Many times the girls had debated the question of allowing the herders to kill him for food and for his splendid coat; yet they had hesitated. They were not sure that he was not a full-blooded reindeer; that he was not marked and did not belong to someone. If he was a stray reindeer, they had no right to kill him. Besides this, it seemed a pity to kill such a wonderful creature. So the matter stood. And here he was on their feeding ground.

As Patsy stood there gazing at this splendid creature, she slowly realized that the Arctic sun had flamed down below the far horizon and long shadows raced out of the West. A full orbed moon stood just atop the trees that lined the eastern rim of hills. Turning reluctantly to leave, her eyes caught sight of a dark spot in the snow. She bent over to examine it, and a moment later straightened up with a startled exclamation.

"Blood! It is a trail of blood. I wonder which way it goes?"

Unable to answer this question, she decided to circle until she could find some sign that would tell her whether or not she was back-tracking.

Satisfied at last of the direction, she pushed on, and there in the eerie moonlight, through the ghostly silence of an Arctic night, she silently followed the trail of blood.

Suddenly she stopped and stood still. Just before her was a large discoloration of the snow. And, though the snow was so wind packed that she walked on it without snowshoes, her keen eyes detected spots where it had been broken and scratched by some hard, heavy object.

Dropping on her knees, she began examining every detail of the markings.

When she arose she spoke with a quiet tone of conviction:

"This is the track of a man. He has killed one of our deer and had been carrying it on his shoulder. Blood dropped from the still warm carca.s.s.

That explains the trail of blood. The load has become too heavy for him.

At this spot he has laid his burden down. In places the antlers have scratched the snow. After a time he has gone on. But which way did he go?"

Once more she bent over. On the hard packed snow, the sole of a skin boot makes no tracks. After a moment's study she again straightened up.

"There's a long scratch, as if he had dragged the carca.s.s to his shoulder as he started on, and an antler had dragged for two or three feet. That would indicate that he went the way I have been going. Question is, shall I go farther, or shall I go for the herders with their rifles?" She decided to go on.

The blood spots grew less and less as she advanced. She was beginning to despair of being able to follow much farther, when, with a startled gesture, she came to a sudden halt.

"The purple flame!" she said in an awed whisper.

It was true. As she stared down at a little willow lined valley, she saw the outline of a tent. From the very center of it there appeared to burst that weird purple light.

"Well," she concluded, "I am at least sure that they've killed one of our deer; killed several, probably. No doubt they have been living off our herd."

For a moment she stood there undecided; then, with reluctant feet, she turned back. It was the only wise thing to do. She was alone and unarmed.

To follow that trail further would be dangerous and foolhardy.

But what should she do, once she had reached her own camp? She was convinced in her own mind that the slain creature was one of their deer; yet she could not prove it. Should she lead her armed herders to the stranger's tent and demand an explanation? Oh, how she did wish that Marian was here!

As she walked homeward she felt terribly depressed. There was a girl in that tent of the purple flame. She had seen her. She had hoped that sometime, in the not too distant future, they might be friends. Such a friend in this lonely land, especially since Marian and Attatak were gone, would be a boon indeed. Now she felt that such a thing could never be. It was as if a great gulf had suddenly yawned between them.

After reaching her camp and sipping a cup of tea and munching at some hard crackers, she sat for hours thinking things through. Her final decision was that for the present she could do nothing. Marian might return any day now. In such matters her judgment would be best and Patsy did not feel warranted in starting what might prove to be a dangerous feud.

CHAPTER XIX Pa.s.sING THE RAPIDS

As the raft, which had been dragged from the bank of the river by the hermit of the mysterious lodge, swung out into the ice strewn current, it shot directly for the glacier's end as if drawn by a magnet.

Taking a quick turn of the rope about a point of rock, the aged man braced himself for the shock which must come when the raft, with its load of sleds and other trappings, had taken up the slack.

