CHAPTER XVII

ABE

"Come on, Ike," said Alex. "Let's go back to the boat. There won't be anything worth seeing and I'm getting sick of this smelly place. Better fun to go down and fish with Clay.

"All right," agreed Ike, willingly. "I got the only good fur in camp, so I guess we don't need to stay. Understand me, though, that Shaman is a thief and a robber. We got a bargain all fixed up once and then he backed out and wants one more plug of tobacco. My, but he is a rascal."

"You poor fellow," said Alex in mock pity. "I don't believe you made over 1000 per cent on that deal."

Ike grinned joyously. "There is some little profit," he admitted. "Enough to help pay the expenses. I wish we could find more Shamans with pretty fox skins."

"He has got something prettier than a fur skin," exclaimed Alex, as they paused by the Shaman's igloo. "Say, did you ever see anything like that team of dogs?"

Inexperienced as they were with the toilers of the North, the two lads recognized that these dogs were no common breed of huskies like those they had seen at Nome. They were bigger and lacked much of the wolf-like features of the usual husky, nor was there the usual husky's bearing of white fangs at their approach. They were lean and gaunt, as scantily-fed Indian dogs always are, but there was strength and endurance written on their broad chest and lithe muscles. Even their coats of thick, black, glossy hair did not resemble a husky's in the least. They were stretched out in a line basking in the sun. One, apparently the leader, for he was by far the biggest and most powerful of the lot, attracted Alex strangely. The large, noble head and big eloquent eyes seemed strongly familiar to the boy. He approached the magnificent animal cautiously and held out his hand warily, ready to snatch it back if he was greeted by the silent snap of the wolf-bred dog. Instead, he was met by a wag of the bushy tail and the dog reached out and smelt of the extended hand. A second smell, and Alex felt the soft, warm caress of a licking tongue. The boy stooped and patted the dog's head and the dog responded with a short, joyous bark and lifted up his eyes, eloquent with love and reverence. Alex was now examining him closely. "Ike," he cried. "He's Newfoundland, clear bred Newfoundland."

"Well," said Ike, indifferently. "What of that? He's just a dog, ain't he?"

"But just think of it," Alex cried, angered by his friend's lack of interest. "A dog from God's country up in these desolate wastes." A recollection of a dog of whom he had read, in "The Call of the Wild," swept into his memory. "Buck," he called softly, "Buck." The animal with one magnificent leap covered the space between them, while the rest of the pack crowded around him, wagging their tails and looking at him with curious eyes.

The Shaman seeing his interest in the dogs, approached him to be greeted by a volley of questions by Alex.

"Yes," he admitted. "They were his dogs." "Would he sell? Perhaps, but the price must be large for they were the best dogs on the Yukon. Yes. they were the best dogs in all Alaska. They could go faster and further than any other dogs in the country. Yes, he knew where they came from but the big one, the leader, was no doubt a gift of the good spirits sent to him, the Shaman, for his great goodness and virtue. He, the big dog, had come into their camp one stormy night in the blackness of winter and had made it his home. He, the Shaman, had with his own hands, harnessed him with the other sled dogs, but, at first, there had been trouble. The new dog was a born leader. One by one he had fought and whipped the other huskies for he had ways of fighting new to the North and he always won. Lastly, he had whipped the leader and become by the law of the North, the leader himself. Later he had mated with a huge husky and there had been five puppies. The strange dog had trained them himself in the ways and laws of the trail. No, they were not bad dogs. Never did they snarl or fight amongst themselves like the huskies. But one thing one must never do. He must never lift a stick to the big dog. One man had done so and like a flash the big dog's teeth had met in his throat.

Buck's eyes, now mistily wistful, met Alex's. "Good Lord, Buck, you can almost talk," Alex said reverently. "I understand what you are trying to say. You got sick of running with the wolves, their ways were not your ways. So you sought out your own kind again. They are not like the white gods you used to serve, though you have served them faithfully. But you want to leave them. Your sensitive nostrils that can catch the faintest odor in the air are sick of the scent of blubber, seal oil, and stinking furs and you want to be gone from it all serving men with white bodies, clean from much washing, big men who will smile at you kindly and like you because you are brave, strong and fearless." Buck wagged his tail as if to show that he was understood.

"Lord," said Alex, again reverently. "You can do all but talk. Say," he demanded of the Shaman, "how much do you want for that team, leader and all?"

"Nine hundred dollars, said the Shaman firmly.

"We can't buy them," Alex said sadly. "We haven't got that much money. Besides, it would be an awful expense to feed them the balance of the summer. I sure would like to own that Buck dog though."

"We get him when we come back," Ike whispered. "I trade for him and get him cheap. I talk to that robber, now, so he will not sell him 'till we get back."

"We go up the river 'You Never Know What' in our steamer that travels by fire," he explained, with many gestures of his hands. "Before the big cold we come back to trade with our new friends. Our hearts are big and we pay big for everything we buy. The eyes of the Indians have never beheld such wondrous things as we have on board our fire boat. Cloth like fresh gold from the ground, warm like the blue of the sky in summer, and others so rich of color that they dazzle the eye. Of tobacco we will have hundreds of plugs. Of the ice that never melts and shows a man his face like still clear water, we will have great quantities. And of many other things new and strange we will have a plentiful supply. We have a little box filled with spirits that talk or sing or laugh as it's owner commands."

"All white men are liars," said the Shaman calmly. "How do I know you have such a wonderful box?"

"Come down and see it tonight," Ike invited.

"I will," accepted the Shaman, "but it will be much better if I come alone. It is bad for the people to know too much about spirits."

