CHAPTER XXI

BOWLED OVER LIKE A TENPIN

As Curlie sped on his way after the “Gray Streak,” which was leading him farther and farther into the great unknown that is the Arctic wilderness, he came to a sudden resolve.

“I’ll turn back! Fifteen minutes more, and then if we do not arrive at their base, if they are not forced down for want of gas, I will head for Fort Chipewyan,” he told himself.

Then nature took a hand. Out of the north a whirling avalanche of snow came tearing down upon them.

Just as the last trace of land was blotted out by this winding sheet of white, the boy made out a broad, level expanse which he knew to be a lake.

“Be over it in five minutes,” he shouted to Jerry. “Got to land there, make or break.”

“Absolutely.” Jerry’s grin was still there.

At that moment, as if angered at thought of losing its prey, the gray storm leaped at them. Throwing its feathery arms about the plane, it tossed them high. Curlie gasped. His indicator showed a speed of one hundred and sixty-five miles an hour as his ship, quite out of control, shot aloft.

Cross currents ripping from both sides tossed the plane as a kitten tosses a ball. Feeling his safety belt loosen, the young pilot dug in his toes and stayed with the ship.

As sudden as their entrance into the cloud came their departure. Tossed forth like dust from a cart wheel, the boy found his plane tilting at an angle of forty-five degrees.

With a quick intake of breath, he righted the plane and headed her downward.

Five minutes later, from out a mass of white they approached a second mass that somehow seemed solid. And so it was. They hit the lake with a force that set their teeth rattling. For a space of seconds it seemed that their ship might go on her nose. But, like some bird lighting on a limb, she tilted twice, then shot away on an even keel.

“Good old ship!” the boy murmured.

There was still call for care. A massive wall of stone, the bold shore of the lake, loomed before them. With a deft turn, the boy brought his plane about and set her skirting that shore. A moment more and they came to rest not a stone’s throw from that protecting cliff.

But what now? As he climbed down from his place Curlie saw at the edge of a clump of willows and scrub spruce, where the shore was less abrupt, a small cabin built of logs.

It was a new cabin. The hewn ends of the logs were still white. Smoke curled from the chimney.

“Jerry,” said Curlie, “do you suppose that some strange chance has led us to the very door of the cabin occupied by those mysterious rascals?”

For once Jerry’s ready answer did not come. Quite as much mystified as his pilot, he merely shook his head and stared.

At that moment Curlie’s ears caught a strange sound, the curious whining, yelping sound of a creature in distress. But what kind of creature?

“Can’t be a dog,” he told himself. “Don’t sound right.” He had never heard such a sound in his life.

As he stood there puzzling over this fresh mystery, the door of the cabin flew open. A man stood in the door, a broad-shouldered, powerful man. And in his hand he gripped an axe.

He did not look at the two standing there. Perhaps he did not know they were there at all. Or did he? Their motor had been shut off far down the lake. He might not have heard it.

However that might be, he did not bestow so much as one glance upon them. Instead, for a space of ten seconds, he looked down through the scrub timber that lined the lake’s shore, then strode resolutely some fifty paces away. And now for the first time Curlie noted that some creature was moving there.

With the snow whirling and eddying about him, it was impossible for the boy to distinguish objects plainly. As he stood there watching that strange, powerfully built man walk from his cabin toward the moving object at the edge of the scrub forest, many questions raced through his mind.

Who was this man? Was this truly the hiding place of the mysterious pilot and his band? If so, what then?

At this point he thrust a hand inside the cabin to draw forth his bow and his quiver of razor-pointed arrows.

“Safety first,” he whispered to Jerry.

“Absolutely.”

Again his mind was filled with questions. What creature was this moving there in the snow-fog? Was it a human being? He doubted this. Had it been he who had produced those strange cries of distress? He could not know.

And now, as the man, axe in hand, approached, the mysterious creature reared himself to his full height. Curlie caught his breath. He was taller than the man. When he lunged forward, as if to seize the man, something appeared to hold him back. All but losing his balance, he leaned far forward.

The man struck at him. The stroke fell short. The next instant, recovering his poise, the creature struck out with surprising speed.

Appearing to have been injured by this sudden blow, the man stumbled backward. But the next instant Curlie caught the gleam of the axe and the creature went down.

“It’s a bear. What a lucky stroke!” he said to Jerry.

But wait. The battle was not over; in fact it had hardly begun. Looming high over the man, a great bulk had appeared from out the low forest. Without the least warning it launched itself upon the man. They went down in a heap and for a space of seconds a wild whirl of snow hid them.

“Come on!” Curlie shouted, gripping his bow. “That’s a barren-ground grizzly! The other was a cub. She’ll get him. We must do what we can!”

He was at the scene of battle in a twinkling. For half a minute it was impossible to distinguish the man from his assailant.

Then the bear threw up her head.

Curlie let fly an arrow. At short range, it passed quite through the beast’s great neck.

With a roar of rage and pain, the monster turned about to sniff the air. Then, as the hair rose on her back like a mane, she reared herself to a towering height.