All too soon it came. Bracing himself as best he could, he held his ground. The strain increased. It seemed that the rope must snap; that the old man's iron grip must yield. Should the raft reach the glacier it would be lost forever. The muscles in the man's arms played like bands of steel. Blood vessels stood out on his temples like whipcords, yet he held his ground.

Ten seconds pa.s.sed, twenty, thirty, then with a whirl like some wild animal yielding to its captor, the raft swung about and shot away down stream.

Plunging forward, leaping rocks, gliding over gla.s.sy surfaces of snow, puffing, perspiring, the old man followed.

Now he was down; the cause seemed lost. But in a flash he was up again, clutching at a jagged rock that tore his hand. For a second time he stayed the mad rush of the raft. Then he was on again.

Bobbing from reef to reef, plunging through foam, leaping high above the torrents, the raft went careering on. Twice it all but turned over, and but for the skill of its master would have been crushed by great grinding cakes of ice.

For thirty long minutes the battle lasted; minutes that seemed hours to the aged man. Then with a sigh he guided the raft into a safe eddy of water.

Sinking down upon a hard packed bank of snow, he lay there as if dead.

For a long time he lay there, then rising stiffly, made his way down the ledge to drag the raft ash.o.r.e and unlash the sleds. After this he drew the sleds up the hill one at a time and set them across the blazed trail.

"There!" he sighed. "A good night's work done, and a neat one. I could not have done it better twenty years ago. 'Grow old along with me,'" he threw back his hair as if in defiance of raging torrents, "'The best is yet to be. The last of life, for which the first was made-'"

Having delivered this bit of poetical oration to the tune of the booming rapids, he turned to pick his way back over the uncertain trail that led to his strange abode.

Eight hours after she had crept into the luxurious bed in the guest room of the strange lodge, Marian stirred, then half awake, felt the drowsy warmth of wolf-skin rugs. For a moment she lay there and inhaled the drug-like perfume of balsam and listened to the steady breathing of the Eskimo girl beside her. She was about to turn over for another sleep, when, from some cell of her brain where it had been stowed the night before, there came the urge that told her she must make haste.

"Haste! Haste! Haste!" came beating in upon her drowsy senses. It was as if her brain were a radio, and the message was coming from the air.

Suddenly she sat bolt upright. At the same instant she found herself wide awake, fully alert and conscious of the problems she must face that day-the pa.s.sing of the rapids and covering a long span of that trail which still lay between them and their goal.

She did not waken Attatak. That might not be necessary for another hour.

She sprang out upon the heavy bear skin rug, and there went through a set of wild, whirling gestures that limbered every muscle in her body and sent the red blood racing through her veins. After that she quickly slipped into her blouse, knickers, stockings and deerskin boots, to at last go tiptoeing down the corridor toward the large living-room where she heard the roar of the open fire as it raced up the chimney.

She found her host sitting by the fire. In the uncertain light he appeared haggard and worn, as if quite done in from some great exertion.

Of course Marian could not so much as guess how he had spent the night.

She had slept through it all.

With a smile of greeting the old man motioned her to a seat beside him.

"You'll not begrudge an old man a half hour's company?" he said.

"Indeed not."

"You'll wish to ask me things. Everyone who pa.s.ses this way wants to.

Mostly they ask and I don't tell. A fair lady, though," there was something of ancient gallantry in his tone, "fair ladies usually ask what they will and get it, too."

For a moment he sat staring silently into the fire.

"This house," he said at last, "is a bit unusual. That pipe organ, for instance-you wouldn't expect it here. It came here as if by accident; Providence, I call it. A rich young man had more things than he knew what to do with. The Creator sent some of them to me.

"As for me, I came here voluntarily. You have probably taken me for a prospector. I have never bought pick nor pan. There are things that lure me, but gold is not one of them.

"I had troubles before I came here. Troubles are the heritage of the aged. I sometimes think that it is not well to live too long.

"And yet," he shook himself free of the mood; his face lighting up as he exclaimed, "And yet, life is very wonderful! Wonderful, even up here in the frozen north. I might almost say, _especially_ here in the north.