The Gold Hunters | Page 2

disordered
team straightened itself and came like a yellowish-gray streak across
the smooth surface of the lake. Close beside the sledge ran the man. He
was tall, and thin, and even at that distance one would have recognized
him as an Indian. Hardly had the team and its wild-looking driver
progressed a quarter of the distance across the lake when there came a

shout farther back, and a second sledge burst into view from out of the
thick forest. Beside this sledge, too, a driver was running with
desperate speed.
The leader now leaped upon his sledge, his voice rising in sharp cries
of exhortation, his whip whirling and cracking over the backs of his
dogs. The second driver still ran, and thus gained upon the team ahead,
so that when they came to the opposite side of the lake, where the wolf
had sent out the warning cry to his people, the twelve dogs of the two
teams were almost abreast.
Quickly there came a slackening in the pace set by the leading dog of
each team, and half a minute later the sledges stopped. The dogs flung
themselves down in their harness, panting, with gaping jaws, the snow
reddening under their bleeding feet. The men, too, showed signs of
terrible strain. The elder of these, as we have said, was an Indian, pure
breed of the great Northern wilderness. His companion was a youth
who had not yet reached his twenties, slender, but with the strength and
agility of an animal in his limbs, his handsome face bronzed by the free
life of the forest, and in his veins a plentiful strain of that blood which
made his comrade kin.
In those two we have again met our old friends Mukoki and Wabigoon:
Mukoki, the faithful old warrior and pathfinder, and Wabigoon, the
adventurous half-Indian son of the factor of Wabinosh House. Both
were at the height of some great excitement. For a few moments, while
gaining breath, they gazed silently into each other's face.
"I'm afraid--we can't--catch them, Muky," panted the younger. "What
do you think--"
He stopped, for Mukoki had thrown himself on his knees in the snow a
dozen feet in front of the teams. From that point there ran straight
ahead of them the trail of the dog mail. For perhaps a full minute he
examined the imprints of the dogs' feet and the smooth path made by
the sledge. Then he looked up, and with one of those inimitable
chuckles which meant so much when coming from him, he said:

"We catch heem--sure! See--sledge heem go deep. Both ride. Big load
for dogs. We catch heem--sure!"
"But our dogs!" persisted Wabigoon, his face still filled with doubt.
"They're completely bushed, and my leader has gone lame. See how
they're bleeding!"
The huskies, as the big wolfish sledge-dogs of the far North are called,
were indeed in a pitiable condition. The warm sun had weakened the
hard crust of the snow until at every leap the feet of the animals had
broken through, tearing and wounding themselves on its ragged,
knife-like edges. Mukoki's face became more serious as he carefully
examined the teams.
"Bad--ver' bad," he grunted. "We fool--fool!"
"For not bringing dog shoes?" said Wabigoon. "I've got a dozen shoes
on my sledge--enough for three dogs. By George--" He leaped quickly
to his toboggan, caught up the dog moccasins, and turned again to the
old Indian, alive with new excitement. "We've got just one chance,
Muky!" he half shouted.
"Pick out the strongest dogs. One of us must go on alone!"
The sharp commands of the two adventurers and the cracking of
Mukoki's whip brought the tired and bleeding animals to their feet.
Over the pads of three of the largest and strongest were drawn the
buckskin moccasins, and to these three, hitched to Wabigoon's sledge,
were added six others that appeared to have a little endurance still left
in them. A few moments later the long line of dogs was speeding
swiftly over the trail of the Hudson Bay mail, and beside the sled ran
Wabigoon.
Thus this thrilling pursuit of the dog mail had continued since early
dawn. For never more than a minute or two at a time had there been a
rest. Over mountain and lake, through dense forest and across barren
plain man and dog had sped without food or drink, snatching up
mouthfuls of snow here and there--always their eyes upon the fresh trail

of the flying mail. Even the fierce huskies seemed to understand that
the chase had become a matter of life and death, and that they were to
follow the trail ahead of them, ceaselessly and without deviation, until
the end of their masters was accomplished. The human scent was
becoming stronger and stronger in their wolf-like