Lost in the Barrens (4 page)

 

CHAPTER 6

No Man's Land

T
HE DEER DID NOT COME THE NEXT
day, nor the day after. The boys put in long hours fishing but they caught nothing. They walked for miles over the plains, but they saw no more game. By the third day even Awasin was restless.

The two Chipeweyans went hunting during the afternoon and by suppertime had not yet returned to camp, so the boys ate alone. As the sun sank close to the horizon, Jamie drained his mug of tea, and spoke. “I'm going to
check the nets. Maybe there'll be some fish for breakfast.”

He strolled down to the canoe. With a quick movement he flipped it over and shoved it half into the water. Whistling casually, he put the paddles aboard and then, choosing a moment when Awasin wasn't looking, he hurriedly lifted two bundles that had been lying under the canoe, and stowed them aboard. Then with great nonchalance he picked up his rifle, climbed in and shoved the canoe out from the beach. He paddled a dozen feet, then let the canoe drift idly.

“I may be a while looking for the nets!” he shouted. “First I have to go and see about a stone house—down the river!”

Awasin dropped the tea-can, and came down the slope at a run. “Jamie!” he yelled. “Jamie, come back! You can't go down-river alone!”

Balancing the paddle on his knees, Jamie grinned. “I don't
want
to go alone,” he said.

Awasin knew that he was beaten, and secretly he was rather glad. His desire to explore down-river had been almost as great as Jamie's, though tempered with caution and the knowledge that he was responsible for both of them. Now the decision was taken out of his hands.

“All right!” he shouted. “I'll go!”

Jamie laughed as he paddled to the beach. “I'll bet you want to go as much as I do!”

“Perhaps,” Awasin said. He paused. “We must leave a message for the Chipeweyans.”

There was a little square of rough sand near where the canoes were kept, and here Awasin drew an arrow in the sand pointed north. Beyond it he placed a tiny pile of little stones that vaguely looked like a house. Under the arrow he drew the universal symbol for two days' time—two suns with rays radiating from them. Then he climbed into the canoe.

Of all the great rivers that flow through the arctic, the Kazon is among the mightiest. Under its rolling surface there is a deep and unseen power that defies the puny strength of men. Coming down it from Kazba Lake, the boys had felt no fear of the river, for they had been traveling with men who know how to respect its power. Now they were alone, and in the shrinking twilight the great river had an awesome majesty. The water was black and heavy and the thrust of the current seemed to pass right through the canoe into the boys' bodies, so that they felt almost as if they were riding upon the back of some gigantic prehistoric monster.

The boys had no way of knowing for certain how far they had come from camp, nor how fast. The low banks slid past like shapeless masses of dark clouds. After what seemed like hours of tense waiting for the mood of the river to change, Jamie spoke. His voice was little more than a whisper, as if he were afraid to speak out loud in that murmuring silence. “We must have gone miles by now,” he said softly. “How about making camp till morning?”

Awasin shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied.

The canoe drifted on and the darkness became heavier. Then Awasin's straining ears caught the faintest warning sound. Faintly, so faintly it was hardly real, he heard the sound again and this time he recognized the menace of its warning.

“Rapid!” he shouted, and his shoulders hunched as he dug his paddle into the water and drove the canoe furiously toward the dim shadows of the bank. Jamie responded at once with the short, savage strokes used only in emergency. Seconds later the bow grated on the shore rocks and Jamie leaped out, knee-deep in the cold current, and dragged the canoe to safety on the bank. Awasin joined him, and together they made their way up to the level plains above.

The brief arctic night was already ending. The eastern sky glowed angrily and the few stars paled and disappeared. As the boys walked downstream an arctic fox flitted shadowlike from the rocks at their feet. They paid no attention to it. Their minds were filled with the rising roar of the rapid ahead. Even in the semidarkness of early dawn they could clearly see the broad expanse of shimmering whiteness where the waters, torn to fury by the unseen rocks, boiled up with a sullen, angry roar.

“It looks—pretty bad,” Jamie said.

Awasin too was filled with uncertainty, but he would not show it. “Wait for the daylight,” he said, “then we'll see.”

They returned to the canoe for a brief nap, then waking, gathered a few handfuls of moss and willow twigs, and
brewed up tea. Sipping the hot brew they watched the world awake.

