CHAPTER EIGHT

Lost in a Blizzard

For the next half hour the boys were able to keep up with the sled. But in the ever-deepening snow, their legs grew heavier and heavier. At last, they lost sight of the sled in the swirling flakes. When Jerry slipped and fell, Sandy cupped his hands to his mouth like a megaphone and yelled: “Charley! Char-r-ley! Wait for us.”

Gasping for breath, Jerry struggled up to his hands and knees. “I’ve had it, Sandy,” he gasped. “I can’t go any farther.”

Sandy helped his friend to get up and supported him with one arm. “C’mon, boy, we can make it. As soon as we catch up with the team you can rest awhile in the sled.”

Clutching each other tightly, they staggered forward, trying to follow the tracks of the sled runners. But before they had covered twenty-five feet, the blowing snow had obliterated the trail. Sandy continued on doggedly in the direction he thought the team had taken, dragging Jerry with him. Every few steps he would stop and call: “Char-ley! Char-ley!” But there was no answer—only the moaning of the wind and the hiss of the snow beating against the fabric of their parkas.

Once more Jerry sagged to his knees. “We’re lost, pal,” he muttered. “Look, I’m exhausted. I can’t go a step farther. You go ahead and look for Charley. When you find him, you can come back for me.”

“Don’t be crazy, Jerry. Our best chance is to stick together. If we keep walking, we’re bound to catch up to the team. Once Charley finds we’re gone, he’ll stop and wait for us.”

Jerry’s voice cracked. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face. We don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction.”

While he was speaking, a low, mournful howl drifted to them on the wind from somewhere on their left. Sandy clutched Jerry’s arm. “You hear that?” he said tensely.

Jerry’s voice brightened. “That must be the team. C’mon.” With renewed vigor, he veered off in the direction of the howling.

Sandy grabbed him with both hands. “No, wait! It could be a wolf.”

Jerry stopped dead. “Oh my gosh!” he murmured. “What are we going to do?”

Sandy dusted the snow that had crusted on his eyebrows with the back of one mitten. “I don’t know. I still think we’re heading in the right direction. Let’s go a little farther. If we don’t find Charley and the team soon, we can always head over that way.”

The snow was coming down so hard now that every breath was an effort. Sandy felt as if he were being smothered in a sea of white cotton. He stopped as the howling broke out again, in a chorus this time.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said to Jerry. “That sure sounds like a bunch of dogs.”

“Yeah, let’s give it a try, anyhow,” Jerry pressed.

They were just about to veer off in the direction of the howling when they heard a familiar harsh rumbling directly in front of them. It was the unmistakable growl of a husky.

“Charley!” Sandy called out. “Titan! Black Titan!”

A succession of sharp yelps knifed through the storm. “That’s the team all right!” Jerry cried.

Miraculously, their legs seemed to find new strength, and they practically ran the rest of the way through the knee-deep snow. Directly ahead of them, the sled loomed out of the darkness. The dogs, in harness, were seated on their haunches or huddled low in drifts to escape the force of the wind. But Charley was nowhere to be seen.

Jerry sagged against the back of the sled. “Oh my gosh! What happened to him?”

“He must have doubled back to look for us and we didn’t see him in the storm.” Night had deepened the blinding downfall even more.

There was a tremor in Jerry’s voice. “You don’t think the wolves got him, Sandy?”

“No, they rarely attack a man. Especially with the dogs here. Besides, Charley had a rifle.” He rummaged through the packs on the front of the sled. “It’s not here, so he must have taken it with him.”

“What do we do now?” Jerry wanted to know. “Go back and try to find Charley?”

“That’s the worst thing we could do,” Sandy said emphatically. “We’d get lost but good. No, the best thing to do is to wait here until Charley gets back.”

Jerry was skeptical. “I’m not sure even an old woodsman like Charley can find his way back in this soup.”

“Maybe if we shout to him he’ll hear us,” Sandy suggested.

For the next ten minutes the boys pitted their voices against the intensity of the raging storm. But even in their own ears their shouts sounded pitifully weak. At last they gave it up.

“It’s no use,” Sandy said hoarsely. “We’ll just have to wait.” He crouched down in the lee of the sled.

What seemed like hours passed and still there was no sign of Charley. The boys could feel the cold seeping through their heavy clothing and stiffening their limbs. They were both badly frightened now.

“Sandy,” Jerry pleaded, “we just can’t sit here and do nothing. We’ll freeze to death. My nose and cheeks are numb now.”

