The Pony Rider Boys in Alaska

Chapter 11

The guide might have been anywhere from twenty to forty years of age. The boys were unable to say, though they decided that he was quite young. He was considerably shorter in stature than the Indians they had seen, and Tad wondered if he were not an Eskimo. The guide’s head was shaven except for a tuft of black coarse hair on the top, standing straight up, while a yellow bar of paint had been drawn perpendicularly on each cheek. He wore a shirt that had once been white, a pair of trousers, one leg of which extended some six inches below the knee, the other as far above the knee of the other leg. Over his shoulders drooped a blanket of gaudy color. The guide’s feet were clad in the mucklucks worn both in summer and winter. Taking him all in all, the man was a smile-producing combination.

“Are you a guide?” asked the Professor.

“Me guide.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty year.”

“I think that is about it,” said the store-keeper. “These natives never know their age exactly.”

“You look to me more like an Eskimo than an Indian,” observed Professor Zepplin.

“Me Innuit–Siwash. You savvy me?”

Stacy scratched his head.

“Tell him to talk United States,” suggested the fat boy.

“What is your name?” asked Tad.

“Anvik. Me smart man, savvy? Me educate Jesuit Mission. Me pilot Chilkoot, White Horse, Caribou; me savvy all over.”

“Do you know how to cook?” questioned the Professor.

“Heap cook all time. Me savvy cook.”

“You don’t savvy any cooking for me,” declared Stacy.

“You will think differently about it when you are hungry. Remember, you are full of cheese and crackers now,” answered Rector.

“You have been out with the white men surveying, I am told,” resumed the Professor.

Anvik nodded solemnly.

“Big snow–no trail–big mountains. White men get lost. Anvik find, Anvik know trail. Anvik big pilot. Me take um to Ikogimeut when Yukon ice get hard so man can go safe with dog team. Big feast, big feed, tell heap big stories, big dance. Oh, heap big time. Innuit go, plenty Ingalik go. Me got pony, too. Buy um from Ingalik man.”

“According to his story he seems to be the big noise up here,” muttered Ned Rector.

“He has a pony. That is one point in his favor,” said Tad.

“Wait till you see it before you call it a pony,” advised Stacy.

“Me got gun, too. Me shoot. Bang!”

Stacy staggered back, clapping a hand to his forehead.

“I’m shot!” he cried dramatically.

“Stacy, do restrain yourself until we get out on the trail again,” begged the Professor.

“Me make snare. Me catch big game in snare. Me heap big pilot. Me Ingalik.”

“Have some cheese,” urged Chunky, passing a chunk to the now squatting Indian.

Without the least change of expression the Indian thrust the chunk into his mouth and permitted it to lie there, bulging out the right cheek.

“Do you think this man will do, sir?” asked Professor Zepplin, turning to the store-keeper.

“He will have to if you want a guide. He is the only fellow here who has ever acted in that capacity, so far as I know.”

“We would prefer to have a white man.”

The proprietor shook his head.

“White men mostly are up in the gold country, Dawson, Nome, all over.”

“Isn’t there gold in this part, too?” questioned Tad.

“Yes, there’s gold everywhere. You can go down and pan out gold in the black sands on the beach here. But what’s the use? There is more money to be made in other ways in this country, unless you are lucky enough to strike it rich before you have spent a fortune locating the claim.”

“Where you go?” demanded Anvik.

“North. Northwest from here. We want to get into the wildest of the country and we don’t want to get lost.”

“Me no lose. Mebby me find gold, uh!”

“We are not looking for gold,” replied the Professor.

“We are always looking for gold,” corrected Stacy. “If you know where there is gold you just lead me to it and I’ll be your brother for life.”

“Me show.”

“I take back all I said about this gentleman,” announced Chunky. “If the half that he says is true, he is worth several times the price he asks.”

“How much does he ask?” inquired Rector.

“I don’t know,” replied the fat boy. “He’s cheap at the price, anyway.”

“When you mush?” demanded Anvik.