The edge of the sun tipped a distant ridge and light flowed over the darkened plains like a flood of yellow metal. The sky faded from blood-red, through yellow, to a vivid green. A single goose beat heavily out of the grass-colored sky and its sad cry echoed over the wakening world. Flights of old squaw ducks got up hurriedly from tundra pools and winged off to the big lakes. It was morning.

The boys got stiffly to their feet and returned to their lookout point. A high bluff thrust its blunt nose out into the seething current. The river narrowed here, and for half a mile ran down a steep and rocky stairway, with the uncontrolled violence of a stampeding herd of buffalo.

Carefully they studied the rapid. At the top the oily waters drew in as if about to plunge down a huge funnel, and at this point there was the beginning of a channel. A narrow strip of racing current, a broken ribbon of dark water, twisted and twined down through the foam-capped waves and whirling eddies.

“There's the channel!” Jamie shouted above the roar.

Awasin was already following it with his eyes, carefully planning the course, and weighing up the chances of success.

“We could portage around it, Jamie, but we've run worse than this before, and it would be a hard carry over the muskeg. Suppose we run it. See that big black boulder
halfway down? We'll have to double back against the current there, or else be carried over the next ledge.”

“Okay,” Jamie said. But despite himself, he shivered.

It was true they had run worse rapids before, but in the forest country, where a wrecked canoe probably meant nothing worse than a day's walk to the nearest Indian settlement. Here it was different. One miscalculation or one second's carelessness and they would be afoot (if they weren't drowned) on the unfamiliar Barrens, a hundred miles north of the forests. There could be
no
mistakes on the Kazon.

As they pushed off from shore Jamie felt a rising tension that almost made him sick. A moment later the bow of the canoe swung into the funnel's mouth. The unseen hand of the river grasped the canoe as a cat grasps a mouse. The banks began to fly past at fearful speed and the canoe dipped abruptly forward into the chaos of rock and water.

Kneeling with his legs braced against the canoe thwart, Jamie forgot everything except the wild thrill of the moment. It was like galloping bareback over a rocky slope. Dimly he heard Awasin's hoarse shout—“Here's the turn
—watch out!
” Jamie threw himself on his paddle and desperately tried to swing the bow of the canoe. A flying spume of spray engulfed the canoe so that he could see nothing of the fatal ledge ahead. Blindly he paddled, until it seemed his back would break. A rock rose suddenly out of the foam and touched the side of the canoe as lightly as a falling leaf touches the ground. The canoe
slithered sideways. Instantly Jamie drove his paddle between the rock and the canoe, and pulled back on the handle. The blade snapped off, soundlessly, and he almost fell overboard. As he struggled to regain his balance the fury of the river stopped abruptly, and the canoe floated gently in an untroubled backwater below the mighty rapid.

Still shaking with excitement, Jamie turned to look at Awasin. The Indian boy was laughing. He pointed to the broken paddle still clutched in Jamie's hand and shouted: “Were you trying to break the rock in half?”

Jamie grinned as he leaned back to pull the spare paddle out of the gear in the bottom of the canoe. “We made it just the same,” he said. “Not even Denikazi could have done it better!”

Adroitly Awasin scooped up a paddle full of water and flicked it into Jamie's face. “Breaker-of-Rocks,” he taunted. “That is your name from now on!”

The sun stood high by then and the morning was bright and clear. Leisurely the boys paddled down the river until they reached a broad stretch where the current sank away and disappeared. As they entered this “almost-lake” a flock of male fish ducks started up in panic and went skittering away across the water. The fish ducks could not fly, for this was the time of the midsummer molt and they had lost their flight feathers. Flapping their wings furiously, they pattered over the surface like little hydroplanes.

Jamie and Awasin were hungry and instantly took up
the pursuit. The birds stretched their long necks forward in terror, and redoubled their efforts to escape until they were actually running on the surface of the water.

When the canoe was almost upon the flock, every duck vanished as if at a given signal. Little ripples marked the dozen spots where the fish ducks had dived.

Quickly the boys headed back upstream, for they knew that fish ducks always prefer to swim against the current. They paddled hard. A minute passed, then ducks' heads began popping up like so many little periscopes. One was barely a yard from the canoe, and the duck was so surprised it dived at once without drawing breath.

