“Things may not be so bad,” Awasin said. “I think we stand a chance of meeting Denikazi if we can get across to Frozen Lake River. It’s high ground all the way, so we wouldn’t have trouble crossing streams and muskegs as we would going south.”
“It’s the only thing we can do, I suppose,” Jamie replied. “But if we get there too late…” He left the sentence unfinished.
“We won’t!” Awasin reassured him. “Anyway, we can’t wait here.”
They discussed the plan in detail and decided that they would have to move as soon as they could, and at top speed. However, there was no use starting until Jamie’s leg was a little better. In the meantime Awasin undertook to catch more trout so they would be sure of having food once they left the river.
Left alone at camp, Jamie limped about gathering twigs and moss for use in drying the fish. On one trip from the fireplace he came under the shadow of the stone structure on the ridge, and stopped to glance up at it.
His curiosity about the Great Stone House had died abruptly at the time of the accident. Until this moment he had deliberately ignored the massive stone ruin which had once been his goal, and which now lay close at hand.
Now he looked at it, looming mysteriously above him, and thought, “I came here to see you, and got in a mess doing it. I might as well take a good look while I’m here!”
Resolutely he limped to the crest of the ridge and stood staring at the ruins.
Whatever the structure had once been, it was now hardly more than a rough rectangle of rocks about fifteen feet square and ten feet high. Jamie was sure that no Eskimo or Indian would have constructed anything so massive and so regular in outline; but he was also sure that no white man had come this way before. “Funny,” he thought as he hobbled closer, “it looks like a fort or a watchtower without any doors or windows.”
He began to poke about among the moss-grown rocks at the base. Arctic hares had been using the crevices between the stones as hiding places, and as Jamie fumbled among the rocks one of the big hares leaped out almost at his feet and fled like a gray ghost. Jamie got to his feet and circled the building looking for an opening. But he found none. The whole thing seemed to be one solid mass of masonry. Jamie began to think it was only a huge cairn, or monument, and not a building at all.
He went back to the place where the hare had jumped out and here he found a deep crevice in the rocks. He peered in, and what he saw made his heart beat faster.
The crevice led into a cave, and in the semidarkness Jamie saw the vague outline of something that was certainly not stone. He lowered himself to his knees and squeezed his head and shoulders through the opening.
His body blocked out the light but his outstretched hands touched something cold and rough. He gripped it, and backed out of the hole dragging the object with him.
As the sunlight fell upon it Jamie’s eyes grew wide with wonder, for in his hand he held a sword! And what a sword it was. Four feet in length, it had a double-edged blade and a two-handed hilt. It was the sort of weapon that only a giant of a man could have handled. The blade was deeply pitted and rusted and on the hilt were broad rings of gold, turned greenish by centuries of weather.
Fascinated, Jamie hefted the heavy weapon, then he laid it down and crawled back into the hole. Again his hands touched something and he scrambled out, bringing with him a bowlike helmet of some metal that had resisted the attacks of rust. Two hornlike studs were fastened to the sides of the helmet.
Jamie had seen pictures of such a helmet as this in his schoolbooks, and he recognized it at once.
“This is the kind of helmet Eric the Red and Leif the Lucky wore!” he whispered. “And that means—that the ancient Vikings must have built this place!”
Unable to contain his excitement, Jamie hobbled to the edge of the hill and began calling for Awasin.
Down by the riverbank the Indian boy heard the cries, and the ever-present fear of Eskimos returned. Grabbing the three trout he had caught, he raced full tilt up the long slope to the camp.
Jamie was not there! He dropped the fish and grabbed the rifle, then a scuffling noise from the crest above him made him turn.
Awasin was levelheaded, but this time he almost panicked. A huge, horned head, dull green in color, peered over the summit of the hill, and an unseen hand brandished a mighty weapon such as Awasin had never seen before in all his life. He raised the rifle with shaking hands and was on the point of firing blindly at the apparition. His finger tightened convulsively on the trigger.
