Under the Great Bear

As White slowly recovered from the bewilderment of his situation he saw that his assailants were Indians, and even recognised in one of them the hideous features of the lad whom Cabot had named Arsenic.

"What fools we have been," he thought, bitterly. "We might have known that he would come back with the first band of his friends that he ran across. And to make sure that they would find us we filled the country with sign posts all pointing this way. Seems to me that was about as idiotic a thing as we could have done, and if ever a misfortune was deserved this one is. I wonder what has become of Cabot, and if they have caught him yet. I only hope he won't try to fight 'em, for they'd just as soon kill him as not. Probably they'll kill us both, though, so that no witnesses can ever appear against them. Poor chap! It was a sad day for him when he attempted to help a fellow as unlucky as I am out of his troubles. Now I wonder what's up."

A shrill cry of triumph had come from the shore, and the savages on the schooner's deck were replying to it with exultant yells.

The cry from shore announced the capture of Cabot by two Indians who had been left behind for that express purpose. Of course the new-comers had known as soon as they discovered the dinghy that at least one of the schooner's defenders was on shore, and had made their arrangements accordingly. As we have seen, the naval contingent experienced no difficulty in capturing the schooner, and a little later the land forces carried out their part of the programme with equal facility. They merely hid themselves behind some boulders, and leaping out upon the young American, as he came unsuspectingly swinging down the trail, overpowered him before he could make a struggle. Tying him beyond a possibility of escape, they carried him down to the beach, where they uttered the cries that informed their comrades of their triumph.

Until this time the schooner had been left at her anchorage, for fear lest any change in her position might arouse Cabot's suspicions. Now that they were free to do as they pleased with her the Indians cut her cable, and, after much awkward effort, succeeded in towing her to the beach, where they made her fast.

As the darkness and cold of night were now upon them, and as they had no longer any use for the dinghy, they smashed it in pieces and started a fire with its shattered timbers. At the same time they broke out several barrels of provisions, and the entire band, gathering about the fire, began to feast upon their contents.

In the meantime Cabot and White, in their respective places of captivity, were equally miserable through their ignorance of what had happened to each other, and of the fate awaiting them. Of course Cabot had seen the schooner brought to the beach, while White, still lying on her cabin floor, was able to guess at her position from such sounds as came to his ears.

During that eventful afternoon, while the savages were still preparing the plan that had resulted in such complete success, a white man, setting a line of traps for fur-bearing animals, had run across the outermost of the signals established by our lads a few days earlier. Its fluttering pennon had attracted his attention while he was still at a distance, and, filled with curiosity, he had gone to it for a closer examination. On reaching the signal he read the pencilled writing on its arrow, and then stood irresolute, evidently much perturbed, for several minutes. Finally, heaving a great sigh, he set forth in the direction indicated by the arrow.

He was a gigantic man, and presented a strange spectacle as he strode swiftly across the country with the long, sliding gait of a practised snowshoer. Although his wide-set blue eyes were frank and gentle in expression, a heavy mass of blonde hair, streaming over his shoulders like a mane, and a shaggy beard, gave him an air of lion-like ferocity. This wildness of aspect, as well as his huge proportions, were both increased by his garments, which were entirely of wolf skins. Even his cap was of this material, ornamented by a wolf's tail that streamed out behind and adorned in front with a pair of wolf ears pricked sharply forward. He carried a rifle and bore on his shoulders, as though it were a feather weight, a pack of such size than an ordinarily strong man would have found difficulty in lifting it.

As this remarkable stranger, looking more like a Norse war god than a mere human being, reached one signal after another, he passed it without pausing for examination until he had gained a point about half way to the coast. Then he came to an abrupt halt and studied the surrounding snow intently. He had run across the trail made by Arsenic and his fellows a few hours earlier. After an examination of the sprawling footprints, the big man uttered a peculiar snort of satisfaction, and again pushed on with increased speed. An hour later he stood, concealed by darkness, on the verge of the cliffs enclosing Locked Harbour, gazing interestedly down on the fire-lit beach, the half-revealed schooner, the feasting savages, and the recumbent, dimly discerned figure of Cabot Grant, their prisoner.

