Jamie’s description of the blizzard did not do it justice. Roaring down over the darkened plains from the arctic seas, the first real gale of winter had come upon the land. Screaming in wild rage, it hurled itself with the force of a hurricane across the Barrenlands. It scoured the hard-packed drifts, lifting the frozen particles of ice and whirling them into frenzied motion. The snow drove with the force of a sandblast and nothing could face its fury. Wolves and foxes had long ago sought shelter and crouched shivering in holes dug deep under the drifts. Even the ptarmigan were huddled forlornly in rock crevices in order to escape the fury of the gale. No living thing dared stir upon the tortured face of the plains that day.
In Hidden Valley the full force of the blizzard was held back by the protecting mountains, but even in this sheltered place the storm was more than a man could face. The shrieking of the wind across the crests of the surrounding hills was like the constant screaming of unleashed demons. The boys soon found that their cabin refused to warm up until they had blocked the air vent in the floor and spent an hour repacking all the cracks between the logs with moss taken from their mattresses.
Fortunately they had a good supply of firewood laid in with which to fight the cold that they figured had dropped to thirty or forty degrees below zero. They had the fat lamp too, with which to drive away the darkness that the storm brought with it.
After much hurried activity they finally had the cabin snug and almost warm again, and could relax and listen to the fury of the gale outside as it beat its way through the moaning branches of the spruces.
“Imagine what it would have been like if we’d stayed at Stone Igloo Camp,” Jamie said, shivering at the thought.
“I’d rather not,” replied his friend. “It’s bad enough here. But we can take it, as long as our food and wood hold out. And one thing, no wolverines are going to bother our caches in this weather!”
Throughout that day and the next night, the blizzard raged unabated. By the second morning the boys were feeling its effects. Restlessness was upon them, and the constant whine of the gale had begun to irritate their nerves. Jamie felt as if he were trapped under an avalanche, and he could not sit still in one place for more than a few moments.
“I wish we had more things to do,” he burst out suddenly. “This sitting around drives me crazy. If we only had some books or games, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
Awasin had busied himself making some new moccasins and he glanced up at his friend. “Why not have a try at the bow and arrows?” he suggested.
Jamie brightened. It was something to occupy his mind, and moreover it was a challenge to his ingenuity. There were half a dozen spruce saplings that had been cut for the sled and not used which were piled beside the door. Jamie carried them to the fire and looked them over. Finally he chose one about six feet long and two inches thick that appeared to be free of serious knots.
“Do you know how to make a bow?” Awasin asked.
“I’ve never made one, but I’ve used them at school for archery practice,” Jamie replied. “Don’t you know how?”
Rather shamefacedly Awasin replied that he didn’t. “You see,” he explained, “my people haven’t used bows for fifty years—not since they got guns. Sometimes we boys used to make them just for fun but they never worked. It’s funny you should know how when we’ve forgotten.”
“I didn’t say I knew how,” said Jamie cautiously. “But I can try at least.”
Before he could begin work there was an interruption. Jamie felt a cold blast of air strike the back of his neck, and he turned around to see Otanak happily munching a wad of moss that he had pulled from the wall. The gale whirled in through the crevice and at once the cabin became colder.
Jamie jumped to his feet, shouting angrily, and ran to plug the hole. Otanak skipped nimbly out of the way, and a burst of laughter from Awasin made Jamie turn in time to see the fawn cheerfully yank a patch of moss from the opposite wall.
Even Jamie could not resist grinning. The fawn had resolutely refused to go outside into the storm, and not unnaturally it was getting hungry. It glanced slyly at the boys out of the corners of its eyes, perfectly aware that it was up to devilment—but daring them to try and stop it.
“I guess we have to feed the beast or freeze to death,” Awasin said. “Somebody’s mattress is going to disappear.”
“Toss you for it,” Jamie replied, and taking one of the copper arrowheads, he made a scratch on one side and flipped it into the air.