Sandy fought back the panic that was rising in him too. “If we don’t lose our heads, we’ll be okay, Jerry. The way it looks now, we’re going to have to spend the night here. Tomorrow, they’ll have search parties out looking for us. I bet the rest of the contestants are in the same boat we are.”

“We’ll be stiff as washboards by then,” Jerry prophesied. “Frozen wolf food.”

“Don’t be a nut,” Sandy snapped. “Now get up and help me rig up a lean-to.”

“A lean-to?” Jerry said wonderingly. “What kind of a lean-to?”

“The kind Charley says the Eskimos build on the trail. They fasten a big hide to the side of the sled that’s out of the wind and peg the other side down to the ice, or weight it down. The snow piles up against the far side of the sled, forming a solid windbreak, and you have yourself a cozy little tent.”

“We don’t have any hides,” Jerry said.

“We have that big rug in the sled. C’mon, let’s get to work.”

While Sandy fastened the robe to the top of the sled’s guard rail, Jerry weighted the far side down with a pair of snowshoes he found in the sled and heaped up snow on top of the shoes until they weighted down the robe securely. When they were finished, Sandy scooped the excess snow out from beneath the robe and they had a small lean-to with just enough room in it to shelter two people.

“Well, that’s that,” Sandy said with satisfaction, brushing off his mittens. “Now I’ll unhitch the dogs while you get our supper ready.”

The erection of the lean-to had renewed Jerry’s confidence. “What’ll you have?” he inquired flippantly. “Roast turkey with chestnut stuffing or a thick steak smothered with onions and a side of French fries?”

Sandy played the game with him. “No, I’m getting sick of that goppy stuff. How about a couple of frozen sandwiches and a thermos of cold coffee?”

“Just what I had in mind,” Jerry called to him as he rummaged through the packs on the sled. “Are we going to feed the huskies?”

“Sure, get out some of that meat Charley keeps in that big tin can up front.”

The dogs seemed overjoyed to see Sandy. They leaped about him, wagging their tails furiously and barking and whining.

“I bet you guys are hungry,” Sandy spoke to them. “Keep calm. Your dinner’s coming right up.”

When he knelt beside Black Titan to remove his harness, the big lead dog jockeyed obediently into the proper position. As soon as he was free, he nuzzled affectionately against the boy’s cheek. “Hey!” Sandy laughed. “That is the coldest nose I ever felt in my life.” He ruffled up the thick fur around the husky’s throat with his fingers, and was surprised to feel the soothing warmth deep down in the animal’s undercoat. “Boy, I wish I had your fur, Titan. No wonder you can sleep in a snow foxhole.” He pressed both hands against Titan’s body gratefully. “That feels good, old boy.”

Jerry came up behind him with the can of dog meat. “And look what else I found.” He held out a bulky .45 Colt automatic. “It’s fully loaded, too.”

The sight of the lethal-looking pistol was reassuring. “Dad must have given it to Charley before we left,” Sandy reasoned. “He asked me if I wanted to take a gun along, but I knew Charley had his rifle, so I didn’t bother. It’s a good thing we have it. Now maybe we can signal to Charley. Fire a few shots in the air to let him know where we are.”

“Good idea,” Jerry agreed. “And I’ve got an even better one.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s send old Titan out to find his buddy. Bet you he can do it.”

Sandy was pessimistic. “I don’t know if he could pick up Charley’s trail in a storm like this, but we can give it a try.”

While the dogs were gulping down their food, the boys rummaged through Charley’s gear until they found a heavy wool shirt that the Indian had recently worn. When Black Titan had finished eating, Sandy held the shirt under his nose.

“Charley, Charley,” he kept repeating. “Go find Charley, Titan.” He slapped the husky on the rump. “Go on, Titan!”

Titan began to whine as he sniffed at the shirt. Then he trotted off into the blizzard with his head down. When he had disappeared from sight, Jerry turned to Sandy. “Well, what do we do now?”

“Eat supper and climb into our sleeping bags, I guess. But first I want to fire a couple of shots to see if we can signal Charley.”

He took out the heavy automatic and levered a shell into the firing chamber. Pointing it up in the air, he pulled the trigger. The muzzle flash lit up the night briefly like lightning, but the shot was muffled by the wind and thick curtain of snow. The dogs milled around nervously and began to bark. Sandy fired one more shot, then shoved the gun back in the pocket of his parka.

“I bet those shots didn’t carry over five hundred feet. I feel as though we’re inside a vacuum. I don’t want to waste any more shells until this gale lets up a little. C’mon, let’s sack in for the night.”