CHAPTER XX.

COMING OF THE MAN-WOLF

Once Arsenic went to where Cabot was lying, and, grinning cheerfully, remarked: "Tea, shug. Plenty, yes." Then he laughed immoderately, as did several other Indians who were listening admiringly to this flight of eloquence in the white man's own tongue.

"Oh, clear out, you grinning baboon," growled Cabot. "I only hope I'll live to get even with you for this day's work."

The Indians were evidently so pleased at having drawn a retort from their prisoner that he declined to gratify them further, or to speak another word, though for some time Arsenic continued to beguile him with his tiresome "Tea, shug," etc. When the latter finally gave it up and started away to get his share of the feast, Cabot's gaze followed him closely.

All this time our lad was filled with vague terrors concerning White, of whose fate he had not received the slightest intimation, as well as of what might be in store for himself. Would he be carried to the distant interior to become a slave in some filthy Indian village, or would he be killed before they took their departure? Perhaps they would simply leave him there to freeze and starve to death, or they might amuse themselves by burning him at the stake. Did these far northern Indians still do such things? He wondered, but could not remember ever to have heard.

While considering these unpleasant possibilities, Cabot was also suffering with cold, from the pain of his bonds, and from lying motionless on the bed of rocks to which he had been carelessly flung. But, with all his pain and his mental distress, he still glared at the young savage who had so basely betrayed his kindness, and at length Arsenic seemed to be uneasily aware of the steady gaze. He changed his position several times, and his noisy hilarity was gradually succeeded by a sullen silence. Suddenly he lifted his head and listened apprehensively. His quick ear had caught an ominous note in the distant, long-drawn howl of a wolf. He spoke of it to his comrades, and several of them joined him in listening. It came again, a blood-curdling yell, now so distinct that all heard it. They stopped their feasting to consult in low tones and peer fearfully into the surrounding blackness.

Cabot had also recognised the sound, but, uncanny as it was, he wondered why the howl of a wolf should disturb a lot of Indians who must know, even better than he, the cowardly nature of the beast, and that there was no chance of his coming near a fire.

Even as these thoughts passed through his mind, the terrible cry was uttered again—this time so close at hand that it was taken up and repeated by a chorus of echoes from the nearby cliffs. The Indians sprang to their feet in terror, while at the same moment an avalanche of stones, gravel, and small boulders rushed down the face of the cliff close to where Cabot lay. From it was evolved a monstrous shape that, with unearthly howlings, leaped towards the frightened natives. As it did so flashes of lightning, that seemed to dart from it, gleamed with a dazzling radiance on their distorted faces. In another moment they were in full flight up the rugged pathway leading from the basin, hotly pursued by their mysterious enemy.

The latter seemed to pass directly through the fire, scattering its blazing brands to all sides. At the same time he snatched up a flaming timber for use as a weapon against such of the panic-stricken savages as still remained within reach.

The flashes of light that accompanied the apparition, while illuminating all nearby objects, had left it shrouded in darkness, and only when it crouched for an instant above the fire did Cabot gain a clear glimpse of the gigantic form. To his dismay it appeared to be a great beast with a human resemblance. It had the gleaming teeth, the horrid jaws, the sharp ears, in fact the face and head of a wolf, the tawny mane of a lion, and was covered with thick fur; but it stood erect and used its arms like a man. At the same time, the sounds issuing from its throat seemed a combination of incoherent human cries and wolfish howlings. Cabot only saw it for a moment, and then it was gone, leaping up the pathway, whirling the blazing timber above its head, and darting its mysterious lightning flashes after the flying Indians.

As the clamour of flight and pursuit died away, to be followed by a profound silence, there came a muffled call:

"Cabot. Cabot Grant."

"Hello!" shouted our lad. "Who is it? Where are you?"

"It is I, White," came the barely heard answer. "I am here in the cabin. Can't you come and let me out?"

"No," replied Cabot. "I am tied hand and foot."

