<h2 id="c15"><span class="small">CHAPTER XV</span> <br/>CURLIE VANISHES</h2>
<p>As soon as morning broke, Joe and Jennings
were out of the tent and away to make a search
for their lost comrade.</p>
<p>With Joe’s team of four dogs and an empty
sled they struck away up the hill in the direction
of their old camp. They found the tattered
handkerchief still fluttering in the breeze and
Joe’s note safe beside it.</p>
<p>“Not been here,” said Joe. “Better drive
out there in the direction he took when he went
after that caribou.”</p>
<p>Taking his team to the right of the old camp
site he led them backward and forward until
Ginger, the leader, suddenly pricked up his ears
and whined.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</div>
<p>“He’s got the scent,” said Joe. “He’s on
the trail. He’s a hound. Hounds are great for
that. All we got to do is to follow. Ginger will
find him.”</p>
<p>Away they raced after the dogs. Ginger did
not hesitate for a moment until he led them
straight to the pile of snow on which Curlie
had cached his caribou meat, the part he could
not carry away.</p>
<p>“Shows he got his game,” said Joe, looking
with a feeling of pure joy at the pile of fresh
meat.</p>
<p>As for the dogs, they stood on their haunches
and howled with delight. Hacking off some
small pieces Jennings threw one to each dog.
These they swallowed at a gulp. He next piled
the meat on the sled and lashed it there securely.</p>
<p>“Might as well take it along,” he explained.</p>
<p>Once more Joe took the dogs in a circle that
they might pick up the trail. They found it
at once and went racing away. But at the
crest of the second hill they paused and refused
to go farther.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</div>
<p>Urge them as he might, lead them back and
forth as he did, Joe could not get them to pick
up the trail and go on.</p>
<p>The truth was that the trail did not go on.
They had come to the spot where, after following
the second caribou, Curlie had turned
back. All tracks were snow blown but the
scent was still there.</p>
<p>“Lost the trail,” said Jennings after a half
hour of fruitless endeavor.</p>
<p>“Guess so,” said Joe, wrinkling his brow.
“Guess the only thing we can do is to look
around over the hills.”</p>
<p>They did “look around over the hills.” They
searched until darkness began to fall, but discovered
no trace of their missing comrade.</p>
<p>“Might as well go back to camp,” suggested
Jennings. “He may have found his way back.
He—he’s sure to turn up.”</p>
<p>There was a tone in his voice which suggested
that Curlie might not turn up.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</div>
<p>Hungry and weary, they were making their
way back to camp when, on reaching the end of
the willow clump farthest from camp old Ginger
suddenly pricked up his ears and springing
into the bushes attempted to drag his teammates
after him.</p>
<p>“Hey there, you Ginger!” shouted Joe.
“What you doin’ there. Got a rabbit er something?”</p>
<p>“Might be a trail,” said Jennings excitedly.
“Cut him out of the team; hang on to his
trace, follow him and see where he takes you.”</p>
<p>To Joe’s great astonishment the dog led him
straight to a willow bush camp and the ashes
of a burned-out fire.</p>
<p>“A camp!” he exclaimed. Then he shouted:</p>
<p>“Oh, Jennings! Tie up the other dogs and
come in here.</p>
<p>“Do you think it could have been Curlie
that made this camp?” he asked after the miner
had looked it over.</p>
<p>“Might have. There’s nothing to prove he
did or didn’t. Snow’s too hard to leave footprints
and there’s no other sign.”</p>
<p>“Seems queer, doesn’t it? Not a hundred
rods from our camp.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</div>
<p>“Question is,” said Jennings, “whoever he
may be, where has he gone? If he’s a stranger
he may have looted our tent by now.”</p>
<p>“That’s right,” said Joe, greatly disturbed.</p>
<p>“Let’s get out on the edge of the bushes and
see if Ginger doesn’t pick up his trail.”</p>
<p>The old leader did pick up a trail at once.
The trail led away from their camp. They were
tired and hungry, but for all that, so eager were
they to find some trace of Curlie and to solve
this new mystery that they cached the meat in
the tops of some stout willows and supperless
turned their faces to the trail.</p>
<p>It was growing dark but since there was nothing
to be done save to follow the dog leader,
they marched on over hill and valley in silence.</p>
<p>At last they found they were approaching a
second clump of willows. Involuntarily Joe
reached for his rifle.</p>
<p>“May be camped there,” he whispered.
“May be all right; may not. In a wilderness
like this you never can tell.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</div>
<p>They approached the clump of bushes in
silence. It was a small clump, soon searched.
It was empty. They were about to leave it in
disgust when Joe suddenly exclaimed:</p>
<p>“Look here at this!”</p>
<p>He pointed at some bushes from which the
leaves had been completely stripped.</p>
<p>“Reindeer or caribou,” whispered the miner
as if afraid of being overheard. Snapping on
his flashlight, Joe examined the bushes and the
ground.</p>
<p>“Believe you’re right. There are his tracks.
He’s trampled the ground in a circle and eaten
all the leaves in a circle too. How do you account
for that?”</p>
<p>“Reindeer tied to the bushes.”</p>
<p>“Reindeer of the man we have been following,”
said Joe thoughtfully.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</div>
<p>The conclusion was so obvious that neither
of them troubled to voice it. Curlie Carson had
no reindeer, therefore it was evident that it
had not been he whom they had been following
on this new scent. Some man, who it was they
could not even guess, had come to their willow
clump and had camped there all night. Before
coming he had tied his reindeer to this other
clump and had left him there. In the morning
he had returned to the reindeer and, having
untied him, had driven away. At least this was
the way Joe reasoned it out in his own mind.
It was probable that Jennings’ conclusion was
not far from the same.</p>
<p>“It is probable,” Joe went on to assure himself,
“that this fellow is some Eskimo herder,
who having left his reindeer to search for other
reindeer or for rabbit and ptarmigan, has been
caught in the storm and been obliged to camp
in our willow clump for the night.”</p>
<p>All this fine reasoning was, as reasoning very
often is, entirely wrong. But since neither Joe
nor Jennings knew it to be wrong, they turned
their reluctant dogs toward camp and wearily
made their way back.</p>
<p>Joe was thoroughly downhearted. Curlie, he
felt sure, had been frozen to death. There was
nothing left but to go on without him, but without
his genius to aid them it seemed probable
that the expedition would end in utter failure.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</div>
<p>The message he had caught the night before
had been that of the Whisperer; the one which
had so fortunately wakened Curlie from what
might have been a fatal sleep.</p>
<p>“And the Whisperer was less than forty
miles away,” Joe now told himself. “If Curlie
had got back to camp we might by now have
had our man in handcuffs. As it is, he has
made another day’s travel and the race is still
young. But,” he thought, with a feeling of determination,
“with Curlie, we’d catch him yet.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</div>
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