CHAPTER XIII THE LONE CABIN

The days that followed proved arduous for the guide. No longer, in lordly, domineering manner, was he permitted to ride on one of the sledges and point out the way. His hours of leisure were at an end. He took his turn in breaking trail, drove dogs, chopped wood, assisted in putting up and taking down the tents, and in many other ways became a useful and valuable member of the expedition.

His presence, distasteful as it was, had brought a quick change in the spirits of the party. Hope rose again in Dick’s heart, and his enthusiasm and energy were unbounded. He had ceased to worry about getting lost or even wandering from the trail. Threatened with the most dire punishment, Lamont was forced to set their course.
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Shortly after the return of the guide, they came upon the first log cabin they had seen since leaving Mackenzie River. It stood in a thick clump of trees, and had been recently built judging from the freshly-scored logs and its general appearance of newness. A flutter of interest, not unmixed with awe and wonderment and curiosity, stirred the party. Necks craned suddenly, drivers deserted their teams to go forward to talk to other drivers, even the huskies raised their tawny heads, as if to sniff out this new mystery.

In the lead at the time, breaking trail, Sandy gave the cabin the benefit of one swift look of appraisement, then started forward on the run. He proceeded very rapidly for fifty or sixty yards, then stopped short so abruptly that the point of one snowshoe became entangled in the other and he fell headlong.

Dick and Dr. Brady both started to laugh, but the sound died on their lips. They watched Sandy rise and start back, waving his arms frantically. The driver of the first team pulled up short. The second team, close behind the first, also pulled up short, but not soon enough to prevent an entanglement, which led to a furious fight among the malemutes.

Dick and Dr. Brady ran to the driver’s assistance, reaching the scene of trouble just a moment before Sandy arrived breathless. White-lipped, the young Scotchman waited until the commotion had subsided.

“Dr. Brady,” he began, “I guess you——”

His words trailed off to a mumbling incoherence. He sat down on the sledge, gesturing a little wildly, his expression difficult to describe.
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“Did you——” he inquired in horror-struck tones, “I say, did you see—see it, too?”

Dr. Brady nodded gravely. Dick stared, moistening his lips.

“A red flag,” said the physician. “We weren’t quite sure. There was something there just outside fluttering—— A cloth. A rag of some sort. Looked red.”

“Exactly,” Sandy spoke tersely with a deep intake of breath. “Smallpox!”

“Smallpox!” Dick echoed the word.

“I’ll go over,” announced Dr. Brady quite calmly. “Get my case, Dick.”

The case was brought. The physician took it smiling.

“Shall we go with you?” asked Dick.

“No; it isn’t necessary. You’d better stay here.”

The news quickly spread. Smallpox! Faces grew gray and anxious. One by one, the drivers slunk back to their places, while all talk ceased.

Finally, Sandy jerked his hand back in the direction of the cabin.

“We’ll see lots of that sort of thing before we return to the Mackenzie.”

“Yes, when we get to Keechewan. But I doubt if we’ll find another smallpox case this side of the Barrens,” said Dick. “Terrible business, isn’t it?”
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Both, as if by a common impulse, looked up and stared over at the cabin. The red cloth fascinated them. It furled and fluttered softly, yet ominously, in the light breeze.

The boys wondered what Dr. Brady was doing. He had entered the cabin, closing the door after him. They both started as the door opened and their friend emerged. They saw him raise one arm, beckoning them to come closer. A little fearfully, Dick and Sandy obeyed. They were strangely excited. Stalking up before the door, they observed that the physician was very grave indeed.

“Well?” said Dick, the first one to speak.

Brady stepped away from the door and came toward them, his eyes evasive.

“There’s only one thing to do,” he announced in a curiously soft and gentle voice. “Set fire to the cabin. We’re too late.”

“Too late?” repeated Sandy.

“Yes, too late.”

“How—how many inside there?” whispered Dick.

“Two half-breed trappers—one young and one old.”

“And they both had it?” the boys asked in unison.

“Yes,” Dr. Brady’s mouth twitched at the corners. “They’re gone. We came too late. As I just said, there’s only one thing to do: Set fire to the cabin. Burn it down.”

“Burn it,” asked Sandy. “What for?”
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“As a matter of precaution. To protect the lives of others. Now and again, some lone wanderer might chance this way.”

Sandy and Dick stood looking at the physician during an odd interval of silence. Of course, he knew best. They realized that. And it would save time. Dick touched Sandy’s shoulder and together the two friends moved toward the timber at the back of the house. They carried dry bark and branches, soon gathering a large pile, which they threw down in front of the door. Soon a fire was started. It mounted slowly at first, smouldering and cracking, but presently it leaped up, quickly spreading to every part of the building.

“That’s done,” Sandy sighed relievedly. “Let’s go back.”

It was a little awkward joining the party again. Yet no one questioned them. They were greeted with curious stares and frightened glances. At noon they were miles away and halted for a midday meal in the shelter of a spruce grove, through which there ran the wandering course of a tiny stream.