"So am I. Are you wounded?"

"No. Are you?"

"No. What are the Indians doing?"

"Running for dear life from a Labrador devil—half wolf and half man—armed with soundless thunder-bolts."

During the short silence that followed, White meditated upon this extraordinary statement, and decided that his comrade's brain must be affected by his sufferings.

"If I could only twist out of these ropes," he groaned, and then he began again a struggle to free his hands from their bonds. At the same time Cabot, who had long since discovered the futility of such effort, was anxiously listening, and wondering what would happen next.

With all his listening he did not hear the soft approach of furred footsteps, and when a blinding light was flashed full in his face he was so startled that he cried out with terror. Instantly the light vanished, and he shuddered as he realised that the furry monster had returned, and, bending over him, was fumbling at his bonds.

In another moment these were severed, he was picked up as though he had been an infant, and carried to the fire, whose scattered embers were speedily re-assembled. As it blazed up, Cabot gazed eagerly at the mysterious figure, which had thus far worked in silence. Curious as he was to see it, he yet dreaded to look upon its wolfish features. Therefore, as the fire blazed up, he uttered a cry of amazement, for, fully revealed by its light, was a man; clad in furs, it is true, but bare-headed and having a pleasant face lighted by kindly blue eyes.

"You are really human after all!" gasped Cabot.

The stranger smiled but said nothing.

"And can understand English?"

A nod of the head was the only answer.

"Then," continued Cabot, hardly noting that his deliverer had not spoken, "won't you please go aboard the schooner and find my friend? He is in the cabin, where those wretches left him, tied up."

This was the first intimation the stranger had received that any one besides Cabot needed his assistance, but without a word he did as requested, swinging himself aboard the "Sea Bee" by her head chains and her bowsprit, which overhung the beach. Directly afterwards a flash of light streamed from the cabin windows. Then White Baldwin, assisted by the fur-clad giant, emerged from his prison, walked stiffly along the deck, and was helped down to the beach, where Cabot eagerly awaited him.

After a joyous greeting of his friend the young American said anxiously: "But are you sure you are all right, old man—not wounded nor hurt in any way?"

"No; I am sound as a nut," replied White. "Only a little stiff, that's all."

"Same here," declared Cabot, industriously rubbing his legs to restore their circulation. "I was rapidly turning into a human icicle, though, when our big friend dropped down from the sky in a chariot of flame and gave those Indian beggars such a scare that I don't suppose they've stopped running yet. But how did you happen to let 'em aboard, old man? Couldn't you stand them off with a gun?"

For answer White gave a full account of all that had taken place, so far as he knew, and in return Cabot described his own exciting experiences, while the stranger listened attentively, but in silence, to both narratives. When Cabot came to the end of his own story, he said:

"Now, sir, won't you please tell us how you happened to find us out and come to our rescue just in the nick of time? I should also very much like to know how you managed to tumble down that precipice unharmed, as well as how you produced those flashes of light that scared the savages so badly—me too, for that matter."

For answer the stranger only smiled gravely, pointed to his lips, and shook his head.

"Oh!" exclaimed both Cabot and White, shocked by this intimation, and the former said:

"I beg your pardon, sir. While I noticed that you didn't do much talking, it never occurred to me that you were dumb. I am awfully sorry, and it must be a terrible trial. At the same time, I am glad you can hear me say how very grateful we are to you for getting us out of a nasty fix in the splendid way you did. Now, I move we adjourn to the cabin of the schooner, where we can make some hot tea and be rather more comfortable than out here. That is, if you think those Indians won't come back."

The stranger smiled again, and shook his head so reassuringly that the lads had no longer a doubt as to the expediency of returning to the cabin. There they started a fire in the stove, boiled water, made tea, and prepared a meal, of which the stranger ate so heartily, and with such evident appreciation, that it was a pleasure to watch him.

While supper was being made ready, the big man removed his outer garments of wolf fur and stood in a close-fitting suit of tanned buckskin that clearly revealed the symmetry of his massive proportions.