Fortunately in that instant the spell was broken. Jamie caught his foot between two rocks, and fell. The helmet rolled away revealing his shock of blond hair and the sunburned face.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Help me up, you dope. And watch where you point that gun!”
A few minutes later Jamie was trying to explain his treasure find to a confused Awasin, who only vaguely understood what it was all about.
“It must have been like this,” Jamie said, running his words together in his excitement—“hundreds of years ago some of the early Viking explorers must have wandered into Hudson Bay and then tried to come south up the Kazon. Maybe it was a thousand years ago. The Vikings came west from Greenland in open boats and some of them must have come through Davis Strait. This proves it!” Jamie continued. “I’ll bet this sword and helmet are worth a thousand dollars to a museum!”
The thought of so much money left even Jamie breathless for a moment, and in the silence Awasin asked a question. The talk of Vikings and Greenland and museums was above his head, but one thing was clear to his practical mind.
“Perhaps you’re right about all this,” he said, “but just how do we get these things home?”
The question brought Jamie back to reality. “You would think of that!” he said bitterly. Then suddenly cheerful again: “Listen, Awasin. We’ll leave the stuff right here, then next summer we’ll come back and get it. Come on, let’s see what else is in this old stone house!”
His enthusiasm restored, Jamie once more crawled into the crevice while Awasin, curious despite himself, stood ready to take the objects Jamie might hand out.
Worming his way downward, Jamie disappeared completely, but a few moments later his hand appeared. In it was clutched a dagger whose blade was rusted away to a thin sliver of metal. Awasin was examining it when Jamie’s muffled voice called him back to the tunnel mouth. This time the object was a flat, square piece of gray metal about the size of an old-fashioned school slate. Its weight made Awasin grunt in surprise. “This is made of lead!” he called to Jamie.
Jamie was busy tugging one more object out of the litter of fallen rocks and decayed moss. Finally he got it free and shoved it outside, calling at the same time, “What’s this?”
For answer Awasin yelled as if he had seen a ghost. In fact he had. As he emerged into the daylight Jamie saw the object lying where Awasin had dropped it. It was a human skull.
Awasin was trembling. “That is a grave,” he cried. “I’ll take my chances with the Eskimos! We’re moving camp!”
Jamie was in no mood to argue. Hurriedly he pushed the ancient weapons back into the crevice and rolled a rock over the entrance. The skull he left severely alone. Then he hastened after Awasin.
As he hobbled away he saw the small square of lead, and rather than go back to the grave again he picked it up and took it with him.
Already Awasin had the camp gear rolled in the blankets. He was stuffing dry fish, fresh fish, and partly dry fish into a bag he had made from an old deerskin robe. His dark face was tense and anxious. Awasin wanted nothing so much as to put many miles between himself and the white skull beside the Great Stone House.
They moved away a few moments later with Jamie limping badly and still using the paddle as a crutch. The sinking sun lay straight ahead, and its crimson rays fell full upon the ancient tomb whose history lay buried under the weight of a thousand winters.
As night fell they made a new camp on the long ridge that ran we
stward like a ramp toward the bulk of Idthen-seth. After a skimpy meal of fish, Jamie sat silent for a little while staring curiously at the thin sheet of lead he had brought with him from the tomb. Awasin watched with disapproval, for to him it was an evil thing to carry away the possessions of the dead.
At last Jamie spoke. “It’s covered with some kind of writing,” he said wonderingly. “Queer-looking, like picture writing.” He paused, looking back at the distant crest of the hill where the ruins stood. “I’ll bet if we could read it, we’d know the story of those old Vikings at the Stone House.”
Faintly illuminated by the last rays of the evening sun, the shape of the Great Stone House hung on the far horizon—a mystery still; but Jamie felt he held the key.
CHAPTER 11
Flight to the West
FOR THREE DAYS THEY CONTINUED westward toward Idthen-seth. The mountain grew steadily larger, looming like a gigantic frozen wave upon a motionless ocean of gray ridges.
