The Bungalow Boys North of Fifty-Three

  "But isn't there a chance that he may come back?"

  Jack spoke rather timidly. He was tired and a little nervous, and thethought that the fellow who had robbed them might be prowling aboutsomewhere rather scared him.

  "No danger of that. I wish he would. Then we could end this thing upright here."

  "Been inside yet?" asked Jack, by way of changing the subject.

  "No; I waited for you. Come on, let's go in and see what sort of a placeit is and who lives in it. I guess it belongs to a trapper, all right,from the looks of it."

  An inspection of the big room inside proved the correctness of Tom'ssurmise. Traps of all sorts and sizes were littered about the room orhanging on nails. A rough table, chairs formed out of boxes, the stove,whose smoke had first caught their attention, and some pots, pans andother equipment completed the furnishings. In one corner was a roughbunk containing dirty bedding.

  One thing caught Tom's eye immediately, and that was a barrel in onecorner of the place. All about it several small skins such as beaver,marten and weasel were scattered on the floor. Closer inspection showedthat the barrel contained some more of the same kind of pelts. It lookedas if somebody had hastily rummaged through the barrel of skins andselected what he wanted.

  "I'll bet that rascal who stole the black fox has been on a raidingexpedition here, too," cried Tom indignantly. "What a shame!"

  "Yes, looks as if he'd helped himself," agreed Jack, unstrapping hispack and taking off his snowshoes.

  They spread their provisions out on the table, got in plenty of wood andwater, and lighted a coal-oil lamp which they found on a shelf. When thedoor was shut and secured by a big wooden bar which was adjusted fromwithin, they set about getting supper. In the yellow lamplight, with thekettle singing on the stove and some jerked meat bubbling in a sort ofstew Tom had fixed up, the place looked quite cosy and homelike.

  "Wonder how poor old Sandy is getting along?" said Jack, as they satdown to eat.

  "Oh, he'll be all right," replied Tom. "Of course, he'll be lonesome andall that, but he's quite safe unless some other fellow takes it into hishead to come a-raiding."

  "Well, lightning never strikes twice in the same place," responded Jack,"and it is hardly likely that a second thief would come along so soon."

  "Just what I think," agreed Tom.

  Having finished their supper, they washed up the dishes and set aboutpreparing to make everything snug for the night. From time to time theycould hear the distant howling of the wolves, bur that only made the hutseem more snug and secure.

  "I wonder what the owner would say if he found us making ourselves sovery much at home?" said Jack, as he inspected the none too cleanbedding.

  "Oh, he would be glad to see us, I guess," replied Tom. "Visitors arewelcome in this wilderness, and as for making ourselves at home that isthe right of every traveler in the woods when he needs hospitality andthe host happens to be out."

  "Still, I don't imagine the hospitality includes helping yourself toskins, like that rascal we're trailing did."

  "I hardly should think so," rejoined Tom dryly. "Fellows like that don'thave a bed of roses when they are caught. It is as bad as horse stealingin the West."

  "I know I can think of a good many punishments fitting for the rascalwho stole our black fox."

  "So can I, without straining my imaginative powers, either."

  Both lads were thoroughly exhausted by their labors of the day, andafter a little more talk they made up a good roaring fire to keep thehut warm through the night, and turned into the bunk. For some littletime they lay awake, listening to the crackling of the blaze and thesighing of the wind which was stirring outside.

  From time to time, too, they could still hear the howling of the wolfpack, and occasionally the night air would ring with the sharp cry ofsome small animal pounced upon by a great snow owl or a weasel. But bothlads were well used to these sounds of the northern night, and it wasnot long before their senses began to swim and they dropped off intosound and refreshing sleep.

  Just what time it was when they both awakened together they did notknow, but the cause of their sudden arousing was a startling one. Borneto their ears there had come a strange sound, a long, low, howling sortof moan.

  "Wow-ow! Ow-hoo-ha-hoo-wow-w-w-w-w-w!"

  That is about as nearly as the sound can be indicated in print.

