CHAPTER XXIII THE LAKE AFFORDS TWO MEALS AND A PERILOUS CROSSING

While the Bradfords were pitching the tents, Lucky set off to try the ice preparatory to the morrow's attempt to cross. Coffee Jack, instead of accompanying his brother, made Roly understand that he wanted a line and a hook.

"Going fishing?" asked Roly, eagerly.

"Yes," said the bright-eyed Indian boy. "Big feesh—yes."

So Roly dove into his pack, which lay unbound on the shore, and presently produced a fish-line wound around a chip. A small hook was already attached. Coffee Jack took the line and examined it doubtfully, as if he feared it might not be strong enough. Young as he was, he had learned many tricks of hunting, fishing, and woodcraft from his brother; and as Roly was glad to acquire such knowledge, he watched the Indian boy carefully.

First about thirty feet of the line were unwound and then doubled, so as to give a length of fifteen feet for the double line.

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"Cut?" asked Coffee Jack, drawing his finger across it, to represent a knife.

"Yes," said Roly; "you can cut it."

So Coffee Jack cut the line and handed back to Roly the part he did not need. He now took one of the small whitefish which he had obtained from the old Indian that morning, and cut off the rear half of its body with the tail attached. This he cut open, and trimmed down with his knife until it resembled a large shiner. The whole hook was then placed inside the body, and the opening sewed up with a needle and thread supplied by his friend.

The Indian boy was now ready to set his double line in place. Accompanied by Roly, who was warned by his father to be extremely careful, he warily crossed the ice-bridge to the firmer ice beyond. In places this ice was a foot thick, but it was so honeycombed by the sun's rays as to be very treacherous. There were numerous openings of various sizes to be avoided, as well as places where the ice had been reduced to an unsafe thinness. Coffee Jack walked out to a point several hundred yards from the beach, having first cut a long pole and a slender stick, the latter about three feet in length. He selected an opening in the ice two feet in diameter, the sides of which were thick and safe to stand upon; and having tied the small stick firmly across the centre of the pole, so that a foot of it was on one side, and two feet on the other, he notched the short end and made the line fast[194] to it. The pole was then set across the hole, and the bait allowed to sink down through the clear water. It was evident that if a fish swallowed the bait and attempted to swim away with it, the pole would hold him prisoner, while the short stick would tip up and announce the capture. Roly had seen the pole and pointer used in New England, but the idea of sewing the hook inside of the bait-fish was a novel one.

"Good!" said Coffee Jack, as he contemplated his contrivance a moment, and then turned back toward the shore. "Big feesh—to-morrow!"

Roly was inclined to wait for developments, but as the call to "muck-muck" was now heard on the shore, he also withdrew. It was a very frugal supper which the tired trampers ate, ere they threw themselves into their tents for a long sound sleep.

The morning broke cool and cloudy. Mists trailed low along the sides of the Dasar-dee-ash Mountains across the lake, and hid their snowy summits from view. There was a dampness in the air which betokened rain, and that quickly.

Roly gave little thought to the weather, however, when he awoke. His first glance, as he peered from the tent, was directed toward the little stick away out on the ice, and great was his excitement when he saw that it was pointing straight up. Without waiting to arouse any one—not even Coffee Jack, who, he rightly reasoned, cared[195] much for the fish, but very little for the sport of catching it—he walked as fast as he dared, out over the surface of the lake. A south wind was rising, and now and then he felt a drop of rain on his cheek.

How his fingers tingled with anticipation when he grasped the taut double line! There was certainly something heavy at the end of it. In another moment the boy could dimly see a great fish coming slowly toward the surface. Presently it took alarm and struggled to swim away in various directions. Fearing that the line would be sawn in two against the icy edges of the hole, Roly hauled in as fast as he could, hand over hand, and now up came the big fish, and out it flopped upon the ice, to be hurriedly dragged to a safe distance. As the bait was in good condition, it was dropped back into the hole.

Roly immediately set out with his prize for the shore, where he raised the camp by a series of whoops which would have done credit to the whole Stik tribe. Nobody knew the name of the fish; but Lucky and Coffee Jack, the moment they caught sight of its long head and body, and mottled brown and yellow skin, looked disappointed and said, "No good."

"That may be," said Uncle Will; "but, good or not, we're going to eat it, for we've precious little else," and he gave it to Coffee Jack to clean.

When it was cut up and sputtering in the frying-pan,[196] the odor was certainly appetizing, and the Indians made no objection to receiving their share in the distribution which followed. The Bradfords found that the skin was full of a strong—almost rancid—oil, but the flesh, though rather flavorless, was not bad.