They gathered up the sandwiches, coffee thermos, Coleman stove and sleeping bags and crawled into the lean-to. The blowing snow had sealed up all the cracks and even the openings at either end of the makeshift shelter. Sandy burrowed through a drift at the rear of the sled to form an entranceway.

“This back end gets less wind,” he explained to Jerry.

The interior of the lean-to was cramped, but seated with their backs resting against the sides of the sled and their legs crossed in front of them, they were not too uncomfortable. Sandy pumped up the pressure in the one-burner gasoline stove and lit it. He turned the wick up abnormally high until the pale-blue flame became streaked with yellow and began to smoke slightly. Although this was a waste of fuel and reduced the cooking efficiency of the stove, it provided more light and warmth.

“Say, this is all right,” Jerry said, grinning. “It reminds me of the time we went on a Boy Scout camping trip and slept in pup tents.”

Sandy grinned. “The only difference was we were only a ten-minute walk away from home and there was a hot-dog stand across the road from the bivouac area.” He took a half-frozen sandwich out of the knapsack and passed it to Jerry. “Be careful you don’t break your teeth when you bite into it.”

“Thanks, pal.” Jerry filled two aluminum canteen cups from the coffee thermos and sipped from one. “It’s lukewarm, anyway,” he commented.

“I’ve got an idea,” Sandy said. “We can heat the cups on the stove and sit the sandwiches on top of the cup. That way the steam will thaw out the bread.”

“Brilliant. If it wasn’t so cold, I’d take my hat off to you.”

Ten minutes later, they were munching hungrily on a relatively decent meal. Jerry inhaled the steam that was rising from his canteen cup and sighed contentedly. “I know it must be my imagination, but right now I’d say this is the best-tasting chow I ever ate.”

Sandy laughed and nodded. “We used to say the same thing about the mickeys we roasted in the corner lot when we were kids. All black with ashes and dirt, but boy, they sure did taste good.” He lowered the wick a little on the stove. “It’s probably the hot coffee, but I’m beginning to get warm in here.”

“What’s wrong with being warm?” Jerry protested. “Turn it up as high as it will go.”

Sandy frowned. “When you live in frigid temperatures it’s safer to feel a little cold than it is to be overheated, because when you cool off, the perspiration will turn to ice on your skin.”

“Perspiration!” Jerry gawked incredulously. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, we’re not going to take any chances. As soon as we’re finished eating, I’m going to turn off the stove altogether.”

“Not until I’m snug in my bedroll,” Jerry begged.

Sandy looked worried. “Poor Charley. He’s not going to be very snug tonight. No bedroll, no food. Gee, I wish I knew what happened to him.”

“What makes it worse,” Jerry said gloomily, “is that it’s our fault. If we hadn’t dragged so far behind, he wouldn’t have had to go looking for us.”

The boys finished their sandwiches and coffee in subdued silence, staring out into the stormy night through the diminishing black hole of the entranceway.

“You know,” Sandy said suddenly, “in another hour we’ll be snowed in tight inside this lean-to.”

Jerry surveyed the drifting snow anxiously. “You’re right. Like a tomb. We’ll be able to get out, though, won’t we?”

Sandy reached over and enlarged the opening with one hand. “Oh, yes. It’s as light as powder.”

After they had finished eating and wrapped up the garbage, they prepared to bed down for the night. “We’d better do this one at a time,” Sandy suggested. “We’d only be in each other’s way moving around in here together. I’ll go outside until you’re all settled. You lie with your head up at the front of the sled. I’ll lie the opposite way. That way we’ll have more room.”

Crawling on hands and knees, Sandy pushed through the drift that was blocking up the opening. A furious blast of bitter cold wind took his breath away as he got to his feet and sent him reeling back from the sled. It was even warmer inside the lean-to than he had realized. He recalled that Tagish Charley had a powerful flashlight in his gear and walked through knee-high snow to the front of the sled to look for it. It would be wise to keep it handy in the lean-to, he decided. He found the light easily and turned it on to see how the dogs were making out. They were all huddled together behind the windbreak of the sled, growling and shifting around restlessly. As the flash beam swept over them, a few cringed and bared their fangs. Their behavior distressed Sandy, who had expected that by now they would all be cozily balled up in holes and snoring peacefully. He skirted around them and walked back to consult with Jerry. Beaming the light on the lean-to, he saw that the snow was mounding it over like an igloo. Once more he had to dig the snow away from the entrance before he could get in.