Jamie won, and a few minutes later Awasin looked sadly on as the fawn began a big breakfast on the soft moss which had once been Awasin’s mattress.
With Otanak occupied, Jamie went back to his bow making.
Using the hatchet, he rough-shaped the stave to about an inch and a half in diameter at the center and half an inch at the ends. He flattened the outside surface, but left the inside curved so that the bow—in cross section—was half-round. With the rough work done, he took a knife and finished off the shaping, being very careful to keep both ends of the bow the same thickness and length so that it would be balanced. Finally he took a piece of sandstone and smoothed off all the rough places.
This job took him most of the day, and he was so engrossed in it that he quite forgot to notice the steady beat of the blizzard.
After dinner Jamie notched the ends of the bow, and placing one end on the floor, he put his weight against the other to test its spring. It bent far more easily than he had expected and he lost his balance. There was a sharp crack, and Jamie sat on the floor with the bow—broken neatly in half—lying beside him. The accident made him feel so disgusted that he almost cried.
“Green spruce isn’t very good wood for a bow,” Awasin said in an effort to cheer Jamie up a little. “I think my people used to use birch or some other wood they got from the south. But perhaps we could use spruce if we strengthened it some way.”
“The heck with it!” Jamie replied. But before he went to bed his stubborn streak and his pride had made him reconsider Awasin’s idea. Already Jamie was planning another try.
By the third morning the blizzard had fallen off a little, though it was still too strong to allow the boys to venture out. Jamie began work on a new bowstave while Awasin watched him thoughtfully. In Awasin’s hand was a piece of the tough sinew with which he had been sewing moccasins. He stretched it idly; then an idea began to take form in his head.
“Jamie,” he said suddenly, “I’ve got an idea. I remember hearing that the Chipeweyans made spruce bows—it was the only kind of wood they had—and strengthened them somehow with sinew. It’s strong stuff and elastic. Want to try it?”
“Sure,” Jamie replied. “Why not?”
Now both boys went to work. After much discussion they decided to fix several inch-wide bands of sinew along the outside curve of the bow, then lash the strips firmly to the wood for the bow’s full length. They wet the sinew first, and after it was in place on the new bowstave they dried it carefully before the fire.
The results were excellent. The bow was much more resistant, and it took a good strong push on one end to bend it.
“It may work yet,” Jamie said hopefully as he tested it. “But what do we do for a bowstring?”
“That’s easy,” Awasin replied. “I’ll braid you one.”
Taking a dozen long sinew threads he went to work, and before suppertime he presented Jamie with a braided sinew string so strong that neither boy could break it. Jamie tied a loop at each end of the string, bent the bow, and strung it.
“Try,” he said proudly to Awasin.
The Indian boy took it carefully, and drew the string back with all his power. Then he let it go and it twanged against the wood with a really satisfactory snap. He grinned. “The ptarmigan had better watch out,” he said. “After we learn to shoot. And after we make some arrows.”
For a moment Jamie looked downcast. “I forgot about the arrows,” he said. “We’ll have to wait for the next trip to Stone Igloo. There are some
willows in the igloo there that should be fine for arrow shafts. Meanwhile I guess we stick to the rifle.”
Pleased with themselves all the same for having at least made the bow, the boys turned in. When they woke the next morning, Otanak was anxious to get outside and so they knew that their first winter blizzard had come to an end. The silence that followed the death of the long wind was so complete it made the boys feel like whispering.
Freed from the captivity in the cabin, they could hardly wait to put on their heavy fur clothing and make a journey. With breakfast finished they hurriedly gathered their gear together and prepared for another sled trip to Stone Igloo Camp.
CHAPTER 21
A Welcome Discovery
THE LIGHT OF THE LATE DAWN WAS creeping up the arctic sky as they set off. They had gone only a few yards when Jamie noticed that the fawn Otanak was not with them.
Jamie began calling the young deer, but his voice echoed eerily from the silent hills and there was no sound of small hoofs beating on the hard snow.