Jamie caught a glimpse of its sleek, fishlike shape as the broad, webbed feet propelled the bird underwater like a small torpedo. He pointed with his paddle. Awasin swung the canoe in pursuit again, and when the duck surfaced a second time the canoe was almost on top of it.

The game—a grim one for the duck—went on for five more minutes until the bird became exhausted from lack of air. It lingered, gasping, on the surface a fraction of a second too long, and Jamie brought the blade of his paddle down expertly. A moment later he had pulled the dead duck out of the river.

“Good hunting,” Awasin said. “Now for our breakfast.”

Jamie was already busy plucking the bird as Awasin paddled the canoe to shore.

 

CHAPTER 7

The Rapid!

T
HEY LANDED ON A STONY POINT
near a valley that cradled a sparse growth of dwarf willow scrub. Jamie soon had a fire going, and while he prepared the duck for cooking, Awasin walked inland to a low ridge from which he could get a look at the country ahead.

Off to the northeast he could see the looming bulk of the mountain they had seen from the Killing Place. Idthen-seth—Deer Mountain. Awasin wondered if Denikazi was already hunting caribou under its distant slopes.

Awasin looked intently to the north along the line of the river, and he saw where it seemed to vanish in a maze of channels and little barren islands. There was no sign of human life. No smoke, no Eskimo kayaks. Feeling more at ease, Awasin made his way back to where Jamie had almost finished cooking breakfast.

After plucking and gutting the duck, Jamie had split it in half and spread-eagled the carcass on two sticks. Then he had thrust a third stick up through the duck crosswise, and planted the other end in the gravel so that the bird was held at a slant over the fire. The oil from the fat duck spluttered into the embers and sent up white flames and black smoke. The smell of roasting meat made Awasin's mouth water as he came close.

“Hurry up!” Jamie called to him. “It will be burned black if we don't eat soon.”

“I wouldn't doubt it—with you cooking!” teased his friend. But all the same Awasin sank his teeth into his half of the duck with pleasure.

A flock of herring gulls came winging downstream, caught the smell of food, and wheeled overhead. Crying harshly, they settled into the water a stone's throw from the boys, and here they jostled each other furiously and shrieked out insults. Jamie flung them a duck bone and at once a battle began among the hungry gulls.

Awasin paid the gulls no attention. He was staring fixedly into the pale blue dome of the sky. Suddenly he jumped to his feet and pointed upward. “Look!” he shouted.

Startled, Jamie looked up into the hard brilliance of the sky, but he could see nothing except a distant wraith of clouds. “What is it?” he asked.

“Ravens!” Awasin answered. “The brothers of the deer. Look, Jamie, there must be dozens of them!”

Jamie at last picked out the tiny black dots, like specks of soot. The birds were so high up and so far away that they kept vanishing from sight.

“I see them,” Jamie said. “But why get so excited about a few ravens?”

Awasin looked at him. “The ravens only fly in flocks like that when the deer are moving,” he said. “A big flock of ravens leads every herd. That is why the Chipeweyans call them the deer's brothers. Probably the herds aren't more than twenty miles away right now.”

It was Jamie's turn to grow excited. “Come on then,” he shouted. “We'll meet them down the river!”

Jamie hurried to load the canoe and Awasin followed slowly. He stood on the shore for a moment, looking undecided and worried. “Listen, Jamie,” he said, “don't you think it would be better if we headed back to the Killing Place? The deer will go by there soon and we could help Etzanni and Telie-kwazie make a hunt.”

“No,” Jamie answered stubbornly. “I'm going to see the deer,
and
the Stone House too!”

Awasin was deeply disturbed, but not for anything would he have admitted to Jamie that he was also a little frightened. Somewhere to the north, he knew, Eskimo eyes were probably watching that same flight of ravens
and preparing for the hunt. It was obviously foolhardy to continue down the Kazon. Yet he could not bring himself to put his fears into words. Reluctantly he took his place in the stern of the canoe.

The little lake was soon crossed, and then a few miles of swift and violent river brought them to the maze of islets and channels Awasin had seen from the breakfast camp. There was little current here and the boys threaded their way among bare, rounded islands.

At length they emerged into another fairly narrow lake whose northern end was out of sight. Awasin anxiously scanned the shores ahead, seeking signs that other men—Eskimos—had passed this way. But all was still.

