<h2 id="c7"><span class="small">CHAPTER VII</span> <br/>REVENGE FOR A LOST COMRADE</h2>
<p>For a second, as he stood there on the sled,
with the big Arctic moon rising above the
forest, with the crack of the strange rifle, the
roar of dogs and the howl of wolves dinning in
his ears, Joe fancied himself acting a part in
the movies. It was too strange to seem real.</p>
<p>This lasted but a second; then, realizing that
the battle was more than half won but that some
of his dogs might be in danger, he sprang from
the sled. The next instant with the butt of his
rifle he crushed the skull of a wolf whose fangs
were tearing at the throat of a dog. The wolf,
crumpling over, lay quivering in death.</p>
<p>As he bent over the prostrate dog he saw
that it was Sport.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</div>
<p>Frightened, bewildered, disheartened by the
crack-crack of the newcomer’s rifle, the remnant
of the wolf-pack took to its heels. Soon save
for the growl and whine of dogs, silence reigned
in meadow and forest.</p>
<p>The man with the rifle stepped forward. To
Joe’s surprise he saw that it was Jennings.</p>
<p>“Why! It’s you!” he exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Who did you think it might be?” laughed
the miner.</p>
<p>“Why, it might have been most anyone.
Might even have been the man Curlie’s looking
for, the outlaw of the air. I thought you were
with Curlie. Curlie’s coming—must be most
of the way here.”</p>
<p>“Then,” said Jennings quickly, “I’d better go
back and meet him, then he and I will go back
and bring the other sleds. Here,” he handed
Joe two clips of cartridges, “guess they’ll not
come back. Never can tell though. You’ll be
safe with these.” He turned and walked quickly
away.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</div>
<p>Left with his dogs and his outfit, Joe made a
thorough examination of things. Three of his
dogs, Ginger, the leader, Major, the sled guard,
and Bones, his team-mate, were sitting on their
haunches or curled up licking their wounds.</p>
<p>“Sport’s done in,” he murmured with a
queer catch in his throat. “Dogs get to be a
fellow’s pals up here. Pete’s missing. Rushed
out after the retreating enemy to avenge his
team-mate, I guess. Only hope he doesn’t get
the worst of it.”</p>
<p>Five dead wolves lay near the sled. These
he dragged into a pile. “Enough pelts there
for a splendid rug,” he told himself. “I’ll get
some Indian woman to tan them.”</p>
<p>Then, realizing that it would be some time before
his companions would return, and having
nothing else to do, he began skinning the carcasses.
He had nearly completed the task when,
from the edge of the forest, there came a long-drawn
howl.</p>
<p>“What, again?” he exclaimed seizing his
rifle. “All right, come on. I’m ready for you
this time.”</p>
<p>A pair of fiery balls shone out of the shadowy
edge of the forest.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</div>
<p>Lifting his rifle he took steady aim. His
breath came quick. To shoot in the quiet calm
of perfect self-composure was quite different
from a pitched battle.</p>
<p>He had a perfect bead on the spot between
the eyes, when the creature moved.</p>
<p>He came a few paces closer; then again halted
and howled.</p>
<p>And now once more the boy had a perfect
aim. His finger was on the trigger. It was a
high-power rifle. The shot could not fail.</p>
<p>“Now!” he whispered to himself. “Now!”</p>
<p>But at that instant a strange thing happened.
Old Ginger, the leader, answered the creature’s
call. The answer was not hostile but friendly.</p>
<p>Joe’s rifle dropped with a soft plump into the
snow. The next instant he cupped his hands
and shouted.</p>
<p>“Pete! Pete, you old fool, come on in here.
You nearly got shot.”</p>
<p>It was indeed Pete, the huskie. He had returned
safely from his expedition of revenge for
a lost comrade.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</div>
<p>As he came trotting in, head up and ears
pricked forward, he marched straight up to Joe,
as a huskie will, and jamming his nose straight
against his leg, gave a big sniff. After that he
curled up with his comrades to lick his wounds.</p>
<p>Two hours later the camp in the forest was
once more in order. The meat had been piled
high upon a hastily made cache of strong
boughs, roped between trees. The dogs had
been bedded down with spruce boughs. All was
snug for the night.</p>
<p>They were preparing to turn in. To-morrow
would be a busy day. They would spend the
greater part of it in camp. The broken sled
must be mended. Joe’s dogs must be allowed to
recover from the first shock of the battle. Jennings
would repair the sled. Curlie and Joe
would go ahead breaking the trail on snowshoes
for a few miles. This would be the day’s
work; that and keeping a sharp lookout for the
outlaw of the air.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</div>
<p>“The outlaw of the air!” Curlie was thinking
of him when there came a rattle from the
loud-speaker attached to the receiving set tuned
for long wave lengths.</p>
<p>Leaping to the tuner, he touched its knob,
twisted it first this way, then that. He touched
a second and a third knob, then bent his ear for
the message.</p>
<p>“Another government affair,” he told himself.
Then, suddenly, as if bursting out from
the very room, came a loud, “Bar-r-r-r!”</p>
<p>Instantly his hands flew to the radio-compass
as he muttered.</p>
<p>“That’s him, the outlaw!”</p>
<p>He measured the distance accurately, calculated
the direction, then located it on the map.</p>
<p>“There!” he murmured. “He’s right there.
Not forty miles. A little off the trail. For
safety from discovery I suppose. Camped
there for the night. By a forced march we
could reach that spot before nightfall to-morrow.
Question is, shall we do it?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</div>
<p>Throwing on his coat, he went out of the
tent. There for ten minutes he bathed his
temples, throbbing with excitement, in the cold
night air. Pacing up and down on the narrow
trail he debated the problem.</p>
<p>“If we try to steal upon him, he may discover
us first and elude us,” he told himself.
“If he does that, probably we can’t catch him,
for his dogs will be fresher than ours. If we
wait for him here, he may take some Indian trail
which cuts around this point and we may never
see him. So there it is.”</p>
<p>It was a difficult decision but much quiet
thinking led him to believe that there was more
to be gained by waiting than by moving. They
ought not break trail beyond the point where
they now were. That would but give the man
warning. Early in the morning, he would send
Joe exploring across-trail for any other trail
that might pass close to this one. They would
move camp to a position a few yards off trail
in the forest. Then he would set a watch.</p>
<p>Instinctively, as he entered the tent, he examined
the clip of cartridges in his rifle.</p>
<p>“Not looking for him to-night, are you?”
grinned Joe.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</div>
<p>“No, not looking for him, but you never can
tell,” said Curlie soberly.</p>
<p>“Think it’s necessary to set a watch?”</p>
<p>“No. That dog that guards your sled, old
Major, is watch enough. He’ll let us know
if anyone comes down the trail, and even if
they should attempt to escape us they couldn’t
do it—not with two of our teams in prime
condition.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</div>
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