<h2 id="c27"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXVII</span> <br/>DIAMONDS AND OTHER THINGS</h2>
<p>Joe Marion found that five members of the
exploring party had had their feet so badly
frozen that they were unable to walk. To carry
these over the piled and tumbled ice to the spot
where the sleds had been cached was no mean
task. At the same time there was every possible
need for speed. An unfavorable wind at this
time would mean certain death to all of them.</p>
<p>They started out bravely and toiled on for
many hours, without food. When they did
pause, there was only one kind of food left to
them—polar bear meat.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</div>
<p>“About the worst kind of meat there is in
the world,” sighed the great explorer as he tried
to roast a bit of it over a blubber fire. “The
only way you can get any real satisfaction out
of it is to chew a piece of it till your jaws are
tired, then swallow it part way down. When
your jaws are rested, cough it up and start
chewing all over again. When you have repeated
this about four times it may go all the
way down and stay down.”</p>
<p>They all laughed at this plan of procedure,
but found on trying the meat that it was indeed
the toughest proposition they had ever tackled.</p>
<p>“Like a bit off the neck of an old bull,” was
Jennings’ comment.</p>
<p>When they had rested for a time they again
turned their faces shoreward to resume their
march against death.</p>
<p>In the meantime, on shore Curlie had made
his way back to the reindeer herd. A careful
study of the deer convinced him that certain of
them were sled deer.</p>
<p>“Got their antlers half cut off; just stubs
left,” he told himself. “Stands to reason that
the Eskimo cut them off so they’d travel lighter
in harness.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</div>
<p>Making a packing rope into a lasso, he succeeded
in catching one of these deer by the stubs
of his antlers. The marks of a harness told him
he was right about these sled deer.</p>
<p>“I’ll just catch three of them and tie them to
old Whitie. Then I’ll lead all four out to meet
Joe and the explorers. They’ll be glad enough
to have some fresh reindeer meat. We’ll make
these three into venison, but not old Whitie!
Never! He’s been my pal through too many
narrow escapes. He’s going to live to tell the
story.”</p>
<p>Some ten hours later, as the exploring party,
weakened by lack of proper food, struggled forward
over the tumbled ice, they were surprised
to see the stubby antlers of a white sled deer
appear around an ice pile.</p>
<p>“Reindeer!” someone shouted.</p>
<p>“Reindeer and Curlie Carson!” exclaimed
Joe, fairly overcome with joy at meeting his old
pal after so long a lapse of time.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</div>
<p>Three hours later, having struggled forward
to the safe and solid shore-ice, the whole party
sat down to a real feast of reindeer steak, while
a little distance away, chained to their sled,
Major, the old guard, sent out short woof-woofs
in the direction of old Whitie, and Pete, the
huskie, who was nine-tenths wolf, sawed at his
chain and ki-yied his desire to leap at the
reindeer’s throat.</p>
<p>When they had finished, and had made such
shift as they could for a night’s rest before
making the remaining twenty-five miles to the
food depot on Flaxman Island, Joe and Curlie
sat long upon an overturned sled talking.</p>
<p>“So you think it was the smuggler chief?”
said Joe as Curlie finished telling of his adventure
at the food depot.</p>
<p>“Must have been. Look at the diamonds.”</p>
<p>“Think we can get them?”</p>
<p>“Believe so.”</p>
<p>“But, say, how about the Whisperer?”</p>
<p>“Didn’t see a sign of any such person. Guess
she was just a hoax—never existed at all.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure about that. I think she must
be a real person.”</p>
<p>“Well, when we get back there on Flaxman
Island we’ll look around.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</div>
<p>They arrived at the food depot next day. As
soon as the exploring party had been made comfortable,
Joe and Curlie set out to solve two
problems, the problem of the Whisperer and that
of saving the rubies and diamonds.</p>
<p>The question of the Whisperer was soon
settled, or at least they believed it was, for,
leading away from the island, they found a
three days’ old sled track. The sled had been
drawn by eight powerful dogs. There were no
human footprints beside the sled track.</p>
<p>“Saw what happened to the outlaw and
skipped,” was Joe’s comment.</p>
<p>“Yes, and if I had had time to look about
I might have stopped her,” Curlie lamented.</p>
<p>“Would you have wanted to do that?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“She seems to be a pretty good sort; never
did us anything but good. Though how she
came to be traveling with that rascal is more
than I can guess.”</p>
<p>“Well, she’s gone. How about our diamonds?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</div>
<p>Curlie led the way to the spot of the tragedy.