  Both boys sat bolt upright, wide-eyed with alarm. Jack felt the skin onthe back of his scalp tighten as he listened. The lamp had been leftalight, although it was turned low, and in the dim light each lad couldread fear and perplexity in the other's countenance.

  "Wh-wh-what is it?" gasped out Jack.

  "I der-der-don't know," stuttered Tom, equally at a loss and almost asbadly disturbed by the weird nature of the wailing cry.

  CHAPTER IX--TOM CALMS JACK'S FEARS.

  "Wow-yow-wyow-ow-oo-oo-oo!"

  Again came the cry, punctuating the night in the same ghastly,unaccountable manner.

  "Is it wer-wer-wer-wolves?" stammered Jack.

  Tom shook his head.

  "Nothing like them. It beats me what it can be. I never heard such asound."

  "It gives me cold shivers," confessed Jack.

  "Maybe it is only a wildcat," said Tom, regaining his nerve which hadbeen badly shaken by his sudden awakening and the ghastly cries.

  "Doesn't sound much like one," objected Jack; "it sounds more like--morelike----"

  He broke off short, for now something occurred that made each boy feelas if his hair was standing on end and ice water being poured in liberalquantities down his spine.

  _"There is death in the snows,death-death-death-to-all-who-brave-the-trail!"_

  "Gracious!" gasped Jack; "it's a ger-ger-ghost!"

  "Nonsense," said Tom sharply.

  Although he was badly scared himself, he kept his nerve better than hisyounger brother, but the sepulchral voice made him shudder as helistened.

  The uncanny sound of the wailing chant died out. Then fell a deepsilence, broken only by the sighing of the night wind.

  "But if it isn't a ghost, what is it?" demanded Jack.

  "I don't know, but of one thing I'm certain, it isn't a ghost. There areno such things, and only fools and kids believe in them."

  "Well, nobody else would be outside in the snow making such noises,"declared Jack. "It is a spirit or something, that's what it is. Maybesomebody was murdered here and it is his----"

  "Say, if you talk any more nonsense, I'll--I'll--" burst out Tomdisgustedly, but just then came an interruption.

  It was the sepulchral voice again.

  "_The-white-death-is-abroad-in-the-land! O-wo-w-ow-oo-oo-oo-oo!_"

  The voice broke off in a terrifying scream that brought both boys out ofthe bunk and to their feet. Tom picked up his rifle.

  "Maybe it is somebody lost in the woods," suggested Jack, glad of anytheory that might reasonably account for the alarming voice.

  "Rubbish! Nobody lost in the snow would make that racket. Besides,there's all that stuff about death!" Tom shuddered. "It's got meguessing."

  "It's aw-awful!" stammered poor Jack.

  "But I mean to find out what it is."

  Tom compressed his lips and looked very determined. He began examiningthe lock of his repeating rifle, and then moved toward the doorway.

  "What! You are going out there?" demanded Jack.

  "I surely am. I mean to satisfy myself just what it is, or _who_ it is,that is making that ghostly noise."

  "But it can't be human," urged Jack. And then, recollecting some ghoststories he had read, he continued: "It might ber-ber-blast you, orsomething."

  "Rubbish! I'll blast it, if I can get hold of it!" declared Tom, whocouldn't help smiling, perplexed though he was, at Jack's real alarm.

  The boy's hand was on the bar that held the door securely shut, when thevoice arose once more. It was certainly not a little awe-inspiring. Themere facts that they could not tell with accuracy from just whatdi
rection it came, and also that they were the only living beings inthat part of the country, made it all the more frightful."_Be-ware--be-ware-of-the-white-death-of-the-north!_" came the voice."_Turn-back. Go-where-you-came-from.The-trail-leads-to-destruction-swift-and-terrible!_"

  Tom waited no longer. He flung open the door and rushed out into thedarkness. Behind him came Jack, also armed, and trying desperately tokeep his teeth from chattering. The Northern Lights were flashing andsplashing the sky with their weird radiance, and the snow lay whitelyall about the hut.

  Had there been any man or animals within the cleared space, they musthave been able to see their forms.

  But nothing was to be seen.

