<h2 id="c18"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVIII</span> <br/>A MYSTERIOUS ATTACK</h2>
<p>After a moment of indecision the man driving
the team of powerful dogs, who, as you remember,
was standing looking down at the two
columns of vapor which marked the spot where
Curlie Carson slept, spoke to his dog team. He
had been debating the advisability of descending
the hill and entering that clump of willows.
What he now said to his dogs was:</p>
<p>“You mush!”</p>
<p>The dogs leaped forward and, since he had
given them no order as to direction, they raced
away straight along the ridge and not down to
the willows.</p>
<p>A hundred yards farther on he dug his
heels in the snow as he clung to the handle of
the sled and shouted: “Whoa!”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</div>
<p>Again he appeared to debate the question.
This time he was more prompt in his decision.</p>
<p>Again the team followed the ridge, while away
in the willow clump, all unarmed and defenseless,
Curlie Carson slept and his newly acquired
reindeer munched on at the dead willow leaves.
The deer was sleek and fat. He would have
made prime feed for the traveler’s dogs as well
as for him and his companion. And as for
Curlie; well, perhaps the man might have rejoiced
at meeting him alone and unarmed. Of
that we shall learn more later.</p>
<p>Curlie slept longer than he had intended doing.
His weary brain and tired body yearned
for rest and once this was offered to them they
partook of it in a prodigal manner.</p>
<p>At last he awoke, to poke his head out of the
sleeping-bag and to stare up at the stars.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</div>
<p>“Where am I?” he asked himself. “Ah, yes,
now I remember; in a clump of willows. I
have a mysterious reindeer but no rifle. I have
some frozen fish. This clump of willows, where
is it? Where is our camp? Joe Marion, Jennings,
where are they? Who can tell?” He
sat up and scratched his head.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m here. That much is good.” He
caught the sound of the reindeer stamping the
ground. “So’s the reindeer here. That is better.
Only hope I learn to drive him.”</p>
<p>He did learn to drive the reindeer and that
quite speedily. He found that a long rope of
rawhide was fastened to the deer’s halter. This
was long enough to run back to the sled. It
was, he concluded, used as a jerk-line, such as
was once employed by drivers of oxen.</p>
<p>The harness he found to be of very simple
construction. Two wooden affairs fitting closely
to the shoulders and tied together at top and
bottom with stout rawhide thongs, served as
both collar and harness. From the bottom of
these ran a broad strap which connected directly
with the sled. This strap was held up from the
ground by a second broad strap which encircled
the animal’s body directly behind its forelegs.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</div>
<p>“Now,” he told the reindeer, “we’re going
to try it over again. We got a bad start last
time. Fact is, you were away before the
starter’s whistle blew.</p>
<p>“You see,” he said, straightening out the
jerk strap, “I’m going to hold on to this. If
you get excited and speed up a little too much I’ll
pull your head over on one side and make you
go in a circle. That’ll slow you up. Then I’ll
pile off the sled and dig in my heels. That
should stand you on your head. You don’t
weigh much; not over three or four hundred.
When I’ve put you on your head a few times I
shouldn’t be surprised if you’d turn into a
very good, obedient little reindeer.”</p>
<p>It took but three try-outs to convince the
reindeer that Curlie was not an ill-meaning sort
of fellow but that he was one who meant to
have his own way. Then, like all other creatures
who have been trained, he settled down to business
and carried his newly acquired master
wherever he wanted to go; that is, he did up to
a certain moment. After that moment things
changed and Curlie was carried straight into
trouble.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</div>
<p>When he left the clump of willows Curlie
drove his reindeer up the slope to the crest
of the ridge. He did this that he might get a
better view of the surrounding country, to determine
if possible the direction in which their
former camp lay.</p>
<p>Imagine his surprise on coming to a patch
of soft, freshly blown snow at the crest of the
ridge, to find the tracks of dogs and sleds.</p>
<p>“Fresh tracks!” he whispered breathlessly,
“not ten hours old.”</p>
<p>He bent over to study these tracks. For a
moment, he examined each imprint of a dog’s
foot in the snow, each trace of sled runner and
every footprint of the driver, then with a
sudden bound he stood up again.</p>
<p>“It is!” he exclaimed. “It is the outlaw!