"If I were as strong as you look, and, as I know from experience, you are," exclaimed Cabot, admiringly, "I don't think I would hesitate to attack a whole tribe of Indians single handed. My! but it must be fine to be so strong."

After supper Cabot, who generally acted as spokesman, again addressed himself to their guest, saying:

"If you don't mind, sir, we'd like to have you know just what sort of a predicament we've got into, and ask your advice as to how we can get out of it." With this preamble Cabot explained the whole situation, and ended by saying:

"Now you know just how we are fixed, and if you can guide us to the nearest Mission Station or, if you haven't time to go with us, if you will give us directions how to find it—we shall be under a greater obligation to you than ever."

For a minute the stranger looked thoughtful but made no sign. Then, dipping his finger in a bowl of water, he wrote on the table the single word: "To-morrow." Having thus dismissed the subject for the present, he stretched his huge frame on a transom and almost instantly fell asleep.

Our tired lads were not long in following his example, and, though several times during the alight one or the other of them got up to replenish the fire, they always found their guest quietly sleeping. But when they both awoke late the following morning and looked for him he had disappeared.

CHAPTER XXI.

A WELCOME MISSIONARY

Although the outer garments of wolf fur belonging to the mysterious stranger were also missing, our lads were not at first at all uneasy concerning his absence, but imagined that their guest had merely gone for a breath of fresh air or to examine the situation of the schooner by daylight. So they mended the fire and got breakfast ready, expecting with each moment that he would return. As he did not, Cabot finally went on deck to look for him.

The morning was bitterly cold, and the harbour was covered with ice sufficiently strong to bear a man.

"The old 'Bee's' found her winter berth at last," reflected Cabot, as he glanced about him, shivering in the keen air.

To his disappointment he could discover no trace of the man upon whom they were depending to aid their escape from this icy prison. Cabot even dropped to the beach and made his way to the crest of the inland bluffs, but could see no living thing on all the vast expanse of snow outspread before him.

"I guess he has gone, all right," muttered the lad, "and we are again left to our own resources, only a little worse off than we were before. Why he came and helped us out at all, though, is a mystery to me."

With this he retraced his steps and conveyed the unwelcome news to White.

"It is evident then," said the latter, "that we must stay here, alive or dead, all winter. And I expect we'll be a great deal more dead than alive long before it is over."

"Oh, I don't know," replied Cabot. "This doesn't seem to be such a very uninhabited place, after all. I'm sure we've had a regular job lot of visitors during the past week, and a good many of them, too. So I don't see why we shouldn't have other callers before the winter is over. When the next one comes, though, we'll take care and not let him out of our sight. Why didn't you tie a string to one of those Indians, as I advised?"

"Because they tied me first," answered White, laughing in spite of his anxiety. "Why didn't you do it yourself?"

"Because all the tying apparatus was aboard the schooner, and I hadn't so much as a shoe-string about me. I wish I could have tied that scoundrel Arsenic, though. If ever I meet him again I'll try to teach him a lesson in gratitude. But what do you propose to do to-day, skipper?"

"I suppose we might as well unbend and stow our canvas, since the 'Bee' 'll not want to use sails again for a while. We might also send down topmasts, stow away what we can of the running rigging, get those provisions on the beach aboard again, and–"

"Hold on!" cried Cabot, "you've already laid out all the work I care to tackle in one day, and if you want any more done you'll have to ship a new crew."

It was well that the lads had ample occupation for that day, otherwise they would have been very unhappy. Even Cabot, for all his assumed cheerfulness, realised the many dangers with which they were beset. He believed that their unknown friend had deserted them, and that the Indians might return at any moment in over-powering numbers. He knew that without outside assistance and guidance it would be impossible to traverse the vast frozen wilderness lying between them and civilisation. He knew also that if he and White remained where they were they must surely perish before the winter was over. So the prospect was far from cheerful, and that evening the "Sea Bee's" crew, wearied with their hard day's work, ate their supper in thoughtful silence.

