Part 6 (1/2)

”We got about twenty-five martin traps out. They're acrost the river up the first crick--strung along about three or four mile.”

”Twenty-fi' trap! Three or four mile!” exclaimed 'Merican Joe. ”How long you be'n here?”

”Just a month. What's the matter with that? We've got eight martin an' a wolverine an' a link!”

The Indian gave a snort of contempt. ”Me--if I ain' set mor' trap as dat every day I ain' t'ink I done nuttin'.” He followed Connie to the door.

”You might's well move yer junk in here if you got your own grub. You kin keep the fire goin' nights in case Tom don't show up, an' besides I ain't had no one to talk to fer goin' on two months except Tom, an' we don't git on none too good.”

”Thanks,” said Connie. ”But we'll put up the tent when we come back--we're a little particular, ourselves.”

”They ain't no use of both of you goin' out to hunt him. One of you stay here and tend the fire, an' cook supper in case the other one don't git back in time.”

Connie glared at the man for a moment, and burst out laughing. ”If you had a little more nerve and a whole lot less _bra.s.s_, there might be some hope for you yet,” he opined. ”Did your partner have any dogs with him?”

”Naw, we had six when we come in, but they was worked down skin pore when we got here, an' some of 'em died, an' the rest run off. They wasn't no good, nohow.”

Connie banged the door in disgust and, taking Leloo with them, the two struck across the river. They found the creek without difficulty and had proceeded scarcely a mile when Leloo halted in his tracks and began sniffing the air. This time the hair of his neck and spine did not bristle, and the two watched him as he stood, facing a spruce-covered hill, his head moving slightly from side to side, as his delicate pointed nostrils quivered as if to pick up some elusive scent. ”Go on, Leloo. Go git um!” urged 'Merican Joe, and the wolf-dog trotted into the spruce, followed by Connie and the Indian. Halfway up the slope the dog quickened his pace, and coming suddenly upon a mound in the new-fallen snow circled it several times and squatted upon his haunches. It took Connie and the Indian but a few moments to sc.r.a.pe away the snow and disclose the skinned carca.s.s of a moose.

'Merican Joe pointed to the carca.s.s. ”It be'n snowin' quite a w'ile w'en he skin de moose. He ain' goin' carry dat hide far. She heavy. He ain'

know nuttin' 'bout skinnin', an' lef' lot of meat stick to de hide. He start hom' an' git los'.”

”Lost!” exclaimed Connie. ”Surely he wouldn't get lost within a mile of his cabin!”

'Merican Joe nodded. ”Him _chechako_--git los' anywheres. Git los'

somtam w'en she snowin' bad, hondre steps from cabin. Me--I know. One git los' an' froze dead, wan tam, he go for water not so far you kin t'row de stone.”

”Well, he's probably home by this time. If he was lost he'd camp, and he's had plenty of time since it stopped snowing.”

The Indian was not so hopeful. ”No, I'm t'ink he ain' got sense 'nough to camp. He walk an' git scare, an' den he mebbe-so run till he fall down.”

”He won't do much running with that hide,” grinned Connie. ”Let's separate and hunt for him. Come, Leloo--go find him!”

The two continued to the top of the timbered slope. ”I don't see how anyone could possibly get lost here. Surely he would know enough to go down hill to the creek, and follow it to the river, wouldn't he?”

”No, w'en dey git scairt dey don't know up an' down an' crossways.”

As the two were about to separate both suddenly paused to listen.

Faintly upon the air, seemingly from miles away, came the call of a human voice. Leloo heard it too, and with ears stiffly erect stood looking far out over the ridges. Raising his rifle, Connie fired into the air, and almost immediately the sound of the shot was answered by the faint call for help.

”That's funny,” cried the boy. ”Sound don't travel very fast. How could he possibly have answered as soon as that?”

Placing his hands to his mouth, 'Merican Joe launched a yell that seemed fairly to tear through the s.p.a.ces, echoing and re-echoing across, the valley.

Again came the answering call, faintly, as from a great distance.

Locating the direction of the sound which seemed to come from somewhere near the head of a parallel valley, they plunged straight down the opposite slope. At the bottom they paused again, and again the Indian sent his peculiar penetrating yell hurtling through the air. Again it was answered, but this time it came from up the slope. Faintly it reached their ears, seemingly farther away than before. The sound was repeated as the two stood looking at each other in bewilderment.

'Merican Joe's eyes seemed bulging from his head. ”_Tamahnawus_,” he whispered. ”W'at you call, de ghos'. He git froze, an' hees ghos' run 'roun' de hills an' yell 'bout dat! Me--I'm gon'!” Abruptly the Indian turned and started as fast as his webs would let him in the direction of the river.