There had been no snow. The spot was not
hard to find. As Curlie had expected, the ice
had frozen to a depth of six or eight inches.</p>
<p>“But where are the diamonds?” he exclaimed
as he failed to catch any gleam from them.</p>
<p>A thorough search revealed not a single stone.</p>
<p>“Perhaps the Whisperer came back and got
them,” suggested Joe.</p>
<p>“Couldn’t. The ice was too thin then.”</p>
<p>Suddenly Joe bent over to examine a hole the
size of a lead pencil in the ice. Bending over he
chipped away at the ice for a second, then,
straightening up, gave out a wild shout.</p>
<p>“Whoopee!”</p>
<p>He held in his hand a splendid solitaire.</p>
<p>“Melted its way into the ice,” he explained.</p>
<p>A careful search revealed other such holes.
After two hours the boys had succeeded in
securing twenty-eight stones.</p>
<p>When they felt they had rescued the last one,
they turned toward camp.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</div>
<p>“We’re rich,” laughed Joe. “Twenty thousand
dollars worth of cut stones and fifty thousand
worth of reindeer.”</p>
<p>“Rich for a day,” Curlie laughed back. “The
stones we must turn in to the customs department
and the reindeer herd must be restored to
its rightful owners. I must get McGregor, the
deputy, on the air at once and find out about
that.”</p>
<p>Three weeks later the two boys were once
more on the Valdez Glacier, just one day’s journey
from the port where they might catch a
boat for Seattle and the great “Outside.” Their
adventures on the Yukon Trail were about at
an end.</p>
<p>One question remained unsolved: Who was
the Whisperer and where was she? It had been
established as a fact that the outlaw was the
leader of the band of smugglers. Since he had
been deprived of his illegal gains by the loyal
action of Munson, the explorer, in breaking up
his band, he had planned a cruel revenge—that
of destroying his supply station and leaving him
with his faithful companions to starve.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</div>
<p>Curlie’s prompt action had averted the catastrophe,
but where was the driver of that powerful
dog team that had left the supply cabin, and
where now could she be?</p>
<p>Curlie was seated in the tent, nodding over
his radiophone instruments and thinking of this
problem and many other things. He remembered
the gratitude of the Eskimo upon the
return of the stolen reindeer herd, thought too
of the frank praise of the explorer, Munson,
when he had parted with him on the trail to
Dawson. The jewels had gone with Munson to
Dawson. So all matters were cleared up and
Curlie was ready for some new undertaking.</p>
<p>In the corner of the tent Joe Marion was
having a last romp with his “faithful four,”
Ginger, Pete, Major and Bones. To-morrow he
would return them to the owner from whom
they had been hired in Valdez.</p>
<p>“Do you know,” he said, a suspicious huskiness
creeping into his voice, “I once heard an
old sourdough musher say that of all the things
he had in the Arctic, he hated most to part with
his dogs. I laughed at him then, but now I
know it’s true.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</div>
<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Curlie. “It’s queer,
but you—”</p>
<p>He broke off suddenly. His nose began wiggling
like that of a rabbit eating clover. He
was getting something from the air. That something
was a whisper, the whisper of the Whisperer.
It said:</p>
<p>“Hello - Curlie - are - you - there? You -
didn’t - see - me - there - up - at - the - top - of -
the - world - on the shore - of - the Arctic - did
you? I thought - you - had - better - not.</p>
<p>“But - Curlie - they - want - you - on the -
trail - that - leads - over - the - Great - American -
Desert. Big - things - Curlie - I heard -
them - calling - you. You may - see - me -
there - for - that - is - my - home - and I - am -
going - back.”</p>
<p>The whisper ended. Curlie sat staring into
space, thinking: “Is the Whisperer a real person
or only a ghostly spirit of the air?”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</div>
<p>Almost as if in answer to the question came
a call from the station at Valdez, a relayed
message telling him to report for duty on the
American Desert at once.</p>
<p>“Whew!” he breathed as he mopped his
brow, “I may solve that mystery yet.”</p>
<p>How he struggled toward its solution and how
he continued to be of service to his country and
his fellow men by the aid of his radiophone and
his wonderful ears, will be told in the next book,
entitled: “The Desert Patrol.”</p>
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