On the Edge of the Arctic Part 16

The hunting trips also continued and moose now became very plentiful.

Philip, the cook and hunter, did not always accompany the boys on shooting trips, as the half-breed had joined Ewen and Miller in the work on the well.

The airs.h.i.+p was safely housed, as if for the winter. The third week in September came in with a lessening in the daily suns.h.i.+ne. A haze began to hang over the river valley and a murkiness now and then took the place of the keen and clear atmosphere. The evenings had grown so cool that considerable attention was being given the fire in the living room.

On an evening such as this, while Colonel Howell and his young a.s.sistants stood on the riverbank, watching the red sun turn to silver gray, Colonel Howell exclaimed:

"By our calendar, the fall's coming along a little early. And judging by the trees over there and the nip in the air, we're going to have some weather before long. Maybe not for several days, but it's on its way.

Before it gets here, why not make another trip to the Landing and see if there's anything at the post office?"

"All letters ready at five in the morning," announced Norman impulsively.

"Mail for Athabasca Landing, Edmonton, Calgary and points south leaves at that time."

"Better bring a little more beef this time," suggested the colonel with a laugh, "and anything else that looks tasty and you've got room for."

"I guess I've had all that's coming to me," suggested Paul. "Don't think I'm afraid. Whenever you want a helper," he went on, addressing Norman, "don't fail to call on me."

"I guess we won't make many more trips this season!" put in Roy, but in that he was mistaken. The trip made the next day was memorable, but two more that were to be made later were more than that, and the last one was certainly ample justification for Colonel Howell's daring introduction of the monoplane into these silent places of the North.

Shortly before five o'clock the next morning, in spite of an ominous gray sky and a new sound of the wind in the trees, Norman and Roy were off on their three hundred mile flight. They planned a short stay at the Landing and upon reaching camp again before the shortening day was at an end.

They carried in the c.o.c.kpit their Mackinaw jackets and their winter caps.

Philip also prepared a cold luncheon to be eaten on the return trip, thus saving time at the Athabasca stop.

Early on their outward flight, for a time the red sun made an effort to get through the clouds, but after nine o'clock had wholly disappeared and the temperature began to fall. An almost imperceptible fine dry snow appeared, but it was not enough to interfere with the conduct of the machine. When a landing was finally made at the old place in the bend of the river, although the day was dreary enough, only the chill atmosphere and a few traces of snow gave premonition of possible storm.

This time Norman made the visit across the river and he was not gone much over an hour and a half. To facilitate the delivery of his stores, which were considerable, he pressed a horse and wagon into service and a little after twelve o'clock Roy was glad to see his companion reappear in the delivery wagon. The spitting snow had begun again. No time was lost in luncheon this day, but the fresh meat, eggs and b.u.t.ter and a few fresh vegetables were quickly stored in the rear of the c.o.c.kpit.

There were no telegrams this time, but a larger quant.i.ty of mail with considerable for the boys, some of which Norman had examined. At twelve thirty o'clock everything was in readiness. On the wind-swept heights it was now cold. Before mounting into the c.o.c.kpit the boys put on their winter caps, Mackinaw jackets and gauntlets.

Then, elevating the front protecting frame, they started the _Gitchie Manitou_ on its return flight, the wind and snow already smiting its resonant sides in a threatening manner.

The young aviators had little to say concerning the situation. They were not alarmed and could not afford to be, as their surroundings were mild compared with the conditions that the unique monoplane had been made to overcome. And yet they were now beyond theorizing, and it looked as if before the day was done they were to prove the merits or weaknesses of their much-lauded craft.

"I'm glad of one thing," suggested Roy, a little later; "we're going to have daylight all the way back."

"I hope so," answered Norman, but not very confidently.

"We ought to be there by seven o'clock!" retorted Roy.

"That's all right," said Norman in turn, "but I've seen snow in the daytime so heavy that it might as well have been night."

"Anyway, as long as we don't lose the river," suggested Roy, "we can't go far wrong. And the compa.s.s ought to help some."