"This reminds me of the candle-fish," said Uncle Will, "which runs up Alaskan rivers. It's a small fish, the most oily variety known, and it is said that if you set one on its head, and strike a light to its tail, it will burn like a candle until consumed."

"Oh, come, Will!" exclaimed Mr. Bradford. "Do you expect us to believe that?"

"Well," said his brother, "salt and fish generally go together, and in Alaska even a fish-story must sometimes be taken with a grain of salt."

"Evidently," said Mr. Bradford.

Exclamations from David and Coffee Jack, who sat facing the lake, now caused the others to look that way. The little stick was pointing up again.

Roly dropped everything, and ran out to the hole. Again he felt a heavy weight, and this time found a gamy customer enough, for the fish darted violently, around as soon as it was conscious of the tug on the line. The young fisherman had his hands full, but hauled in as steadily as he could, and out came the fish at last,—a magnificent six-pound lake trout. The hook had caught so deeply that it had to be cut out, and the bait had[197] mostly disappeared, so the line, hook, and fish were brought ashore together.

"Him good!" said Lucky, as pleased at this capture as he had been disappointed at the other.

"I should say so!" exclaimed Mr. Bradford. "We shall have a royal dinner at least, and by supper-time we ought to reach the cache."

"Yes," said Uncle Will; "and the sooner we get across this lake the better. It's coming on to rain and blow, and the ice may break up. We've not a minute to lose."

Mr. Bradford looked anxiously out over the storm-swept expanse. "It would be the height of folly," he declared, "to try to cross that rotten ice with packs strapped on our backs. We ought to be free to swim if worst comes to worst. I don't like the looks of things."

"Nor I either," Uncle Will agreed. "I think each of us had better cut two long poles, fasten his pack near one end of them, and drag it over the ice. Then, if any one breaks through, his load won't sink him, and the poles will be handy for his rescue."

This plan was approved by all. Small poplar trees were quickly felled in the neighboring forest, and their branches lopped off. Two of these poles being laid flat on the ice about a foot apart, the load was made fast near one end, and the owner, stepping between them at the other end, grasped them with his hands. A rope passing loosely across his shoulders from one pole to the other[198] took a part of the weight. It was also found advantageous to trim the ends of the poles where they came in contact with the ice.

All being ready, they started, but progress was slow, both for caution's sake, and because in the absence of ice-creepers their feet could obtain little hold upon the slippery surface. Not far out lay a chain of small islands, around which were stretches of open water, now lashed into foam by the wind, and lapping hungrily at the weakening edges of the ice. It was necessary to go between two of these islands where the ice was not to be depended on, but this dangerous passage was made in safety, and all breathed more easily when they reached the firmer ice of the broad, open lake. The rain now fell, or rather drove, in torrents, and the travellers were wet to the skin. Four miles away lay the shore they sought, at the southern base of the dark mountain slopes. At the head of the company went Lucky, his black, narrow eyes, almost Mongolian in shape, keenly fixed on the ice, and the rude drag scraping along behind him. Then came Coffee Jack, then Uncle Will with the lake trout slipping after his load, and finally Roly, David, and Mr. Bradford. It was hard work,—hard upon hands and arms,—though the lame backs and shoulders were somewhat relieved by the new mode of travel.

After an hour and a half, the party approached the southwest shore. Here the ice became more treacherous.[199] Sometimes they could feel it settle beneath their feet, as if an upper layer had been pressed down upon an underlying one. There were many little cavities a few inches deep and filled with water, at the bottom of which were slender green plants like seaweed, which seemed to possess the power of melting the ice immediately around them. Strict orders were given that no one should approach within thirty feet of another, lest their combined weight should prove disastrous. And now Lucky stopped and pointed toward the shore.

"Water!" he exclaimed.

Consternation was depicted on every face.

"It's too true," said Uncle Will, as he made out the dark line all along the beach. "Looks as if we couldn't get off the ice now we're on it."

"We've got to get off," declared Mr. Bradford, decisively. "There's nothing else to do. We can't go back. Very likely the ice-bridge is gone by this time."

"Can't we chop out an ice-raft?" suggested David, who recalled certain youthful adventures upon the mill-pond at home.

Uncle Will nodded. "We'll do that very thing," said he, "if we can't find a crossing. First, however, let us explore a little."

Contrary to all expectation, as they rounded a rocky point, they discovered beyond it a narrow ice-strip not more than fifty feet wide, similar to the one they had[200] crossed that morning, but much weaker, spanning the hundred feet to the beach. One at a time they passed across in safety and stood at last, with a great sense of thankfulness and relief, upon the solid ground. And now the rain ceased, and the cheerful sun broke through the masses of clouds.