It was with a distinct feeling of homesickness that Marian turned to look back at the campsite. She had spent many happy hours there. Now she was leaving it, perhaps forever. What was more, she was leaving the tundra; the broad-stretching deer pastures of the Arctics. Should their enterprise succeed, she would pa.s.s over one of the Canadian trails, southward to the States and back to the University. Should they fail, she might indeed return to the tundra, but she knew it could never be the same to her.

"We must not fail," she told herself, clenching her hands tight and staring away at the magnificent panorama which lay before her. "We must not! Must not fail!"

As she saw the reindeer, a ma.s.s of brown and white moving down the slope, a feeling of sadness swept over her. She had come to love these gentle and half-wild creatures of the North. She was especially fond of the sled-deer, her three; the spotted one, the brown one, and the white. Many hundred miles had she driven them. Nowhere in the world, she was sure, could there be deer who covered more miles in a day, who were quicker to recognize the pull of rein, more willing to stomp the tiresome nights away at the ends of their tethers.

Dearest of all were the three collie dogs; Gold, Copper and Bronze, she whimsically named them, for their coats were just what their names indicated. Copper and Bronze were young dogs. Gold was the pick of the three; an old, well-trained sheep dog. Accustomed to the sunny pastures of California, he had been brought to this cold and barren land to herd reindeer. With the st.u.r.dy devotion of his kind, he had endured the biting cold without a whimper, and had gnawed his toes, cut by the crusted snow, in silence. He had done the work a.s.signed to him with a zeal and thoroughness that might have shamed many a human master.

"These, too, I must leave," she told herself. "Worse than that, I am leading them out into wild desert. Within a week that beautiful herd may be hopelessly scattered; our sled-deers killed by wolves; our dogs-well, anyway, they will never desert us. Together we will fight it out to the bitter end."

A lump came into her throat. Then, realizing that she was the commander of this expedition and that it was unbecoming of commanders to betray emotion, she quickly conquered her feelings and gave herself over to the work of a.s.sisting in keeping the herd moving steadily forward in a compact ma.s.s.

Five days later, with their herd still moving steadily on before them, and with hopes rising high because of the continued success of their march, they found themselves crossing a succession of low-lying, gra.s.s-covered hills. As they reached the crest of the highest of these, and arrived at a place where they could get an unrestricted view of the tundra that lay beyond, an exclamation escaped Marian's lips.

"A forest!" she exclaimed.

"A real Arctic forest," echoed Patsy. "Won't it be wonderful!"

"Wonderful and dangerous," Marian replied. "Unless I miss my guess, here is where our troubles begin. It may not be so bad, though," she quickly amended, as she saw the look of fear that came over her cousin's face.

"That forest is fully ten miles away. The sun is about to set. We'll drive our herd down into the tundra where there is plenty of moss. We'll camp there, and get up for an early start in the morning. The forest may be only a narrow belt along a river."

Marian did not feel very sure that her predictions would prove true, but she was the sort of person who measures all perils carefully, then hopes for the best.

Two hours later they were eating a meal of reindeer stew and hot biscuits, which had been cooked over a willow-wood fire in their Yukon stove. Then as they chatted of the future, Marian held up a finger for silence.

"What was that?" she whispered. "A shot?"

"I didn't-"

"Yes, yes. There's another!"

Marian was up and out of the tent in an instant.

As her eyes swept the horizon they caught a gleam of light from the hills above, the red and yellow light of a camp-fire.

With one sweeping glance she took in the position of her herd. She had just noted that a certain brown deer had strayed some distance up the hill. She was about to suggest to Terogloona, who had also been called from his tent by the shots, that he send a dog after the deer, when, to her great astonishment, she caught a flash of light, heard a sharp report, then saw the brown deer crumple up like an empty sack and drop to the snow.

For one instant she stood there as if in a trance, then with a quick turn she said:

"Patsy, you stay with Attatak. Terogloona, you come with me."

Turning, she walked straight toward the spot where the reindeer had fallen. The faithful Terogloona, in spite of his fear of the Indians of the Little Sticks, followed at her heels.

When they arrived at the spot, they found a man bending over the dead deer. In his hand was the rifle that had sped the bullet. The soft-soled "muck-lucks" that Marian and Terogloona wore made no sound on the snow.

The man's back was toward them and they came upon him un.o.bserved. The powerful Terogloona would have leaped upon his back and thrown him to the snow, but Marian held him back.

