Blue Envelope by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XIII
STRANGE DISCOVERIES
It was a strange sight that met the eyes of the two girls as theypaused halfway to the dark patch on the surface of the ice which loomedlike a giant's shadow in the snow-fog. With eager feet they dashed on,leaping narrow chasms and stumbling over ice barriers in their mad rush.
The revelation which came as they rounded the last pile of ice was botha surprise and a disappointment. Great heaps of ashes, piles ofbottles and tin cans, frozen masses of garbage; junk of everydescription, from a rusty tin dipper to a discarded steel range, mettheir eyes.
"It's a graveyard," murmured Marian, "a graveyard of things peopledon't want."
"That some people didn't want!" corrected the more practical Lucile."Marian, we're rich!"
"Rich?" Marian stared.
"Why, yes! Don't you see? There's an old clothes wringer; that's gota lot of wood in it. And there's an old paper bucket. That'll burn.There's a lot of things like that. It won't take any time at all toget enough wood to cook our duck!"
"A fire! A fire!" exclaimed Marian, jumping up and down in a wilddance. Then, seized with Lucile's spell of practical philosophy, shegrasped a rusty tin kettle.
"We can cook it in this. There's a hole in it, but we can draw a clothinto that, and we can scour it up with ashes."
The next few minutes echoed with glad exclamations: "Here's an oldfork!" "Here's half a sack of salt!" "Here are two rusty spoons!""Here's a broiler," and so it went on.
One would have believed they were in the greatest department store inthe land, with the privilege of carrying away anything that would fitin their kitchen and that suited their fancy. Truth was, they wererummaging over the city of Nome's vast garbage pile. That garbage pilehad been accumulated during the previous year, and was, at this time,several hundred miles from the city. During the long nine months ofwinter the water about Nome is frozen solid some two miles out to sea.All garbage and junk is hauled out upon the ice with dog-teams anddumped there. When spring comes the ice loosens from the shore, and,laden with its great cargo of unwanted things, carries it throughBering Straits to haunt the Arctic Ocean, perhaps for years to come.It is moved hither and yon until time and tide and many storms have atlast ground it into oblivion.
The long Arctic twilight had begun to fall when the two girls, hungryand weary, but happily laden with many treasures which were to makelife more possible on their floating palace of ice, made their waytoward their camp.
Besides scraps of wood enough for two or three small fires, and cookingutensils of various sorts, they had found salt, a part of a box ofpepper, and six cans of condensed milk which had doubtless been frozenseveral times but had never been opened.
"We could live a week," said Lucile exultantly, "even if we didn't haveanother bit of good luck."
"Yes-s," said Marian slowly, "but let's hope we don't have to; I'mafraid I'd get awful hungry."
They dined that night, quite happily, on a third of their duck, soupmade of duck's broth and condensed milk, and half of a pilot biscuit.
"Oh, Marian," said Lucile, as she thought of sleep, "that kiak's socrowded when we sleep there."
"Yes-s," said Marian, thoughtfully, "it is. I wonder if we couldn'tmake a sleeping-bag?"
At once needles and some sinew thread found in the native's hunting bagwere gotten out, the four deerskins were spread out, two on the bottomand two on top, with the fur side inside, and they went to work with awill to fashion a rude sleeping-bag.
Their fingers shook with the chill wind that swept across the ice andtheir eyelids drooped often in sleep, yet they persevered and at lastthe thing was complete.
"Are you sure it won't be cold?" said Lucile, who had never slept in asleeping-bag.
"Oh, no, I know it won't," Marian assured her. "I've heard my fathertell of spreading his on the frozen ground when it was thirty belowzero, and sleeping snug as a 'possum in a hollow tree."
"All right; let's try it," and Lucile spread the bag on the sealskinsquare.
After removing their skirts and rolling them up for pillows, togetherthey slid down into the soft, warm depths of their Arctic bed.
"Um-m," whispered Marian.
"Um-m," Lucile answered back. And the next moment they were both fastasleep.
All through the night they slept there with the Great Dipper circlingaround the North Star above them, and with the ice-floe carrying them,who could tell where?
