

Just the same when Bill had fixed the harness and hitched up the dogs preparatory to making a fresh start, Jack saw with grim pleasure that the teams were even and that Bill’s best dog, next to Sate his leader, was in the traces of his team.

Jack didn’t say anything about it then but he made up his mind that when he went ’round the world on a pleasure jaunt, or anywhere else, Bill could go with him however crude his speech, and rough his manner.

They limped back to their base of supplies and stayed there for a week until the dogs got into shape again.