CHAPTER XVIII TO BE OR NOT TO BE
In the meantime life did not lack for excitement back in the Matamuskavalley. Strange tales had come to Mary both by mail and by air. Broughtby air-mail, two letters from Florence had reached her. They told of thelost mine, of the dog race that was to be run and of the all too excitinglife the big girl was living in the far North.
"Miss Santa Claus," Mary whispered when she had read those letters twice."Speed Samson said I should be little Miss Santa Claus." She was thinkingof those delayed Christmas presents to the Eskimo children still lyingthere in the postoffice in Anchorage. As she closed her eyes she tried topicture the miles and miles of timber, tundra, and endless snow she mustfly over to reach that strange land.
"Speed Samson will take Mr. Il-ay-ok up there," she whispered. "I couldgo too and take all those presents. I wonder--"
Yes, it did seem probable that when the hunting season was over, Speedwould, taking a chance of being paid in fox skins, fly the little Eskimoto his home. Truth is, he was growing very fond of the little man. Havingtaken him along on a hunting trip he discovered that he was a capitalcook and that he could prepare meat in a manner that delighted hisguest-hunters. After that he took him often.
It was on one of these occasions that something happened which madeMary's dreams of becoming "little Miss Santa Claus" lighter and brighter.Speed carried a short-wave radio in his plane. It was on this evening,after he had landed on the little lake at Rainbow Farm, planning to stayall night, that the thing happened. Mary, Mark, and Mr. Il-ay-ok were inthe cabin of the plane taking turns at listening to the radio. Speedhimself had the head-set clamped over his head when suddenly heexclaimed:
"It's some cute kids way up at Cape Prince of Wales. School teacher'schildren or something. Big brother's rigged up a short-wave outfit. Theythink they're talking only to some people on a small island seventy milesaway, but it's going out over the air. Something about a Christmas treemade of willow branches and a driftwood log. Seems there was to have beenquite a Christmas up there, dolls, toys, candy, everything. Thepresents--"
"Yes! Yes! I know!" Mary broke in. "The presents didn't come. Too latefor the boat. They're in Anchorage now."
"Is that a fact?" Speed stared at her in surprise.
"Say-ee!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Guess they got on to my listening in onthe air. They're talking in some new lingo. Guess it's Eskimo. Here, Mr.Il-ay-ok, give me your ears." He clamped the head-set over the Eskimo'shead.
"Oh! Ah-ne-ca!" the little man smiled broadly. "Yes. Talking Eskimo."
"What do they say?" Mary exclaimed.
"Can't tell now. Bye-and-bye." The Eskimo waved her away.
"Let him alone," Mark scolded. "It may be important, a shipwreck, or--orsomething."
It was important, very important to at least three young people quite faraway. It was not a shipwreck. An Eskimo girl was talking. Eskimo peopleare born story tellers, and Kud-lucy was telling a story to No-wad-luk,her little friend at Shishmaref Island. The story was long, but in herexcitement she forgot all else.
As Mr. Il-ay-ok listened to the tiny Eskimo's story, Mary waited inbreathless silence. What will this story mean to me, she was askingherself. Perhaps much. Perhaps nothing at all.
Of a sudden Mr. Il-ay-ok dragged the head-set from his ears. "Gone!" hesmiled broadly. "All over now."
"Tell us!" Mary's eyes shone. "What did they say?"
"Long story. Must tell all," Mr. Il-ay-ok spoke slowly.
He did tell all and a most interesting narrative it proved to be. Thelittle Eskimo girl's story as he told it was this:
There was to have been a Christmas tree at the Cape. What was a Christmastree? Oh, something quite wonderful! So bright it was that it shone likethe sun. And on this bright tree there grew all manner of strange things.Little people? Yes, little people, no longer than a man's foot, but alldressed in bright clothes. Could they talk? To be sure. Yes, and cry andclose their eyes, and go for a walk. Someone apparently had done her bestto give Kud-lucy a real notion of what a Christmas tree was like. Had shesucceeded? You be the judge.
Yes, and there were to have been more things, Kud-lucy hurried on. Smallseals that were not truly seals, and walrus and polar bears. Yes, andmany things no Eskimo had ever seen before.
"But now--" little Kud-lucy's voice had faltered, "now there is to be noChristmas tree, not any at all!" Why? Because the big boat had come toosoon. All the wonderful things apparently were left behind.
At this instant apparently little Kud-lucy suddenly realized that she wastalking in some strange, mysterious manner to her friend far away. Thediscovery frightened her and she had gone off the air.