Awasin looked worried. “I don’t like it,” he said. “After that storm the wolves will be starving, and he’d be easy pickings for them.”
“Let’s track him,” Jamie said. Leaving the sled where it was, they picked up the rifle and began looking for the prints of little hoofs. These were not hard to find. Even on the solidly drifted snow of the valley, the fawn’s sharp hoofs had left clear marks.
The boys followed the trail to the westward, in the direction of Caribou Pasture, as they had come to call it. They had gone about a mile when several new sets of tracks appeared alongside those of the fawn. At the sight of these, Jamie felt his heart begin to beat painfully. The scratches in the snow were the marks made by the claws of wolves.
Without a word both boys began to run. They reached the esker and ran, gasping, up its steep slope, still following the trail.
The light was dim, but as they gained the crest they saw a sight they would never in their lives forget. Far up the valley a circle of dark forms moved on the snowy slope of a tiny hillock. As they stared, there came to their ears the long, lonely cry of a wolf, and it was instantly followed by a chorus of growls and short howls as the shadows seemed to flow and twist like currents in a dark and sullen river.
Jamie felt a sob catch in his throat. He did not need to hear Awasin’s words to know that it was over.
“He’s gone,” Awasin said, and the next instant the roar of the rifle reverberated from the hills about.
Like shadows still, the shapes upon the distant hillock seemed to fade into nothingness and vanish. The range was too far for a good shot, and Awasin did not feel justified in wasting any more of the precious ammunition. With Jamie at his side, he ran forward to the place where the wolves had made their kill. For a long moment they looked down at Otanak, then with unabashed tears in their eyes they turned away and walked slowly back to the sled.
Rage and sorrow were mixed in Jamie’s heart. Otanak had meant much to them, for he had helped immeasurably to dispel the great emptiness of the world they lived in. Jamie was not prepared for what Awasin had to say.
“Best forget about Otanak, Jamie,” Awasin said. “No use blaming the wolves. If anybody is to blame, it’s us. It almost always happens when you take a wild animal and make a pet of it. Sometime or other it has to face up to what its wild brothers meet every day—and then it doesn’t know enough to help itself. Sooner or later something like this was sure to happen.”
Jamie replied with bitterness, “All the same, I’d like to get a sight on those wolves. I’d make them pay for it!”
Awasin did not answer until they had picked up the pulling straps and were again moving slowly down the valley. Then he said, “Wolves have to eat. What difference is there between their killing the fawn and our killing a dozen does?”
Jamie had no answer for that, and as he thought about it he could see the justice in what Awasin said. His anger against the wolves faded, but he knew it would be many long months before he forgot the little fawn Otanak.
When they emerged on the plains the boys found that the Barrens had again changed its face. The ferocity of the gale had stripped the snow away from all the ridges and hills and piled it in the valleys where it was packed as hard as wood. It was so hard that their feet made no mark on it, and the sled pulled as if it were on greasy ice. The cold was intense, but without wind, and it did not seriously affect the boys. The rising sun made the white world brilliant and almost pleasant.
Still depressed, the boys wasted no time at Stone Igloo Camp, but after laboriously chopping the hard snow away from a cache, they loaded the sled and were soon ready to set out for home. It was lunchtime then, so they pulled out some cold roast meat that they carried in their traveling bags under their parkas—where it would not freeze—and gulped it down. They had begun to move away when a flicker of movement caught Jamie’s eye.
“What’s that!” he cried sharply—for an instant memory of the mysterious tracks had flashed into his mind.
Awasin too had seen something, and he already had the rifle out of its skin case. The boys dropped to their knees, and knelt, with rapidly beating hearts, staring into the snowy wastes just west of camp. The flicker of movement came again and two shapes appeared silhouetted on a nearby ridge.
“Wolves!” Jamie muttered with a feeling of relief. Then, recalling Otanak, he reached over, grabbed the rifle, and was taking aim when Awasin stopped him.