"A compa.s.s is all right to keep you in a general direction," answered Norman, "but the best of them, in a three hundred mile run, won't land you at any particular street number."

"I think," suggested Roy again, a little later, "that we might as well put up these shelters and have something to eat."

By this time the wind had died somewhat and the volume of the snow had increased. It was falling so heavily that the top of the car was white.

Norman's silence giving approval, Roy managed to elevate the protecting sections, which in turn immediately began to be plastered with soft flakes. Almost at once part of the section on the lee side, which by good chance happened to be the one next to the river, was lowered again that the pilot might get a clear view. Then Roy opened Philip's bag of food.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Don't shoot," he protested. "What's the use?"]

The aviators had both tea and water, but they drank only the latter and made no attempt to use the heating apparatus.

At four o'clock the increasing snowfall was beginning to give the machine some trouble, and yet it was plowing its way steadily through the air and neither boy was more than apprehensive. Soon after this the snow ceased suddenly and the wind rose as quickly.

"We're losing some of our extra cargo anyway," announced Roy, as the first gusts tore some of the acc.u.mulated snow from the weighted planes.

"And we're losing some considerable gas," added Norman. "I hope we don't have to buck this wind very long--it's coming dead ahead." It was just then, the gloom merging into dark, that the alert Roy exclaimed:

"Look; a bunch o' deer!"

The car was crossing the snow-flecked river and flying low. Norman raised himself and made out, in the edge of the timber below them, a group of deer.

"Don't shoot," he protested. "What's the use?"

But his admonition was too late. Roy's twenty-two had already sounded.

However, nothing but a bullet was lost. When the monoplane had pa.s.sed swiftly on its way, the placid and apparently unmoved animals stood gazing after the airs.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER XIII

IN THE LAND OF CARIBOU, MOOSE AND MUSK OX

Within another hour, the first storm of the season had turned into a blizzard. With the provisions they had on hand the boys would have made a landing to get what protection they might from the blinding snow and the now-piercing wind had they dared. They had not yet changed the landing wheels of the monoplane for their novel snow runners and they realized that a new start in the rapidly increasing snow was practically hopeless.

Working directly ahead into the gale had so reduced their speed that Norman had adopted a series of long tacks. He did this in spite of the fact that for miles at a time it took him from the river valley, which he was now locating mainly by the wind eddies he had learned to know. There was no use turning on the searchlight, as it merely gave them a little longer view into the deep gray emptiness before them.

Thoroughly appreciating their danger, the boys also recognized that a panic of fear would not help them. If the car should become unmanageable, they would make the best landing they could and, half burying the monoplane in the snow, would await in the protected c.o.c.kpit the breaking of the blizzard and a new day.

"Anyway," announced Roy at one time, "while I ain't exactly stuck on being here and it ain't as cheerful as I thought it would be, you got to say this, the _Gitchie Manitou_ ain't falling down any."

No attention was given to supper and it did not get so cold but that the heavy clothing and enclosed c.o.c.kpit--for they had long since been forced to put up all the sections--were ample protection for the young men.

Seven o'clock, by which time they had expected to be in camp, came, as did eight and nine. It was now long after dark and, while the storm had abated somewhat, there was still a heavy wind and plenty of snow.

For hours the boys had been simply following the compa.s.s. They had not caught the roar of the Grand Rapids and felt themselves practically lost.

By their calculation, and allowing for a head wind, they had concluded that they would have covered the three hundred miles by ten o'clock. If at that time they could make out no signal light, they had decided to come down on the upland and go into camp for the night.

Their calculation was purely a guess but it was not a bad one. Some time after half past nine both boys made out in the far eastern sky a soft glow.

"I thought it had to be a clear night for the Aurora Borealis," suggested Roy, conscious that his companion had also seen the same glow. For a time Norman made no response but he headed the machine directly toward the peculiar flare and ceased his tacking.

"That's no Aurora," he said at last. "I think the woods are on fire."

For ten minutes, through the thinning wind-tossed snowflakes, the _Gitchie Manitou_ groaned its way forward.