Before the daylight was strong we had broken camp, and were again going forward, and always we could discern, in the dim light, that there were two trails ahead of us. The stars paled at last, and the white glow was stronger, making everything distinct. My fears that the second sled was in pursuit of the first were proven, now that we could see more plainly; for at intervals, when we came to abrupt bends of the rapidly narrowing stream, we would find those distinct letterings in the snow that told that before the pursuers had ventured around a bend one of them had walked cautiously to the outer edge and looked ahead. It was certain that they were closer to the Hatchet than we were to them, and that they feared to surprise him.
We began to admit that we were not alone in the chase, and had the sense of lively speculation as to who these others were, and how they had learned of the flight. Only, as the trail led on and on, we were not certain whether the foot-marks were those of natives or white men.
“Maybe it is Constantine,” I said once to Kentucky. “Perhaps he is following his sister, and proposes to bring her back.”
“Might be,” answered Kentucky. “He's an odd sort of a stick. But if he followed it wouldn't be to bring the Hatchet back! You can bet on that. The Hatchet would be left on the trail for good and all. That Constantine is a chap I wouldn't want for an enemy.”
He stood for a while, and then exclaimed: “By jingo, Tom, I'll bet it is him! He's changed his mind, and he's made it up now to go after 'em. He can mush like the devil, Constantine can. I gathered some talk he handed her about some other native down in the village who wanted her, and was of her own tribe, and it may be that Mister Sioux-man has got a pair of bloodhounds on his trail, just waitin' till he gets far enough away to make it safe, and that then, some nice evening—ping! Down he es, with one of those H. B. slugs through him. Kicks a few, and—the Hatchet never comes back.”
I began to think that possibly Kentuck's surmise might be right; but on the trail one has time for many speculations and many thoughts. That is, I had as many as Kentucky would allow me, for of all the trail mates I had ever had, he was the most cheerful and unfailing. Those who know will bear me out when I say that an Alaskan trail is the place to learn men. There the soul is bared. In civilization a man may live forever under a mask, but the trail strips it from him as if it were gauze, and he is himself, and those with him know that he is naked in soul and disposition.
That eminent sage of the frontier, long since dead, discoverer of Eldorado Creek, in Klondike, Elihu Whipple, was wont to say: “You kin tell what a man is when you've eat a sack of flour with him; but with some men it only takes a half a sack.” And the diminishing sack with Kentucky Smith each day proved him more of a man than I had thought. He began to loom colossal with his untiring energy, his unfailing cheerfulness, his persistent attempt to do more than his share.
We had expected to overtake, or at least come within sound of, our quarry within two or three days, for we were driving the dogs to their utmost; but the two days passed, then stretched on into ten, with ever-recurring monotony. We had swung to the westward, and crossed the Koyukuk far below where we knew there was an Indian village, and were now heading toward the north-west, with its piled-up hills, its bleak flats, its timber found only in belts. And ill luck appeared to travel with us, gauntly trailing beside our sled.
The second blow came when one of the new dogs sickened, until, abandoning hope for him, we had to put him out of his misery. We could not understand his malady, unless it came from overwork. The other dog followed him within a £ew days, and we began to fear that it was pneumonia. Each dog out of the harness meant, notwithstanding the constantly diminishing load, more wearisome labor.
We traveled longer hours, and slept less to offset that loss, still confident that sooner or later the long trail must end, and thanked Heaven that the cold was so intense, and the winter so still; that the trails ahead, constantly leading us farther into the solitudes, were not blinded.
Some days we thought we must have gained, then would come others when we were discouraged and surmised that we were losing in this tireless race. And always, ahead of us, were two trails. Added to this was another fear, that our food would give out. Already the dogs had been reduced to half rations, and to their ravenous jaws were flung but a half fish a day, while we, too, were measuring each flake of oatmeal, and each scrap of bacon.