While they were thus engaged both suddenly sprang to their feet with startled faces. A gun had been fired from close at hand, and with its report came a confusion of shouts. Evidently more visitors had arrived; but were they friends or foes?

White thought the latter, and snatched up a loaded revolver, declaring that the Indians should not again get possession of his schooner without fighting for it; but Cabot believed the new-comers to be friends.

"If they were enemies," he argued, "they would have got aboard and taken us by surprise before making a sound." So saying he hurried up the companionway, with White close at his heels.

"Hello!" shouted Cabot. "Who are you?"

"We are friends," answered a voice from the beach in English, but with a strong German accent. "Can you show us a light?"

"Of course we can, and will in a moment," replied Cabot joyously. "White, get a–"

But White had already darted back into the cabin for a lantern, with which he speedily emerged, and led the way to the beach. Here our lads found a dog sledge with its team, and an Eskimo driver, who was already collecting wood for a fire, together with a white man, tall, straight, middle-aged, and wearing a long beard streaked with grey.

"God be with you and keep you," he said, as he shook hands with Cabot and White. "Where is the captain of this schooner?"

Cabot pointed to his companion.

"Where then is the crew?"

At this both lads laughed, and Cabot replied:

"I am the crew."

"You don't mean to tell me that you two boys navigated that vessel to this place unaided."

"We certainly did, sir, though we have not done much navigating for more than a month now. But will you please tell us who you are, where you came from, and how you happened to discover us? Though we are not surprised at being discovered, for we seem to be located on a highway of travel and have visitors nearly every day."

"Indeed," replied the stranger; "and yet you are stranded in one of the least known and most inaccessible bays of the coast. It is rarely visited even by natives, and I doubt if any white man was ever here before your arrival."

"Then how did you happen to come?" asked Cabot.

"I came by special request to find you and offer whatever assistance I may render. I am the Rev. Ostrander Mellins, Director of a Moravian Mission Station located on the coast some twenty-five miles from this point."

"But how did you know of us?" cried Cabot, in amazement. "We haven't sent any telegrams nor even written any letters since coming here."

"Did not you send a messenger yesterday?"

"No, sir. Most of yesterday we were prisoners in the hands of some rascally Indians."

"I perceive," said the missionary, "that I have much to hear as well as to tell, and, being both tired and cold, would suggest that we seek a more sheltered spot than this, where we may converse while my man prepares supper."

At these words both our lads were covered with confusion, and, with profuse apologies for their lack of hospitality, besought the missionary to accompany them into the schooner's cabin.

"We should have asked you long ago," declared White, "only we were so overcome with joy at meeting a white man who could talk to us that we really didn't know what we were about."

"Won't your man and dogs also come aboard?" asked Cabot, anxious to show how hospitable they really were.

"No, thank you," laughed the missionary. "They will do very well where they are."

In the cabin, which had never seemed more cheerful and comfortable, the lads helped the new-comer remove his fur garments, plied him with hot tea, together with everything they could think of in the way of eatables, and at the same time told him their story as they had told it to their other guest of the night before.

"And you did not send me any message?" he asked, with a quizzical smile.

"I know!" cried Cabot. "It was the man-wolf. But where did you meet him, and why didn't he come back with you? How did he manage to explain the situation? We thought he couldn't talk."

"I don't know that he can," replied the missionary, "for I have never heard him speak, nor do I know any one who has. Neither did I meet him. In fact I have never seen him, but I think your messenger must be one and the same with your man-wolf, since he signed his note 'Homolupus.'"

"His note," repeated Cabot curiously. "Did he send you a note?"

"Not exactly; but he left one for me at a place near the station, where he has often left furs to be exchanged for goods, and called my attention to it by a signal of rifle shots. When I reached the place I was not surprised to find him gone, for he always disappears when it is certain that his signal has been understood. I was, however, greatly surprised to find, instead of the usual bundle of furs, only a slip of paper supported by a cleft stick. On it was written:

"'Schooner laden with provisions stranded in pocket next South of Nukavik Arm. Crew in distress. Need immediate assistance. Homolupus.'"