Chapter V: Planning a Perilous Journey

The house in which the girls lived was a cunningly built affair. Eight long poles, brought from the distant river, had been lashed together at one end. Then they had all been raised to an upright position and spread apart like the pole of an Indian’s tepee. Canvas was spread over this circle of poles. That there might be more room in the tent, curved willow branches were lashed to the poles. These held the canvas away in a circle. After this had been accomplished the whole inside was lined with deerskins. Only an opening at the top was left for the passing of smoke from the Yukon stove. The stove stood in the front center of the house. Back of it was a platform six by eight feet. This platform was surrounded on all four sides and above by a second lining of deerskin. This platform formed the floor and the deerskins the walls of a little room within the skin house. This was the sleeping room of Marian and Patsy.

A more cozy place could scarcely be imagined. Even with the thermometer at forty below, and the wind howling about the igloo, this room was warm as toast. With the sleeping bag for a bed, and with a heavy deerskin rug and blankets piled upon them, the girls could sleep in perfect comfort.

In this cozy spot, with one arm thrown loosely about her cousin’s neck, Marian lay that night for a full five minutes in perfect silent repose.

“Patsy,” she said, as her arm suddenly tightened about her cousin’s neck in an affectionate hug, “would you be terribly afraid to stay here all by yourself with the Eskimos?”

“How—how long?” Patsy faltered.

“I don’t know exactly. Perhaps a week, perhaps three. In the Arctic one never knows. Things happen. There are blizzards; rivers can not be crossed; there is no food to be had; who knows what may happen?”

“Why, no,” said Patsy slowly, “with Attatak here I think I shouldn’t mind.”

“I think,” said Marian with evident reluctance, “that I should take Attatak with me. I’d like to take old Terogloona. He’d be more help; but at a time like this he can’t leave the herd. He’s absolutely faithful—would give his life for us. Father once saved him from drowning when a skin boat was run down by a motor launch. An Eskimo never forgets.”

“How strangely you talk,” said Patsy suddenly. “Is—is the purple flame as serious an affair as that?”

“Oh, no!” answered Marian. “That may become serious. They may be killing our deer, but we haven’t caught them at it. That, for the present, is just an interesting mystery.”

“But what are you—where are you going?”

“Listen, Patsy,” said Marian thoughtfully; “do you remember the radio message we picked up three days ago—the one from the Government Agent, sent from Nome to Fairbanks?”

Patsy did remember. She had spent many interesting hours listening in on the compact but powerful radio set her father had presented to her as a parting gift.

“Yes,” she said, “I remember.”

“When did he say he was leaving Nome?”

“The 5th.”

“That means he’ll be at the Siman’s trading station on about the 12th. And Siman’s is the spot on the Nome-Fairbanks trail that is nearest to us. By fast driving and good luck I can get there before him.”

“But why should you?” persisted Patsy.

Then Marian confided to her cousin the new trouble they were facing, the almost certain loss of their range, with all the calamities that would follow.

“If only I can see the Agent before he passes on to Fairbanks I am sure he would deputize someone to come over here and compel Scarberry to take his herd from our range. If I can’t do that, then I don’t see that we have a single chance. We might as well—as well—” there was a catch in her voice—“as well make Scarberry a present of our herd and go on our way back to Nome. We’d be flat broke; not a penny in the world! And father—father would not have a single chance for a fresh start. But we will be ruined soon enough if we try to put up a fight all by ourselves, for Scarberry’s too strong; he’s got three herders to our one. The Agent is our only chance.”

For a long time after this speech all was silence, and Marian was beginning to think that Patsy had gone to sleep. Then she felt her soft warm hand steal into hers as she whispered:

“No, I’m not afraid. I—I’ll stay, and I’ll do all I can to keep that thief and his deer off our range until you get back. I’ll do it, too! See if I don’t!”

Patsy’s southern fighting blood was up. At such a time she felt equal to anything.

“All right, old dear; only be careful.” Marian gave her a rousing hug, then whispered as she drew the deerskins about her:

“Go to sleep now. I must be away before dawn.”