  The two alarmed boys standing there looking this way and that, likestartled deer, were the only living things near the hut. Tom was badlymystified. The whole thing certainly flavored of the supernatural, andyet the boy's better sense told him that it could be no such thing.There must be some way of accounting for that voice, but for the life ofhim Tom could not hit upon a solution of the mystery, try as he would.

  At length, after making as thorough an examination of the spacesurrounding the hut as they could, the two lads were fain to go backagain into the structure, and at least one of them was heartily andunfeignedly glad to be able to do so.

  Tom felt that, had he been able to account for the strange andsupernatural voice in any imaginable way, he would not have been soworried over it. It was the very fact that the whole thing wasinexplicable in any ordinary way that made it more alarming.

  The bar was secured in place and both boys got back into the bunk. Butsleep did not visit them for a long time. They were under far too greata strain for that. They lay awake listening nervously for a repetitionof the spectral voice, but none came.

  "Perhaps in the morning we may find something that will throw some lighton the matter," said Tom, after a prolonged silence.

  "Yes, I suppose we'll find a phonograph or something out there," scoffedJack. "It's no use talking, Tom, I tell you that nothing earthly madethose sounds."

  "What do you think it was, then?"

  "Just what I said: a ghostly warning to us not to go farther."

  "Very kind of the ghost, I'm sure. I didn't know they were suchbenevolent creatures."

  "Oh, you needn't laugh. I've read lots about ghosts giving warnings andso on. That voice was to tell us to beware how we proceed."

  "Rot! As if a ghost would care! I only know of one person who might bedesirous of seeing us turn back."

  "Who is that?"

  "The fellow that stole that black fox."

  "Then you think----"

  "I don't think anything. Now try to get to sleep till morning."

  Jack lay awake long after Tom was asleep once more. But the voice didnot come again, and at last his eyelids, too, closed, not to open tillit was broad day.

  CHAPTER X--THE MYSTERY SOLVED.

  "Ah, ha! I fancy that this is a clew to Mr. Ghost!" exclaimed Tom.

  He was bending over a sort of megaphone of birch bark, which had beenrolled up into a cone-shaped formation. He held it aloft triumphantly.

  "So this is what your spook made those noises with, Jack, old fellow,and scared you half to death."

  "He did no such thing," protested Jack, getting very red in the face. "Idid think, though, that there must be something of this kind behind it."

  The two boys had left the hut almost as soon as it was daylight toprosecute their search for some trace of the cause of the alarm they hadexperienced during the night. Tom already had a theory in his head as towhat it was that had made the sounds, and, deducing from the fact thatthe thief alone would desire to try to scare them, the first things helooked for were traces of some prowler in the vicinity of the hut.

  He had discovered footprints among some trees on the edge of theclearing, the prints of a big, soft moccasin-shod man. Then came thefinding of the peculiar woods-made megaphone with which, beyond doubt,the man who had tried to scare the boys off his trail had uttered thealarming sounds.

  Of this they could be reasonably certain, but it was beyond their powerto make out how the man had come to turn back and put his plan tofrighten them off his tracks into execution. Tom was inclined to thinkthat he must have turned back soon after he left the hut and discoveredwho were the occupants. Then he had secreted himself not far off tillnightfall and improvised his "ghost party."

  "At any rate, he gave us a fine scare," declared Tom, as they walkedback to breakfast before taking the trail again, "for I'll admit that Ifelt just as creepy as you looked."

  "And that was some creepy," admitted Jack.

  And so the matter was, for the time, dismissed from their minds, andover their breakfast they fell to discussing further plans when theyshould start on again.

  The meal had been finished, the dishes hastily wiped and put neatlyaway, and a penciled note left by Tom on the table thanking the unknownowner of the hut for his hospitality, when both boys were startled atthe sound of a dog whip being cracked viciously somewhere in thevicinity. Then came a voice:

  "Allez! Allez vitement! Ha! Pierre! Ha! Victoire!"