When he crawled inside, he saw that Jerry was stretched out in his sleeping bag, the hooded cover zipped up tightly around his head. Only his eyes, nose and mouth were showing.

“How’s the weather outside?” he asked Sandy.

Sandy shook the snow off his hood. “Same as before. Terrible. The dogs are acting up, too. I’m worried.”

“Maybe they’re cold.”

“I don’t think so. They act frightened.”

“Me too. We’re snowbound in the Yukon. Charley’s missing, probably frozen to death in a snowdrift. Our food is about gone. What a mess! I’m scared plenty.”

At that moment a long, mournful animal howl rose clearly above the intensity of the wind. Before it trailed off, another howl and still another joined it, forming an eerie chorus.

Jerry snapped upright like a jack-in-the-box, his face drained of blood. “Wolves!”

“And close by,” Sandy said grimly.

Outside, the dogs were really setting up an uproar now, snarling and barking frantically.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sandy had to smile as he watched his friend struggling to get out of the sleeping bag. In his excitement, Jerry couldn’t work the zipper. “Get me out of this strait jacket!” he yelled.

“Take it easy,” Sandy said. “In that bag you look like a big fat hot dog with a face.”

“Not so loud,” Jerry cautioned him. “The wolves might hear you. Just hurry and get me out of here.”

Between them they finally got the sleeping bag unzipped, and Jerry rolled out. Sandy took the Army .45 out of his pocket and checked the clip. There were still four shells in it.

“Do we have any more ammunition for that cannon?” Jerry asked anxiously.

“Probably up front in Charley’s gear. I’m going up to get it.”

“I’m going with you,” Jerry said promptly. “One of those wolves might poke his snout in here while you’re gone.”

They scrambled out into the blizzard and stood up. Sandy switched on the flashlight and swept it in a wide circle about them. The powerful beam seemed to run into a solid wall of white no more than fifty feet away. He turned it on the dogs, who were setting up such a loud racket that it drowned out the howling of the wolves. The huskies were all on their feet now, standing stiff-legged with their tails curled tightly beneath their bellies. Their lips were drawn back over their teeth, and the thick fur around their necks bristled like porcupine quills. Sandy swung the light in the direction of their gaze, and felt his heart flip and miss a beat. Glowing greenishly through the falling flakes was a circle of eyes. They were there for just an instant and then faded back out of range of the beam.

Jerry gripped Sandy’s arm tightly. “There must be a whole pack of ’em. They’re just waiting for us to fall asleep and then they’ll jump us.”

One of the huskies began to slink forward toward the wolves, his belly flattened close to the ground.

“Come back here, boy!” Sandy shouted. “They’ll tear him to pieces,” he muttered to Jerry. He cocked the automatic and aimed in the direction of the glowing eyes. “I hate to waste ammo like this, but maybe we can scare them off.”

He fired three shots. The last shot was answered by a sharp yelp of pain.

“You got one!” Jerry yelled excitedly.

“Shh! Listen!” Sandy said. Above the wailing of the storm they could hear wild snarling and yelping.

“Sounds like they’re fighting among themselves,” Jerry said.

The commotion ended as abruptly as it had begun, and although Sandy kept searching the darkness with the light for a long time, there was no further sign of the wolves. At last, when the dogs quieted down and curled up in burrows, the boys relaxed.

“I guess the shots did scare them off at that,” Sandy decided. “Now let’s find that box of ammo in Charley’s pack, and then we can go back inside and see if we can get some rest.”

“Sleep?” Jerry said. “Are you kidding? Suppose they come back again?”

“The dogs will warn us if they do.”

Jerry shivered. “Okay. But I’ll take the bed next to the wall, just in case.”

The snow had completely blocked the entrance, and they had to shovel energetically to clear it. “Man, it’s really warm in here,” Jerry said as he crawled into the lean-to.

The snow wall that had built up at the other end of the lean-to and on the sled side was smooth and glistening. “Just like an igloo,” Sandy said. As soon as they were inside their sleeping bags, he turned off the Coleman stove.

Jerry sighed as the little hut was plunged into pitch-darkness. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was back in my little trundle bed in Valley View.”

“Go to sleep,” Sandy grunted. He was facing the entrance and the automatic was within easy reach in his side pocket. In an emergency, he knew he could fire right through the sleeping bag.

Gradually, his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and he could make out the faint outline of the round doorway. His eyelids grew heavier and the hole grew smaller and smaller. Then he dropped off to sleep.