As the story ended, Mary jumped to her feet exclaiming:
"Just think! To be Miss Santa Claus to a hundred Eskimo children! Butthen--" She sat down quite suddenly to stare out into the dark, coldnight.
"Why not?" said Speed.
"It's a long, long way."
"No way is long any more, with an airplane," he replied quietly.
"Well, perhaps. Who knows?" Mary looked at Mark. He said never a word.There was no need. She could read his thoughts. He was thinking, "I lovethose Eskimo children, but I love Mary more. I want her always to besafe. And yet--I wonder."
That night beside the huge, barrel stove in the Hughes' cabin, Mr.Il-ay-ok talked long of his people who lived on the rim of a frozen sea.He spoke of the children, of their play and their simple toys, of theircheerful natures and happy smiles. With every word Mary's interest grew.Her cheeks burned as she dreamed on of that suggested flight into theNorth.
"Christmas in Eskimo-land, dog-teams, reindeer and everything," shewhispered to herself. "Then perhaps Florence will be ready to return andwe shall fly home together." How she missed Florence! Then and theresomething like a resolve was formed in her mind. Would she go? Therewould be solemn family conferences, but in the end, would she go? To thisquestion, for the moment, there came no answer.
Now Mr. Il-ay-ok was talking of other things, he was telling why that manLoome hated him. Somehow government officials had been persuaded that theEskimo should drive their reindeer into the hills where feed was moreplentiful. This they would never do; first they would sell their deer forvery little. Loome and his companions were planning to profit by theirmisfortune.
"Now," the little man's eyes shone, "now, I have the papers. Here," hepatted his pocket. "Reindeer may stay as they are. The so wonderfulgovernment has said that. My people, they will be happy. But first I mustshow them the paper. First day of next year it will be too late. So-o, Imust go. I must fly."
"And you shall fly," said Speed Samson. "Here. Shake on it." They shookhands in silence. Mary's heart burned with hope.
"Miss Santa Claus in Eskimo land," she whispered.
Next day Madam Chicaski, who had of late been acting rather strangely,did the oddest thing of all. When in the summer Bill had returned fromhis fruitless search for gold, he had left his pick and shovel in theHughes woodshed. They were still there. On this morning Mary saw thelarge Russian woman take the pick from the shed and march resolutelytoward the giant stump that stood in the back yard. It was an innocentappearing thing, that stump. All weather-beaten and festooned withrustling morning-glory vines, it seemed a thing destined to stand therefor years. And yet, as Mary watched, she felt sure that this woman meantto attack its roots, if possible to tear it from the earth.
"I wonder why?" she asked herself. At that moment her mind was filledwith mingled emotion, surprise, consternation and something of alarm.This last she could not even have explained to herself.
There was, it seemed, no immediate cause for anxiety. The big woman didnot swing the pick, at least, not that day. Instead as she came near tothe stump, using the pick for a cane, she stood there leaning on itlooking for all the world like a picture called "The Man with the Hoe."On her face at that moment was a look Mary had seen there before, it wasthe gaze of one who worships at a shri
ne.
In the far away valley, work on the lost mine progressed famously. Sincethe greater part of the digging had been done long ago by Tom Kennedy andhis partner, there remained little to be done save to pick away at thegold-laden gravel, to hoist it through the floor, then to wash it out inwater brought up from the lake. Even with so much of the work done, itwas a slow process. Days passed. Each day saw Tom Kennedy's moose-hidesack a little heavier, but each day brought their small supply of flour,sugar, bacon and beans dwindling lower and lower.
"We'll kill a fat reindeer and pay Bowman for it when we get back," saidTom Kennedy.
"Grandfather, if we are to drive those reindeer all the way back it willtake days and days," Florence was worried. "There will be nothing left toeat but reindeer meat. Can we live on that?"
"We can try. Eskimo do."
"We're not Eskimo."
"No-o. But something will turn up. We'll manage." The old man was tooabsorbed in his golden quest to think overmuch of things to eat.
Then came the great day. "The mother-lode." Tom Kennedy spoke toFlorence. She was at his side in the mine. "See!" The light of his torchwas cast back by a yellow gleam. "See! Nuggets big as bird's eggs."
"And--and will this be the end?" she asked.
"The end, yes," his tone was impressive. "But enough. Who could ask formore? Only look there'll be--" He broke short off to listen intently.
"An airplane!" the girl's voice was low and tense.
"They've found us," the old man muttered.
"Who?"
"Who knows?" was his strange answer. "No good ever comes from spying."