Passed while I slept. Why must a fellow be
everlastingly sleeping his life away?</p>
<p>“But then,” he thought after a moment’s deliberation,
“perhaps it was just as well. What
could I have done without help and without
weapons of any kind?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</div>
<p>Seating himself on his sled while his reindeer
pawed deep into the snow in his search for reindeer
moss, he thought things through.</p>
<p>“Joe Marion and Jennings,” he told himself,
“will sooner or later give up their search for
me and will get back on the outlaw’s trail. They
realize the importance of capturing him. They
are brave fellows. They will not hesitate to
undertake it without me. The surest way to
get in with them again is to stay on this trail.
Only question is, shall I turn back to meet them,
shall I camp right here, or shall I follow up the
outlaw at once?”</p>
<p>After some deliberation he concluded that
going back over the trail would be risky; he
might miss his companions. They might get
back on the outlaw’s trail after he had passed
the spot on which they entered the trail. Remaining
inactive did not suit him; he was not
that kind of a boy.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</div>
<p>“I’ll follow the outlaw,” he told himself. “I
believe I’ve got a speedier outfit than he has.
White men seldom drive reindeer, so the outlaw
won’t suspect me even though he sees me
at a distance. I can shadow him and, even unarmed
as I am, may be able to prevent a disaster.”</p>
<p>Having come to this conclusion he led his
reindeer to the crest of the ridge, faced him
north, leaped upon the sled, slapped him on the
hip with the jerk rein and was away.</p>
<p>For ten miles to the crack-crack of the reindeer’s
hoofs, he shot away over the snow. As
the keen air cut his cheek, as the low, flat sled
bobbed and bumped beneath him, Curlie thought
he had never known another such mode of
travel. Surely a reindeer, when well broken,
was the ideal steed of the Arctic.</p>
<p>“And the beauty of it is,” he told himself,
“you don’t have to go hunting out feed for
him when the day is done. He finds it for himself
under the snow. You—</p>
<p>“Hey, there!” he exclaimed suddenly.
“What you doing?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</div>
<p>The reindeer had suddenly paused in his
flight to sniff the air. The next instant he had
gone plunging down the snow-covered ridge.</p>
<p>This was no time to think of stopping or
turning him. Should either be accomplished,
Curlie and his sled would have gone spinning in
a circle, at last to go rolling over and over in
the snow, in which event Curlie would beyond
doubt find himself at the foot of the ridge, very
much bruised and minus both sled and reindeer.</p>
<p>The most he could do was to hold back the
sled with his foot to prevent its overtaking his
mad steed, and to allow the deer to continue in
his wild race.</p>
<p>The ridge here was long and steep. A half
mile away it ended in a forest of scrub spruce
trees which beyond doubt lined the bank of a
stream.</p>
<p>But what was this he saw as they neared the
dwarf forest?</p>
<p>“A herd of reindeer!” he murmured in
astonishment. “Five hundred or a thousand
of them. Old Whitie, my friend here, smelled
them and yearned for company. So he—”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</div>
<p>What was that? From the edge of the
forest there leaped a tongue of fire, a rifle
cracked, a bullet sang over his head, then another
and another.</p>
<p>“Say! Do they think I’m a reindeer rustler?”
he groaned. “Want to kill me?”</p>
<p>Instantly he dropped from the sled to hide
behind a snow bank.</p>
<p>“Not much use,” he told himself, “but it’ll
give a fellow time to think? Maybe those fellows
are rustlers themselves and they think I’m
an officer or something.” His blood ran cold
at the thought.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</div>
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