Adventure, December 1914 — page 104: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

102 white-walled Chilkoot path rose up to Sheep Camp, the last depot within the tim- ber-belt until the fireless summit was crossed. Behind and below stretched the rocky de- file wherein lay Canyon City and the road he had followed, straggling across Dyea Flats from the ice-piled shore of Dyea Inlet. The mountain world about him- was very still, No wind moaned down the Pass. The ancient peaks poised like ivory carvings against the searchlight flare of the borealis. While he rested, the only sound to break the primal calm was the huh-ha-huh-ha-huh-ha-huh of the dogs and the hammering of his own heart. Then, as he grasped the gee-pole to mush on again, there came the shrill sound of sledge-run- ners on the beaten trail, and the muffled whine of punished dogs. Sark paused and looked back curiously. Around the bend flashed another sledge, drawn by five lean malemiuts and driven by a seeming lunatic. ‘The seeming lunatic lay face down, holding on to the sledge with his left hand and plying the whip with his right. The wind of his going had blown back his parka-hood so that it flapped use- lessly on his shoulders. But the man did not appear to know or care. He bore on, bare-headed, through the frost, the brilliant aurora playing oddly upon his yellow hair, his white, strained face, and upon a bloody scar that reached across his temple. ‘‘What in thunder’s chasing you?”’ yelled Sark as the other neared him in his frenzied gallop. “Pull up, can’t you? Pull up! Are you deaf? And blind? Can’t you see the trail’s too narrow to 2 The rest of Sark’s words were smothered in the crash. The racing outfit hit his standing one with the speed of a locomo- tive. Both sleds, both men and both teams rolled over and over in the side- snow. Snarling and snapping viciously, the ten wolf-dogs gave indiscriminate battle in the traces. Sark spat out a mouthful of snow as he got to his knees. “You locoed gink!”’ he sputtered. ‘‘What in blazes is the matter with your? Drunk? Or just bughouse?”’ For answer the yellow-haired man swung his whip butt fair upon Sark’s temple, and Sark promptly fell back again into the side- snow. The blow dazed him for a little, yet he did not lose consciousness, and all Adventure the while he lay helpless in the drifts he was aware that his attacker was kicking and beating the dogs to straighten them out in the harness. And as his strength came back, Sark floundered erect in time to see the yellow-haired man speeding down the trail as madly as he had sped up. Before the wolf-dogs disappeared, Sark sensed something familiar in their long lope. He stared at them, then at the team attached to the overturned sledge beside him. “Hold on!’ he commanded, running a few strides after the yellow-haired one. ‘Our teams are mixed. You’ve got the wrong one.” Nevertheless, as before, the wild man paid no heed. His sledge heeling over on one runner, he took the turn and vanished. e emas upon the head of the other, Sark ran back to the overturned sled. He swiftly righted it and hauled around the five lean malemiuts to give chase, but, as they strained to their places in the harness, he saw that the traces had parted in the collision. At once he re-anchored the sledge and feverishly began to repair the broken leathers, splicing them and tightly binding the splices with cord. The work took some minutes. Several times he paused to wipe away the blood which ran down into his eyes from the welt on his temple and interfered with his sight. As he finished and once more whirled the malemiuts into line, the shriek of sledge- runners sounded a second time around the bend. Half-a-dozen sledges, tailing each other and going at full gallop, broke into view. At sight of Sark the drivers of the outfits raised a great outcry and mercilessly plied their whips. “‘More locoed ginks, eh?”’ at them. “But I’ve had my lesson. body runs over me this time.” His own whip cracked, urging the male- miuts off the trail into the side-snow. Yet his move was of no avail. The six sleds swerved after his and six teams overrode his own. Sark, managing to leap clear of the tan- gle, shook his whip angrily in the faces of the six drivers who rolled off and stumbled toward him. “Say,” he exploded, ‘“‘when it comes to good-nature, I’m as good-natured as the CALLING down a thousand anath- Sark growled No- next man. But repetitions rile me. And you men are certainly repeating.” COMMichoooks.cor