The Silver Horde | Page 4

wrapped up in them spoke again sharply, whereupon a tall
Indian runner left the team and headed swiftly for the scene of the
accident. As he approached, Emerson noted the fellow's flowing parka
of ground-squirrel skins, from which a score of fluffy tails fell free, and
he saw that this was no Indian, but a half-breed of peculiar coppery
lightness. The man ran forward till he neared the edge of the opening
where the tide had caused the floes to separate and the cold had not had
time as yet to heal it; then flattening his body to its full length on the
ice, he crawled out cautiously and seized the lead dog. Carefully he
wormed his way backward to security, then leaned his weight upon the
tugline.
It had been a ticklish operation, requiring nice skill and dexterity, but
now that his footing was sure the runner exerted his whole strength,
and as the dogs scratched and tore for firm foothold, the sled came
crunching closer and closer through the half-inch skin of ice. Then he
reached down and dragged Emerson out, dripping and nerveless from
his immersion. Together they rescued the outfit.
The person in the sledge had watched them silently, but now spoke in a
strange patois, and the breed gave voice to her words, for it was a
woman.
"One mile you go--white man house. Go quick--you freeze." He
pointed back whence the two men had come, indicating the other
branch of the trail.

Fraser had emerged meanwhile and circled the water-hole, but even this
brief exposure to the open air had served to harden his wet garments
into a crackling armor. With rattling teeth, he asked:
"Ain't you got no dry clothes? Our stuff is soaked."
Again the Indian translated some words from the girl.
"No! You hurry and no stop here. We go quick over yonder. No can
stop at all."
He hurried back to his mistress, cried once to the pack of gray dogs,
"Oonah!" and they were off as if in chase. They left the trail and circled
toward the shore, the driver standing erect upon the heels of the runners,
guiding his team with wide-flung gestures and sharp cries, the rush of
air fluttering the many squirrel-tails of his parka like fairy streamers.
As they dashed past, both white men had one fleeting glimpse of a
woman's face beneath a furred hood, and then it was gone. For a
moment they stood and stared after the fast-dwindling team, while the
breath of the Arctic sea stiffened their garments and froze their
boot-soles to the ice.
"Did you see?" Fraser ejaculated. "Good Lord, it's a _woman!_ A
blonde woman!"
Emerson stirred himself. "Nonsense! She must be a breed," said he.
"Breeds don't have yellow hair!" declared the other.
Swiftly they bent in the free dogs and lashed the team to a run. They
felt the chill of death in their bones, and instead of riding they ran with
the sled till their blood beat painfully. Their outer coverings were like
shells, their underclothes were soaked, and although their going was
difficult and clumsy, they dared not stop, for this is the extremest peril
of the North.
Ten minutes later they swung over the river-bank and into the midst of

great rambling frame buildings, seen dimly through the falling snow.
Their trail led them to a high-banked cabin, from the stovepipe of
which they saw heat-waves pouring. The dogs broke into cry, and were
answered by many others conjured from their hiding-places. Both men
were greatly distressed by now, and could handle themselves only with
difficulty. Another mile would have meant disaster.
"Rout out the owner and tell him we're wet," said Emerson; "I'll free
the dogs."
As Fraser disappeared, the young man ran forward to slip the harness
from his animals, but found it frozen into their fur, the knots and
buckles transformed into unmanageable lumps of ice, so he wrenched
the camp axe from the sled and cut the thongs, then hacked loose the
stiff sled- lashings, seized the sodden sleeping-bags, and made for the
house. A traveller's first concern is for his dogs, then for his bedding.
Before he could reach the cabin the door opened and Fraser appeared, a
strange, dazed look on his face. He was followed by a large man of
coarse and sullen countenance, who paused on the threshold.
"Don't bother with the rest of the stuff," Emerson chattered.
"It's no use," Fraser replied; "we can't go in."
The former paused, forgetting the cold in his amazement.
"What's wrong? Somebody sick?"
"I don't know what's the matter. This man just says 'nix,' that's all."
The fellow, evidently a watchman, nodded his head, and growled,
"Yaas! Ay got no room."
"But you don't understand," said Emerson. "We're wet. We