  Both boys ran to the door. Coming toward them at a good pace was a sleddrawn by four Mameluke dogs. Seated upon it was a strange figure. It wasthat of a venerable-looking man with a long white beard, out of whichhis sun-browned face looked oddly, as if peering from a bush. He wore abright-red "parkee," deerskin moccasins and a heavy fur cap. In hismouth was a short clay pipe, at which he was puffing ferociously.

  "Father Christmas!" cried Jack. "Santa Claus in real life!"

  In fact, the old man on the sled did bear a marked resemblance to thatpopular Yuletide saint.

  As he saw the boys, he uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Hecracked his whip again, and the Mamelukes, yapping and snarling, drewthe creaking sled up to the door. The old man checked the dogs with aword, and then turned to the boys.

  "Ah! mes garcons," he cried; "where you come from, eh? You look planteeyoung to be out on the trail alone."

  While the old man busied himself in unpacking the goods he had broughtback from the trading post some fifty miles away, Tom told him of howthey had passed the night in the hut. Then the old man told them that hewas the owner of the hut, by name Joe Picquet, an old voyageur of thewilderness.

  When Tom told the old fellow of the raiding of his fur treasury, JoePicquet burst into an excitable fury. He shook his fists and swore topunish the man who had done it with all manner of torments, if he couldcatch him. A hasty investigation of the barrel showed, however, that thethief had only deemed two skins worth taking. One of these was a silverfox pelt, for which old Joe had counted on getting a thousand dollars,and perhaps more.

  "Ah, he is a mauvais chien!" he burst out, when Tom told him how they,too, had suffered at the hands of the marauder. "Joe Picquet make itver' hot for him if he get hands on him. Sacre! One silver fox peltworth all dese put togeder!"

  "Possibly you may have passed him on the trail?" said Tom.

  "No, I pass only one man. Li'l old man all same lak me," said Joepositively.

  "Did he have a sled with four dogs?"

  "Oui, certainment. But he was harmless-looking fellow. He no would roblike the man that was here. Non, it would be impossible to teenk ofeet."

  "I'm not so sure of that," rejoined Tom dubiously. "Oh, by the way, washe smoking cigarettes?"

  Old Joe knit his bushy eyebrows in deep thought.

  "Oui, he was smoke. Certainment. Li'l yellow cigarettes he was smoke!Bah!"

  "Then it was the same man for certain," said Tom positively. "Lookhere."

  He indicated the stumps of yellow cigarettes scattered all about.

  "Ah! You are right, mon garcon. Boosh! What a bad mans he must be! Soyou are follow him, eh? You teenk you catch him?"

  "We certainly hope to, or at any rate to get close enough to him to putthe authorities on the trail," said Tom.

  "But you are only two li'l boys."

/>   "Not so very little," rejoined Tom, while he could not restrain a smile,for Joe Picquet himself was shorter than either of the Dacre boys.

  The little old man kept his eyes on his dogs in a speculative mood for afew seconds. The boys did not disturb him. At last he broke out with anexclamation.

  "Boosh! How you lak it I go long wid you hunt dees bad man?"

  "Why, it would be the very thing! But are your dogs fit for a longjourney?"

  Old Joe laughed scornfully.

  "Mon garcon, attendez. Dey are the finest team of malukes in whole Yukoncountry. Old Joe is poor, but he wouldn't tak one, two, t'ree hundreddollar for one of dem. I feed dem, den we start back again. The man Ipassed go slowly. Maybe he teenk he scare you away. Ha! ha! He badlyfooled. Boosh! I go feed dem now."

  He made a peculiar sound with his lips, and instantly the dogs beganjumping about in great excitement.

  "Attendez, mes gallons," said the old man, holding up a forefingerimpressively; "do not touch dem now. Dey are good dogs, but all malukesplenty mean. You got beat, beat them all time or dey teenk dey boss andbite you plentee hard, I bet you."

  The boys had heard before of the savage, intractable natures of mamelukedogs and how they can be kept submissive to their owners only by harshtreatment. A mameluke is practically a wild beast broken to harness.They are swift and sure over the frozen lands, but there theirassociation with man ends. They do not wish to be petted, and are likelyto retaliate with their teeth on anyone who attempts friendly relationswith them.