CHAPTER XVI

A STRANGE STEED

As you have doubtless guessed, the camp discovered by Joe and Jennings was that made by Curlie. They had been on his trail and not on the trail of some stranger. But had they attempted to follow his trail from that last clump of willows where the reindeer had been tied they would have become more and more bewildered, and had they followed that trail all night they would have caught no glimpse of their lost companion.

That you may understand why all this is true, I must tell you what happened to Curlie after he began to approach the clump of willows from which rose the thin column of white vapor.

“Glad I’ve got my rifle,” he told himself, as he moved in close to the willows. “You can never tell what you’re coming up against.”

Walking on tiptoes, he approached the end of the willow clump farthest from the column of white vapor.

“Just slip in through here and have the first look,” he whispered.

Pushing aside the bushes, he disappeared behind the dead leaves. There was not a breath of wind. This made it hard. It was impossible to avoid rustling the leaves. Since there was no wind to stir up other leaves, he felt sure that his presence must be detected.

His breath came quick as he paused to listen. No sound came to him. He moved on a few paces, then suddenly he paused. Had he caught a sound? Yes, there it was, a rustling of the leaves, of branches switching together.

“What’s that for?” he whispered, crouching low. “May be a signal.”

For some time he did not move. When at length he ventured to go forward, it was on hands and knees. Down low there were no leaves. Traveling in this manner he made no sound.

Only once his foot touched his rifle, causing a rattling sound.

Stopping dead still, he paused with wildly beating heart to listen.

“What a fool I am,” he told himself at last, “creeping up on some simple innocent people probably. But when a fellow is a hunter, he gets the habit of wanting to have the first look.”

A moment later he did get the “first look.” And at that instant he leaped to his feet and let out a wild shout of laughter.

The only creature to be seen in the bushes was a milk-white reindeer. This deer was hitched to a short, flat sled, such as reindeer herders use. The sled was overturned and had tangled with the willows. Because of this and because of the three inch wide rawhide strap which held him to the sled, the reindeer was unable to move from the spot.

The explanation of the column of vapor was not far to seek. It was merely the deer’s breath rising straight up from the willows. Since it was intensely cold the moisture from his breath froze at once and since there was not a breath of air stirring it could be seen mounting in air for many feet.

“Wouldn’t do to get too close to an enemy on such a day,” he told himself; “he’d spot you in an instant.”

This knowledge was destined to prove of great value to him in the days that were to come.

“Well, now,” he said, addressing the deer, “I’ve got you. Question is, what am I going to do with you. You’re evidently a bad actor; must have run away from your master. And I never drove a reindeer in my life.”

He paused in thought. The reindeer would be of service to him if he could but learn to drive him. He needed no food save that which the tundra supplied, the reindeer moss under the snow. To ride on the broad-bottomed sled in his search for his companions would be far preferable to walking; besides, it meant more speed.

“Huh!” he grunted, “try anything once. So, you old lost ship on the Arctic desert, let’s turn you over and see what you’ve got on you.”

Grasping the sled he disentangled it enough to allow him to turn it over. The sled carried a light load, all of which was covered with a piece of canvas securely bound on by a rawhide rope. That the reindeer had traveled some distance was testified to by the fact that many holes had been torn in the canvas as the sled traveled upside-down.

“Let’s see what treasure is hidden here,” he said.

His fingers trembled from curiosity as he untied the rope.

To his joy he found a very good sleeping-bag of deerskin, a pair of deerskin mittens, three large frozen fish and a camp-kit consisting of knives, spoons, cups, a tinplate, matches, reindeer sinew for thread and various other odds and ends beneath the canvas.

“For all these,” Curlie said, “old reindeer, I thank you. They’ll come in handy when we take the trail.”

He proceeded to replace all the articles and to rebind the sled.

Hardly had this been accomplished than the reindeer, who had stood all this time with head down like a tired workhorse, suddenly sprang into action. With a wild snort he cleared with one leap a low willow bush and dragging the sled after him, sprang away at a terrific speed.

Curlie had barely time to leap, stomach-down, upon the sled and to grasp the rawhide rope with both hands. He was determined not to be left behind.

Scarcely realizing that his most priceless possession, his rifle, was not on the sled, he still clung there while he was whirled along at a terrific gait.

Rocking like a rowboat in a storm the sled took the ridges of snow as a boat would the waves.

Expecting at every moment to see the sled go over and to be forced to loose his hold, Curlie lay prepared for any emergency.

But the short, broad, low-runnered sled, built for just such an emergency as this, did not turn turtle. So, across one ridge and down it they raced, along the side of a low, receding slope, then across a valley they sped. Skirting a willow clump, they crossed a narrow stream to climb a hill again.

“Ought to let him rip and go back after my rifle,” the boy told himself, but, tired as he was, hungry and sleepy too, he was still game. This beast had challenged his power of wits and endurance; he would stick to the end.

“Wonder how in time you go about it to stop ’em?”

He tried shouting, but this only served to frighten the deer into greater speed, so again he was silent.

They shot down a hill. There was danger that the sled would overtake the deer and that they would be tumbled into a heap. To prevent this he began using his foot as a brake. It worked; that gave him an idea. “Have to tire him out,” he told himself. “Keep the brake on all the time. That’ll help.”

Digging his heel in as hard as he could, he created a great deal of friction which in time began to tell upon the reindeer. He traveled with his mouth open, and his breath began to come in hoarse pants.

“I’ll get you!” Curlie triumphed. “Sorry to do it, old boy, but it seems to be the only way we can come to terms.”

Slowly and yet more slowly they traveled. The reindeer had dropped almost to a walk when, with a sudden spurt, he did a peculiar thing. They were near a clump of willows. Charging straight at these, like an ostrich hiding his head in the sand, he buried himself in the rustling leaves.

“Well!” said Curlie, rising stiffly, “that’s that!

“And now,” he said, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “I think I’ll just tie you up here and leave you to browse on these tender willow leaves while I have a bit of frozen fish. After that I’ll drag the sleeping-bag into the brush for forty winks.”

A half hour later two thin columns of vapor rose from the willows, one from the reindeer and one from Curlie.

“Wonder if anyone will see them?” Curlie puzzled before he fell asleep. “Well, if they do, they do. I can’t help it and I’m too dead for sleep to care.”

Curlie’s runaway reindeer had carried him far. Hardly had he fallen asleep when two dog teams appeared over the crest of the ridge. This ridge, a mile away, looked down upon the willows from which the breath of Curlie and the reindeer arose.

The foremost of the two powerful dog teams was driven by a strongly built man who ran beside the sled. Upon the other sled rode a second individual.

“Whoa!” The weary dogs halted.

“Some one camped down there.” The man spoke more to himself than to his companion. “Might mean some food.” He looked to the loading of his rifle. “Might mean trouble.” So he stood there, apparently undecided, while the columns of vapor continued to rise from the willows.

Had Curlie Carson possessed a guardian spirit he would beyond doubt have whispered in his ear:

“Curlie! Curlie Carson! Awake! You are in danger!”

But since he had none, he slept peacefully on.