It occurred to Dick that this stream might be one of the tributaries of the Wapiti River, which they must cross ere long. He was discussing this possibility with Toma, shortly after lunch, when Sandy came up shaking his head.
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“A pretty business! A pretty business!” he muttered, taking a place beside them. “They’re as frightened as sheep. Too bad we had to come across that cabin. Hope nothing serious grows out of this.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dick.

“Just look at them.”

Dick turned and looked toward the place Sandy indicated. The dog drivers were assembled there in an excited, gesticulating group.

“I overheard part of it,” said Sandy. “They’re telling each other that they don’t want to go on, that they’re afraid, that no white man’s medicine can save them from the horror of the plague.”

“But all of them have been vaccinated,” Dick protested.

“Sure. But they don’t realize what that means. They have guessed, somehow, that the men who lived in that cabin died. They know the meaning of that red cloth, and it has struck terror into their hearts. I heard Fontaine say that he, for one, intended to turn back.”

“Mere talk,” objected Dick. “They’ll get over it. The thing is fresh in their minds now and, of course, they’re worried. By tomorrow or the next day they’ll have forgotten all about it.”

“Do you think so. I can’t help feeling that in some way Lamont is at the bottom of this. He’s stirring them up.”
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“I believe you’re right.” Dick stared moodily into the fire. “Come to think about it, I saw Lamont talking to them.”

“Well,” said Sandy, “we’d better watch him. And the others, too. You know what it will mean if they decide to leave us.”

Dick’s face shadowed, then brightened quickly. Such a possibility seemed remote. Surely, they’d do nothing of the kind. They wouldn’t dare.

“They’ll soon forget,” he said.

But in this, as it subsequently proved, he was mistaken. That night a deputation came to him. The face of each of the drivers was set and determined. Altogether they were an ominous crew. They gathered around him and abruptly Fontaine, who acted as their spokesman, spoke up:

“M’sieur Dick, these fellow,” indicating his following, “they tell me no want to go any farther. No want to die. Smallpox get ’em sure. You know that. You know everybody die pretty soon jus’ like them fellow in cabin.”

“Nonsense,” said Dick. “You’re all vaccinated.”

Fontaine shook his head with great emphasis.

“No good that. Nothing stop smallpox. Very bad. Make ’em all die, these fellow.”

“But you know better yourself, Fontaine. You know that isn’t true. We’re all safe enough. Tell them not to worry. They need not be afraid.”
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A mutter of defiance ran around the little circle. Fontaine’s voice rose to a higher pitch.

“No good tell ’em that. They understand what you say. They know better.”

Dick was rapidly losing ground. In desperation, he raised one arm, calling for silence.

“But wait! Just wait!” he beseeched them. “I will bring the white doctor to you and he will explain. Dr. Brady will repeat what I have told you. There is no danger. If you do not believe me, surely you will believe him. He is a great medicine man.”

“That doctor him very much mistake,” a new voice broke into the discussion.

Turning quickly, Dick perceived Lamont standing at his elbow.

“Who asked you for your opinion?” Dick demanded hotly. “Lamont, keep out of this.”

The guide’s defective left eye rolled up in a way that made Dick shiver. The man stepped back, leering.

“Lamont know all about this,” Fontaine cut in quickly. “He tell me his father, two brothers die from smallpox four years ago. White doctor him there, too. Try help. No good. What you say about that?”

Dick had nothing to say. It was a lie, of course, A story to feed these frightened and credulous fools. He could see the purpose in it all.
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“I tell you another thing,” Fontaine took up the thread of his plaint, now speaking triumphantly. “One of these fellows,” he pointed to a half-breed, who stood directly opposite, “think mebbe already he get sick. All afternoon his head hurt. Him feel very hot—deezzy.”

“Faugh!” grunted Dick. “It isn’t the smallpox. He wasn’t within three hundred yards of the cabin. And even if he were exposed, he wouldn’t get sick less than ten hours later.”

But the drivers were obdurate. Sandy, Toma, and later, Dr. Brady himself took turns in pleading and arguing with them, but to no avail. Fontaine insisted that one of their party had already contracted the disease, so the physician examined the man while the rest of the drivers went to their tents. Outside Brady’s tent, Dick, Sandy and Toma waited impatiently.

“Well,” asked Sandy, when the doctor finally appeared, “what is your verdict?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” answered the physician. “But the symptoms are—smallpox.”

“How can that be? He’s vaccinated,” Dick protested.

“Yes, on several different occasions, but the vaccine took no effect. There are cases like that.”
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Dick moved over to one of the sledges, too discouraged and alarmed to trust himself to speak. For several minutes he stood, gazing off across the white bleak waste of snow and wilderness. Back near one of the campfires, the drivers had come together again to discuss the all-important topic.

“You see what we’re up against, doctor,” Dick turned suddenly. “If they won’t listen to reason, we’re beaten.”

“Yes,” echoed Sandy, “we’re beaten. Licked. We can’t go on without drivers.”

The doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“The situation may not be quite as serious as you think,” he attempted to cheer them. “Before morning they’ll probably change their minds.”