"Stranger," said the girl, in as steady a voice as she could, "why did you kill our deer?"

Like a flash the man gripped his rifle as he wheeled about. Then, seeing it was a girl who spoke, he lowered his weapon.

Marian's eyes took him in with one feeling glance. His face was haggard, emaciated. His hands were mere skin and bones. He was an Indian.

"Too hungry," he murmured, "No come caribou. No come ptarmigan. No fish in the river; no rabbits on the tundra!" He spread out his bony hands in a gesture of despair.

"But you needn't have killed him. Had you come to us we would have given you meat, all you could use." The girl's face was frank and fearless, yet there was a certain huskiness in her voice that to the sensitive ears of the Indian betokened kindness.

"Yes," he said slowly, "maybe you would. Yesterday we saw other reindeer herd, north mebby ten miles. Want deer; ask man, big man, much whiskers; say want food. Man said: 'Get out!' Want'a kill me if I not go quick. Bad man, that one. We go way. Then see your herd. Say, take one deer. You want to fight, then fight. Better to die by bullet than by hunger."

"The man you saw," said Marian, her heart sinking as she realized that he must be a half day in the lead, "was Bill Scarberry. Yes, he is a mean man. But see! Have you a cache? Some place where you can keep meat from the wolves and wolverines?"

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the Indian eagerly. "Ten miles. Diesa River, a cabin."

"How many deer must you have to keep you until game comes?"

"Mebby-mebby," the Indian stared at her in astonishment, "Mebby two, mebby three."

"All right," said Marian, "you have killed a fine doe. That was bad, but I forgive you." She held our her hand to grasp the native's bony fingers.

"Now," she said briskly, "since you have killed her, you may keep the meat. Terogloona," she turned to the Eskimo, "point out two young bucks, the best we have. Tell him he may kill them and that he and his friends may take them to their cabin."

"I-I-" the Indian attempted to speak. Failing utterly, he turned and walked a few steps away, then turning, struck straight away toward the spot where the red and yellow campfire gleamed.

"That is his camp?" asked Marian.

Terogloona nodded silently.

"They will come for the meat, and will give us no further trouble?"

"_Eh-eh_" smiled the Eskimo. "The daughter of my master has acted wisely.

The man who starves, he is different. These reindeer," he waved his arms toward the herd, "they belong to my master and his daughter. When men are not starving-yes. When men are starving-no. To the starving all things belong. Bill Scarberry, he remember yet. Indians of Little Sticks, they never forget."

As Marian turned to retrace her steps to camp, she chanced to glance up at the other camp where, but an hour before, she had seen the flash of the purple flame. It was closer than she thought. The flash of flame was gone, but she was sure she caught the outlines of a tent; surer still that she saw a solitary figure atop a nearby knoll. Sitting as if on watch, this solitary man held a rifle across his knees.

"I wonder why he is there?" she said to herself, "I wonder why they are following us?"

"Oh," she breathed as she walked toward camp, "it's so tantalizing, that purple flame and all! I have half a notion to take Terogloona, as I did with that Indian, and march right up to them and demand the meaning of their mysterious actions!"

As if intending to turn this thought into action at once, she stopped and turned about. To her surprise, as she looked toward the crest of the hill, she saw the solitary watcher was gone.

"Oh, well," she sighed, "we have no real reason for invading their camp.

We've no proof that they've ever done us any harm; except, perhaps the time that Patsy saw the blood-trail and the antler marks in the snow. It seems that it must have been our deer, but we never could prove it."

Glancing away at a more distant hill-crest, she was surprised at the picture revealed there.

The moon, just rising from behind the hill, threw out in bold relief the broad-spreading antlers of a magnificent creature of the wilderness.

"Old Omnap-puk!" said Marian. "What do you think of that? We have traveled five days, and yet we are still in the company of the mysterious camp-followers of the purple flame and old Omnap-puk, the caribou-reindeer who has haunted the outskirts of our camp so long.

"I suppose," she said thoughtfully, "that I should tell Terogloona to have the Indians kill Omnap-puk. That would save one of our reindeers, and besides, if we let him live, who knows but that at some critical moment he may rush in and a.s.sume the leadership of our herd and lead them to disaster, or lose them to us forever. I have heard of that happening with horses and cattle. Why not with reindeer? And yet," she sighed, "I can't quite make up my mind to do it. He is such a wonderful fellow!"