"Your dog team is as good as yours already," whispered Ike as they turned away. "He will hold that team for you if he has to wait all winter, you understand. Once he hears that spirit box he's going to want it badly."

Alex grinned. "Put me next," he begged. "I'm not wise to that spirit box stunt."

"Say, you remember that cheap phonograph you boys bought for one of your trips and the heap of old cracked up records too? In Chicago the lot might be worth $5.00, but I doubt it. Here it's worth a dog team, which costs nine hundred dollars, if you boys let me do the bargaining, you understand," Ike enlightened him.

"Go to it," exclaimed Alex joyously. "Hello, there's something going on around that ant-hill over there. Let's run over and see what the trouble is. Maybe it's a fight."

The two boys pushed through the little circle in front of the igloo just in time to see a litter carried by old men pass up from the burrow-like entrance. On the litter lay a skeleton-like figure of a young boy. His large, mournful-looking eyes looking out of a face on which the skin was pulled tightly over the bones.

"What's the matter?" Alex demanded of a native, who happened to be Nicholas, the story teller.

"He plenty sick," Nicholas replies. "He die pretty soon."

"But why don't they leave him in the hut?" Alex persisted.

"Esquimaux no stay in house where one has died," said Nicholas.

"What are they going to do with him?" the boy insisted.

"Put him in a thicket and stuff moss in his mouth so he make no noise to keep people awake," said Nicholas calmly. "By and by Luna come and get him spirit."

"What's Luna?" Alex demanded.

"Him the great spirit of the Yukon," said Nicholas with a shiver. He live down under the ice. Him the greatest spirit of the Yukon."

"What are we going to do about it, Ike?" Alex asked, helplessly. "It's their law and custom. Has been for hundreds of centuries, I guess, but we can't let that little fellow die like that. Of course we could pick him up and carry him off but it might mean a fight with these old men and old women and we might kill some of them. It wouldn't be right to kill a live person for the sake of saving one who is dying. I don't know what to do."

"I'll fix it up all right," said Ike. "Don't you worry your head none."

"Him got father?" he demanded of Nicholas. "Father him die. Winter famine catch him." "Mother," Ike questioned.

"She die too--famine."

"Ain't he got no relations at all?" Ike inquired. An old man, shaky with age, stepped out from the group. "I'm his uncle," he quavered.

"Now we are getting down to business, you understand," said Ike with satisfaction. "Your nephew no good to you now?" The old man shook his palsied head. "Him dead plenty soon," he said stolidly.

"You no want nephew then?" Ike persisted, and the old man shook his head decidedly.

"Then I buy him," Ike said promptly. "For him I give two plugs of tobacco, of red cloth 20 yards, and of big tallow candles three. Does the uncle accept?" The uncle did with eagerness. It was more than the boy was worth when well. He was little and it would be many seasons before he could become a skillful hunter. Clearly these pale faces, not yet the size of men, were crazy, crazy as wolf-dogs when the moon is full. A fear seized him that this crazy young pale-face, who waved his hands so wildly when he talked, might repent of his bargain and demand all this wealth back. He was starting for his igloo as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, when Ike sternly commanded him to stop. "Take me to where you put the boy," he said, "and explain to him that hereafter I am his father, mother and uncle, and when I speak he is to obey."

They found the little fellow in the middle of a bunch of willows, a handful of dirty moss stuck in his mouth. He was lying perfectly quiet looking up at the skies with his black, beady eyes. He was only a child, but he knew the laws and custom of his people, many had he seen during the great cold, dragged out to die alone in the deep snow.

Alex pulled out the gag of dirty moss and threw it away, while the old man in quavering tones, told him what Ike had directed him to say.

The child looked up at Ike with grateful eyes. "All right, fadder, me do what you say."

Ike strove to hide his pity for the sick, deserted little fellow. He bent down and put his arms around the shrunken shoulders. "Put your arms around my neck and hang on as tight as you can," he commanded sternly. "Here, Alex, grab him around the legs and we will have him down to the boat in no time, you understand."

Clay was still fishing contentedly, a number of large salmon flapping helplessly on the deck around him.

"For goodness sakes, what have you there?" he cried as he spied the limp burden.

"This is my son," said Ike, solemnly. "He is sick, very sick. Come help us with him, Clay."

A bunk was hastily made up on the floor, and on this the little Esquimau was placed.

"He's got no fever," Clay said, after examining the little thermometer he had been holding under the lad's tongue. The way I size it up is that he starved so long last winter that his stomach rejected the greasy heavy blubber with which they broke their long fast in the spring. I believe that he will come out all right with careful feeding and good care. The first thing to do is to take off those filthy furs he has got on, give him a good bath, and find something clean and warm for him to wear."

"I find him some clothes what gets too small for me, but which I can pin up a little for him," said Ike. "Say, I think I call him after a good friend of mine, a fellow named Abe. I think Abe a pretty name for him."

When the last of the mangy furs were removed from the little lad, the boys stood back and viewed him pitifully, wondering how the spark of life had managed to keep alight in such a wasted and shrunken skeleton. Abe objected as much as his feeble strength would permit, to the awful bath, but when he was, at last, rubbed clean and dressed in a suit of Ike's pajamas, he drank a bowl of warm soup greedily and in a few minutes was sound asleep. Alex had been cooking supper while his chums had labored over the lad and they now sat down to a meal of delicious fried salmon, coffee, and mealy potatoes. They had but finished, when the Shaman appeared, slipping in softly like a cat. The boys had had no time to separate the good records from the bad. All they could do was to wind up the wheezy old machine, start it going, and trust to luck, which proved to be in their favor, for the Shaman listened like one entranced, to songs, minstrel jokes and music.

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