The two following days were spent in fruitless hunting for wild duckand in making trips to the rubbish pile. These trips netted nothing ofuse save armfuls of wood which helped to add a cheery tone to theircamp. Though the fog held on, the nights grew bitterly cold. Theywere glad enough to creep into their sleeping-bag as soon as it grewdark. There for hours they lay and talked of many things: Of the landto which the ice-floe might eventually bring them, the people who wouldbe living there, and the things they would have to eat. Then, again,they would talk of school days, and the glad, good times that nowseemed so far away. Of one subject they never spoke; never once didone wonder to the other what their families were doing in theirfar-away homes. They did not dare. It would have been like singing"Home Sweet Home" to the American soldiers on the fields of France.
The second day's tramp to the rubbish pile brought them a greatsurprise. They were busily searching through the piles of cans for apossible one that had not been opened, when Lucile, happening to hear anoise behind her, looked up. The next instant, with a startledwhisper, which was almost a cry, "Marian! Quick!" she seized Marian bythe arm and dragged her around an ice-pile.
"Wha--what is it?" whispered the startled Marian.
"Bear!"
* * * * * *
At this very moment, on another section of that same vast floe, Phi layflat on his stomach, his eye traveling the length of his rifle barrel.His brow was wrinkled. He moved uneasily, as a gambler moves who wouldrisk all on one throw of the dice but does not quite dare.
He shook the benumbed fingers of his right hand, then gripped the rifleonce more. His forefinger was on the trigger. He had arrived at acrisis. He was half starved and freezing. For three days now he hadwandered over the vast expanse of ice-pans that covered the waters ofBering Straits. During that three days he had secured only two smallbirds, dovekies they were, birds who linger all winter in the Arctic.These he had shared with Rover.
From the moment the snow-fog had settled down upon him and the break inthe ice-floe had blocked his way so effectively, he had wandered aboutwithout knowing where he was going. The ice-floe constantly drifting,first this way, then that, may have carried him east, west, north,south. Who could tell where? Who could guess his position on thesurface of the ocean at the present moment?
A brown seal was the cause of his excitement now. The seal, lyingasleep upon the ice-pan before him, must weigh something like seventypounds. This was meat enough to last him and his dog many days.
He was not a good shot and knew it. He had wandered over the ice-floesof the ocean at times with a rifle under his arm, yet never before hadhe stalked a seal. Only the grimmest necessity could have induced himto do so now. There was something altogether too human in thosebobbing brown heads as they appeared above the water or lifted to gazeabout them on the ice. But now his need and the need of the dogdemanded prompt action.
Two things made a perfect shot a necessity: The seal was sleepingbeside his hole; if he was not killed instantly he would drop into thehole and be lost to the hunter. And this was the last cartridge in therifle. The two birds had cost him four shots. The seal must besecured by his last one. There seemed a certain irony about a fatewhich would allow him to waste his ammunition on small birds, thenoffer him such a prize as this with only one shot to win.
He knew well enough how to stalk a seal; he had watched the Eskimos doit many times. Lying flat on your stomach, you cautiously creepforward. Every moment or two you bob your head up and down inimita
Knowing all this, Phi had dragged himself a hundred feet across theice, without disturbing the seal. Only fifty feet remained, yet to hisfeverish brain this seemed too great a distance. Seeing his sealbobbing his head, he bobbed in turn, then, when the seal had dozed offagain, continued his crawl.
He had made another six yards when, with a sudden resolve, he slid therifle forward, lifted it to position, glanced steadily along itsbarrel, then pulled the trigger.
There followed a metallic snap, then a splash, The rifle had missedfire; the seal had dropped into its pool.
For a moment the boy lay there motionless, stunned by the realizationthat he was still without food and was now powerless to procure any.
"Well, anyway it was luck for the seal," he smiled uncertainly. "Itsure was his lucky day!"
Rising unsteadily, he put two fingers to his mouth and uttered a shrillwhistle. From behind a towering ice pile, Rover, gaunt and miserableyet unmistakably a white man's dog, and, by his bearing, a one timeleader of the team, came limping toward him.
"Well," the boy said, patting the dog, "it's hard luck, but we don'teat. It's harder for you than for me, for you are old and I'm young,but somehow--somehow, we'll have to manage. If only we knew. Ifonly--"
He stopped abruptly and his eyes opened wide. Off to the left of them,like a giant fist thrust through the fog, there had appeared the darkbulk of a granite cliff.
"Land, Rover, land!" he muttered hoarsely.
The next moment, utterly overcome with excitement, he sank weakly tothe surface of the ice-pan.
"This won't do," he said cheerily, after a brief period of rest."Rover, old boy, we must be traveling. If the ice is crowding thatshore, which it must be from the feel of the wind, there's a chance forus yet."