Cold perspiration started out on the boy’s temples. His antagonist was truly immense. Yet grizzlies had been killed with bow and arrow. A second arrow found its mark. Backing off, he sent a third speeding.

Then the creature charged. One more arrow, and he sprang for a tree. Not a second too soon. She went crashing by him, and then collapsed in a heap on the snow.

Jerry had vanished. But now he appeared again.

“Well,” Curlie stammered, “we killed the bear.”

“Absolutely.” Once more Jerry smiled. “I’d have helped if I could.”

At once they turned their attention to the stranger. He was sitting up in the snow. His face, his jacket, the snow about him were red with blood.

“Wh—where did you come from?” he asked unsteadily.

“Sent from the sky,” was the boy’s quick reply.

“You—you saved my life.”

“Perhaps,” Curlie answered laconically. “We’ll get you to the house, then see how much of you is saved.”

Together he and Jerry assisted him to the cabin. And all the time the young aviator was asking himself, “Who is this man? Why is he alone in this vast wilderness four hundred miles from anywhere? Is he truly a member of that gang? Will they come here? And if they do?”

In the hours that followed there was little time to think of these things. The stranger had been clawed and bitten by the bear in a most alarming manner. Jerry, who until now had appeared pure mechanic, displayed astonishing ability in another line. Bringing his first-aid kit from the plane and supplementing it with materials taken from a medicine chest in the corner of the cabin, he displayed great skill in dressing the man’s wounds.

Through it all the man uttered not one word. This is not to be wondered at. He was in great pain. Once for a short time he lost consciousness. When revived he turned over with a groan to utter a single word:

“Nelson.”

While Jerry engaged with his task, Curlie examined the food supply. In a grub box he found flour, sugar, bacon and a miscellaneous assortment of cans. Under the eaves hung a generous cut of fresh caribou meat.

He put some of this meat to broil over the coals. He brewed a can of strong coffee. When Jerry had completed the dressing of the man’s wounds, he offered the man a cup of this coffee. He gulped it down eagerly; then, to their astonishment, he turned over with his face to the wall and fell fast asleep.

“He’ll do well enough now,” said Jerry.

“But we must get him out to a doctor at once. Complications may set in.”

“Absolutely.”

“What say we eat?”

“Righto!”

Five minutes later they were munching fresh caribou steak and cold biscuits. But in Curlie’s mind a score of questions still circled round and round.

* * * * * * * *

It was on this same day that Johnny Thompson, who had followed the dog team far into the wilderness in search of radio-active rock, met with some of the most startling adventures of his eventful life.

Two hours after sun-up he had paused to build a small fire and had prepared himself a breakfast of beans warmed in a pan, bacon and pilot bread. The dogs, who lay contentedly on the snow, knew that their turn to eat would come when the day’s work was done. Dogs on the trail are fed but once a day.

His breakfast over, he had driven in a leisurely manner up a small stream, across a narrow lake, around a series of rushing cascades, and then across a second small lake.

He was beginning to feel the strain of long continuous travel, his dogs were lagging, when he came to a third lake much larger than the others. There he met with what to him seemed extreme good fortune. He had started upon the journey prepared to spend his nights rolled up in his feather robe, sleeping beneath the cold white gleam of the stars. But here, nestling among the scrub spruce trees, was a cabin. True, it was but a narrow shelter built of logs, but its roof of heavily painted canvas was still intact, its door still hung upon its hinges, and there was a rough chimney of stones with a crude fireplace at its base.

“What could be sweeter?” he said to his dog leader, Ginger. “What, indeed? A floor to sleep on, a place for a fire and shelter from the wind. Going to storm, too.” He stepped outside to sniff the air. “Yep, sure is!”

A hasty examination showed him a lean-to against the upper end of the cabin. Beneath this were tiers of ten gallon tins piled high.

“Empty.” He kicked one.

“No. Full. Gas. Some aerial mining company’s base. Well, I won’t disturb them. My craft don’t burn that kind of fuel.”

Digging into his pack he drew forth a large piece of juicy caribou meat. “Guess this will be better than gas.” His dogs crowded around him. He cut off bits of meat and threw them up to be caught by the hungry travelers.

Having looked after his four-footed friends, he set about the business of making the cabin comfortable for the night. Had he known who was to enjoy these comforts, his steps might have lagged. As it was, he toiled lustily. Finding an axe, he cut down scrub spruce trees and chopped them into fire wood. Having piled one corner high with fuel, he filled a large kettle with ice hacked from the surface of the lake and set it on the fire to thaw.

He was preparing to plan his own dinner when a curious sound for so desolate a region struck upon his ear, the drone of an airplane motor.

“Now, who—”

He dashed to the door. Finding that the plane was out of sight beyond the bend, he ran out upon the ice. The next moment a large plane, gliding upon its skis, came toward him. Having judged its course and concluded that it would pass several paces before him, he stood quite still.

To his surprise and consternation he saw the plane take a sudden swerve. Before he could escape it was upon him. He leaped to one side just in time to miss the still revolving propeller, but was struck on the head by a strut and bowled over like a tenpin to lie there quite motionless upon the snow.