As the days passed the boys became feverish with impatience, for the fear of missing Denikazi grew with each passing hour. They drove themselves mercilessly from dawn till dusk. At times, as they lay exhausted under their deerskin robes, they heard the whistle of unseen wings as flocks of sandpipers and plover passed overhead toward the south. It was a sign that summer was near its end, and the boys longed to be able to join the high-flying birds on their journey south to safety.
By the end of the third day Jamie’s leg had become so painful that he could not continue. Depressed by the delay, and miserable from weariness, the boys spent a silent day in a makeshift camp under the shadow of Idthen-seth. While they slept that night, the weather, so long their friend, turned enemy. Dawn on the fifth day found a dull and sullen sky with a cold wet wind whining down from the north. Awasin had trouble finding enough dry moss for a fire. As he watched his friend at work, Jamie’s mood of depression reached its lowest point.
“We might as well give up,” he said miserably.
At Jamie’s remark, Awasin felt a weakening of his own resolve. He struggled to control his feelings, then he replied stubbornly: “We will get back all right. Lots of people have been in worse trouble than this and got out alive. We will be fine, if only the deer will come!”
He had been glancing hopefully out over the plains. Now he stiffened and jumped to his feet. For a long moment he stared intently into the somber distances. When he spoke his voice was vibrant with excitement.
“The deer have come!” he shouted.
Jamie looked quickly in the direction Awasin was pointing. Far off to the south a line of boulders crested a long ridge, and as the boys watched, those distant “boulders” shifted their position very slightly. They were not rocks—but deer!
Forgetting his injured leg, Jamie ran for the rifle. A sudden twinge brought him up with a grunt of agony. He turned to Awasin. “You’ll have to hunt them alone,” he said. “Think you can get one?”
Awasin grinned. “You watch.” He buckled on the knife, picked up the rifle, and slid silently down the slopes toward the south.
The caribou were about two miles away and grazing slowly eastward. It was a small herd, perhaps a dozen beasts. The animals were wary and moved cautiously, stopping often to fling their heads up and stare suspiciously about them.
Jamie watched Awasin run lightly over a long muskeg, then eastward under the sheltering crest of a ridge. It was clear that Awasin was trying to get ahead of, and down wind from, the slowly moving deer. The country was open and offered little cover so he could not hope to stalk the beasts. Instead he had to pick a hiding place from which he could ambush the approaching deer.
When Awasin disappeared he was a mile ahead of the caribou herd, and from that moment Jamie could only watch the slow movement of the beasts, and pray that Awasin’s judgment was good. Once the herd changed its direction and began drifting south. Jamie felt sick with disappointment, for he knew Awasin could not change position now without being seen. Then, aimlessly it seemed, the deer returned to their original route. The tension grew unbearable. Minutes dragged by and at last he heard the faint, flat sound of a rifle shot.
The tiny figures of the distant deer spread out as ants do when a man disturbs their nest. They were too far away for Jamie to see if any had fallen, but he trusted Awasin’s marksmanship. Bustling about with no regard for his leg, he gathered more moss and heaped it on the fire.
When Awasin came back he was dog-tired but happy. Over his shoulder he carried the hindquarters of a fine young buck, and in his pack he had the tongue, kidneys, and back meat.
Fairly stuttering with excitement, Jamie grabbed the knife and began to hack off thick steaks. Draped by the side of the fire, the steaks soon began to give off a rich smell. Expertly Awasin sliced the deer tongue into thin pieces and set it to fry. The fat oozed out of it and sizzled merrily. Then he added the kidneys to the mixture. Finally he peeled the leg bones and thrust them into the heart of the fire, where the marrow soon began to spit and crack.
“It was easy, Jamie,” he said. “I let them come so close they almost stepped on me. But the biggest news is that the plains beyond that ridge are covered with deer, hundreds of them. The trek must have started some days ago.”
Jamie paused in the act of turning the steaks. “Maybe that’s not so good,” he said slowly. “If the deer reached Denikazi’s camp two or three days ago, he may be ready to head back south again. We’ll have to make speed to reach the river in time to catch him.”