The day had swelled into a brilliant, cloudless morning with a cool south wind blowing over the plains. To the west, the shape of Deer Mountain loomed larger and closer, so that it did not seem more than ten or fifteen miles away. Jamie noticed this and commented: “If Denikazi had come down the Kazon he could have got to Deer Mountain in half the time.”

Awasin let this remark pass. He knew that Denikazi had been wise. The boys were now deep into Eskimo country while Denikazi was safely to the west. “We are foolish to take the chance,” Awasin thought. And in that moment he made up his mind that no matter what Jamie thought of him, he would see to it that they went no farther than the end of the lake on which they found themselves.

“If we don't find that Stone House by afternoon, we
turn back!” he said aloud. “We have come downstream fast enough, but going back will be another story. We'll be lucky if we
get
back in less than two days.”

Jamie recognized the note of decision in Awasin's voice. He sighed and said, “I guess you're right. If we don't find the place by suppertime, we'll call it quits.”

And then it seemed as if the Barrens themselves decided to play on Jamie's side. The south wind began to grow stronger and before long was strong enough to fill a sail. Jamie strung up a blanket on a paddle and the canoe fairly scudded down the lake. Even Awasin forgot his doubts in the exhilaration of flying before the rising wind.

Within an hour the boys could see the end where the lake narrowed sharply and once again became a river. Neither boy suggested taking down the sail. In fact the lake faded almost imperceptibly into the river and the current began so slowly and easily that the boys hardly noticed it. Filled with the enjoyment of the sail, they held their course around a projecting point of land.

As Awasin sent the canoe leaping around the point, Jamie, in the bow, gave a sudden cry of warning.

A scant hundred yards ahead, and stretching from bank to bank, was a wild cataract. The waters leaped downhill with vicious fury, curling and boiling over hundreds of sharp granite ledges that thrust up through the foam like the blades of knives. There was no channel anywhere to be seen in that chaos of rock and water. The whole world ahead was a roaring nightmare of destruction!

Sucked into the hungry current, the canoe was at the
edge of the abyss almost before the boys could catch their breath.

“The sail!” Awasin screamed.

Through the roar of water Jamie could not hear, but acting instinctively he was already struggling with the blanket. In his frenzy he lost his balance; the paddle-mast tipped overboard dragging the blanket with it. The waterlogged blanket acted as an anchor and instantly began to swing the bow of the canoe around so that the boys were going down the rapid broadside on. Awasin frantically drove his paddle into the rocks in an effort to hold the stern until the bow could swing downstream again, but he could get no grip. The canoe swung more and more until it was completely broadside to the current and rushing furiously down upon the first granite ledge.

Jamie felt a sudden jarring blow and the next instant he was flung into the cataract. His head struck an exposed rock, and he knew nothing more for a long time.

Awasin was luckier. As the canoe crunched against the rocks like a matchbox under a hammer, Awasin managed to jump clear. He struggled for his very life against the suction of the undertow, and a few moments later he was flung over a ledge and down into an eddy where he bobbed about until he could regain his breath. Then the whirlpool carried him shoreward, flung him into a side current, and left him sprawling in the shallows of a backwater beside the bank. He was badly bruised and bleeding from a dozen deep rock cuts. But he was alive and conscious.

His first thought was for Jamie. Getting to his knees, he turned toward the thundering river and spotted Jamie floating face up in the backwater. Forcing his shaking legs to carry him, Awasin waded out, grasped Jamie by the hair and hauled him part way up the beach.

Driven by an instinct for self-preservation that not even the stunning suddenness of the accident could dull, Awasin turned back to where the shattered hulk of the canoe hung poised upon a fang of rock on the outer edge of the whirlpool. At any instant it might slip free and vanish into the rapids below. In it lay the only hope of life for them, and Awasin knew it. Waves of pain and nausea swept over him, but doggedly he once more waded into the water.

The current sucked at his trembling legs. He lost his balance as he reached for the canoe. One hand clutched the broken gunwale of the vessel, and he dragged himself up to it. From then on it was a struggle of sheer will power against the brute power of the river. In a daze he fought, inch by inch, toward the shore while the waterlogged canoe tugged and hauled away from him. Several times he lost his foothold and both he and the canoe swung back toward the fatal journey. Each time he managed to arrest the progress in the nick of time. At last he felt the canoe grate against the shore. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He stumbled forward on his knees—and fainted dead away.