“Wait!” the Indian boy whispered. “They don’t look like wolves.”
The two animals were now in full view on the crest. They were certainly wolflike, but they did not seem quite big enough or quite the right shape for wolves.
Awasin’s keen eyesight made out the difference. With tense excitement in his voice he said, “Those aren’t wolves. They’re dogs!”
Cautiously the boys stood up, while the animals remained motionless a few hundred feet away. Jamie was convinced. “They’re dogs all right,” he answered, “but what a size! Half again as big as the Huskies down south.” He clutched Awasin’s arm. “We’ve got to catch them,” he said urgently. “With those two we can have a team—and a chance to get away from here!”
Awasin nodded his head. “We have got to be careful not to scare them, though,” he said. “Most likely they’ve got lost from some Eskimo camp—they look like Eskimo dogs. If they’ve been lost long they must be nearly starved. Particularly after that blizzard.”
“They must have smelled our meat cache,” Jamie replied. “Let’s see if they’ll take food.”
He hurriedly chopped off some pieces of frozen meat from the sled load. Then, very slowly, they walked toward the two motionless animals. The dogs did not stir, and when the boys were fifty feet away they saw the black and white markings, big broad ears, and square ruffs of two magnificent Huskies. Magnificent they were—but very timid too.
Suddenly they both turned and bolted with their tails between their legs. They did not run far. One stumbled and fell down. It lay there, struggling weakly.
Even more carefully the boys walked forward again. The fallen dog made a supreme effort and scrambled to its feet. It seemed too weak to run, but it was prepared to defend itself. It turned up its lips and snarled at the approaching boys.
“Good dog,” Jamie said soothingly, “good fellow. Come on, boy, have some grub.”
“That’s close enough,” Awasin said warningly. “If we scare them now we’ll never see them again. Drop the meat and come back to the sled.”
A few minutes later the boys sat on the sled and watched while the two dogs cautiously approached the meat and finally flung themselves on it with ravenous appetites. Frozen as it was, they gulped it down in seconds. One of them raised its head and took a long steady look at the boys; then both dogs turned and walked away to vanish beyond the drifts.
“They’re going away!” Jamie cried.
“Don’t worry,” Awasin soothed him. “We’ll head for home now, and I’m certain those dogs will
follow, though we won’t see a trace of them. They know they can get food from us now.”
It was well after sunset when the boys unpacked the sled beside the little cabin.
While Jamie started dinner, Awasin took a bag of meat scraps and walked down the valley. On the way back he dropped bits of meat every few yards. He saw no sign of the dogs, but he was sure they were somewhere near.
That night as the boys lay in their sleeping robes Awasin sat up, his ears straining. From somewhere near came the indistinct sound of an animal snuffling. He whispered, “I told you so, Jamie! In a week’s time we’ll be driving a dog team!”
During the next two days they caught only fleeting glimpses of the beasts, but each morning the meat left on the doorstep had vanished. On the third morning Jamie opened the cabin door before dawn, and a sudden scurrying told him that the dogs had spent part of the night curled up in the little log porch the boys had built to keep the snow out of the house.
Now Jamie had an idea, and when he had explained it Awasin enthusiastically helped put it into action. They spent an hour making a frame of spruce saplings that would fit the entrance to the porch. They hinged this at the top with strips of rawhide, then swung it outward and supported it on a slim pole set in the snow. A long piece of babiche ran from this pole through a slit in the cabin door, and was tied to a peg on the inside wall. The whole affair was really only a large box trap set so that the boys could trip it from the cabin and catch the dogs in the outer porch.
That night they baited their trap with several whitefish, then they sat silently and waited. An hour passed before they heard faint noises in the porch. Jamie tiptoed to the wall peg and untied the strip of babiche. Tensely he waited until chewing sounds told him that the dogs were occupied with their supper.
A sudden jerk on the line, and the spruce door fell with a great bang. Instantly pandemonium broke loose in the porch.
“Light the lamp!” Jamie yelled.