This sober thought rather took the wind out of Awasin’s sails. But nothing could entirely take away the pleasure of a good meat dinner after days of fish. Before he dropped off to sleep, Awasin turned to Jamie. “Tomorrow we will reach the river,” he said, “and catch Denikazi.” Fully fed and content, Jamie was willing to believe his friend. The boys slept heavily that night despite a recurring dream that haunted Jamie—a dream of Denikazi paddling his canoe far to the south, without them.
The new day began well, with a clearing sky. And hurriedly the boys packed the rest of the deermeat in their homemade packs and set out.
As they moved across the south tongue of the mountain they could see the blue shadows of the distant range of hills which they knew must lie on the far side of the river they were seeking. Below them, on the wide plains, little herds of caribou drifted before the morning breeze. It was not the vast migration that they had heard about, but the presence of the deer, even in small herds, was a friendly thing that partially dispelled the loneliness of the Barrens.
As evening drew on, the weather turned foul, and a driving rain closed in about the boys so that they could no longer even see Idthen-seth, which was now to the north of them. They were forced to make an early camp, and a fireless one, for all the fuel was wet. During the long hours until darkness they sat impatiently, huddled close together for warmth. When they slept at last, it was a wet and miserable slumber broken often by the need to move around and restore their circulation. Sometime just after dawn, when a heavy mist still obscured the world about, Awasin could stand the strain no longer.
“Come on, Jamie,” he said. “Let’s try to find that river.”
Breakfasting on cold scraps, they set out again, feeling their way cautiously over the rough ground. At length Awasin came to such a sudden stop that Jamie bumped into him. “Listen!” Awasin said. “Hear anything?”
Jamie strained his ears. Through the gray blanket of the mist he heard a faint muttering sound. For a moment he could not identify it, then he shouted. “Rapids! We must be near the river!”
Stumbling and falling over the half-seen rocks, they scrambled down a steep slope until they could see the dull sheen of running water. They had found a river, and it must be the river they were seeking.
“Let’s walk upstream,” Awasin suggested. “There are bound to be willows on the shore and we can build a fire and get dry.”
A few hundred yards farther they found a clump of low dwarf willows, and in a little while they had a good fire
roaring and fresh meat cooking.
“Even in this fog, they are sure to see our fire anyway,” Awasin said. Jamie agreed. They were safe now, for sooner or later the canoes of Denikazi’s party must appear on their way south. That night the boys slept contentedly, warm, dry, well fed, and secure in the belief that their ordeal was almost over.
They would not have slept so well had they known what was happening a few short miles away.
When Denikazi had set out with his hunters from the Killing Place, he had made his way up the west arm of Idthen-tua. Hardly pausing for rest, he had driven his men overland in search of the chain of portages leading to the River of the Frozen Lake. Five days after leaving the Killing Place, the hunters had still found no sign of the deer. Anxiously Denikazi had pushed forward to a place where the old Idthen Eldeli wanderers had often camped.
There was a fairly large lake at this point, and the hills rose up steeply on both sides of it. The foreshore was carpeted with the white bones of many thousands of deer that had fallen to the almost forgotten hunters of a century past. Most important, there was the remains of a “deer fence” here. This fence, built perhaps two hundred years earlier by Idthen Eldeli hunters, consisted of a line of stone pillars angling up from the lake to the slopes of the western hills. The pillars, each about three feet high, were spaced about thirty feet apart and they bore a remarkable resemblance to kneeling human figures. At a certain point in the line was a narrow gap, and on both sides of the gap hiding places of stone had been built for the Chipeweyan bowmen.
Denikazi knew of this deer trap from old stories, and so he decided to wait near it for the deer which must soon come.
He had not long to wait.
The great herds arrived a few days later—at the same time that Jamie and Awasin were making their way toward Idthen-seth.
In a few hours Denikazi’s men had killed all the deer they could carry. The hearts of the Indians were glad, for this great kill meant that the specter of starvation would soon be driven from the Idthen Eldeli camps by Kasmere Lake.