“We don’t have mush. We have bacon and beans, and tin biscuit and coffee, and plenty of other things, but no mush,” answered the Professor.

The store-keeper laughed heartily.

“He doesn’t mean something to eat. Mush means march or move, a corruption of the French-Canadian ‘march.’ He means when are you going to set out.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the Professor.

“I thought you were an Indian, Professor?” said Tad laughingly. “I guess if we depend upon you for interpreter we shall get left.”

“Of course I don’t understand this jargon.”

“Of course you don’t,” agreed Butler.

“I doubt if any other persons do outside of the locality itself. You see this jargon is purely local and–”

“That’s what the doctor said about a pain I had once,” interjected Stacy. “But it hurt just the same.”

“Anvik, we would like to start this afternoon, if you are ready,” announced the Professor.

The Indian shook his head.

“No mush to-day. Mush to-mollel.”

“Why not to-day?”

“Innua him angry to-day.”

“Who is Innua?” demanded the Professor, bristling. “We do not care who is angry. That has nothing to do with us.”

“He means the mountain spirits,” explained the store-keeper.

“Eh?” questioned Chunky. “Mountain spirits?”

“He means spirits in the air,” explained Butler. “We are not afraid of spirits, Anvik.”

“Anvik no like.”

“How do you know Innua is abroad?” asked the Professor, now curious to know more of the native superstitions.

“See um.”

“Where?”

“On big mountain,” indicating Mt. St. Elias with a sweeping gesture.

“He won’t go until to-morrow. If you want him you will have to wait,” the store-keeper informed them.

“Then I suppose we shall have to wait,” reflected Professor Zepplin. “It may be an excellent idea after all. We can pitch camp in the village and acquaint our guide with our methods of doing things, Anvik, do you know how to put up tents and make camp?”

“Me make Ighloo, fine Ighloo. Snow no get in, cold no get in, Innua no get in.”

“How about rain?” put in Stacy.

“Rain no get in.”

“That’s all right, then. We don’t care whether the snow gets in or not, but we don’t want to have to swim out of our Ighloos in the middle of the night. One is liable to get wet, you know,” reminded Brown.

The Professor arranged the wages with Anvik, calling upon the store-keeper to witness the bargain and put it in writing. The Professor then directed the boys to take the new guide out and begin his instruction in the ways of the Pony Rider Boys. The Professor remained to purchase necessary stores and supplies, consulting the proprietor as to what would be needed on the journey. The advice of the store-keeper was helpful in aiding the Professor to take only such equipment and supplies as would be absolutely necessary.

Anvik went to the Indian village to bring his pony, the boys in the meantime starting off to pick a camp site.

“One thing, boys, we mustn’t play tricks on Anvik,” reminded Tad. “I have an idea that he hasn’t much of a sense of humor. He might lose his temper and run away and leave us after we were deep in the interior of the country.”

“Do you know, I don’t believe he is an Indian at all,” asserted Ned Rector.

“Neither an Indian nor a white man,” suggested Stacy wisely.

“I think he is an Esquimo,” spoke up Walter.

“What’s the odds? We don’t care what his race is so long as he answers our purpose,” declared Butler.

“He says he is an I-Knew-It, and I believe him,” said Stacy Brown with emphasis.

“An Innuit, you mean,” corrected Tad.

“That’s it, an I-Knew-It, and that’s what I did–”

“There he comes,” cried Walter.

The Indian was leading a pony that looked as if it had not felt a brush or comb since its birth, but Tad’s discerning eye noted that the little animal was hardy and well-conditioned, though of evident temper.

“Does he kick?” asked the boy, as Anvik tied his mount to a tree.

“Him kick like buck caribou. Him kick all time, both ways.”

“We’ll hopple him if he does,” said Tad. “Be sure that you tie him so he doesn’t kick our ponies, Anvik. We can’t have anything of that sort. If he persists in kicking I’ll see if I can’t break him of it.”

“You horse shaman?” asked Anvik.

“Yes, he’s ashamed of his horse, that’s it,” chuckled Stacy.

Tad’s face wore a puzzled look, which a few seconds later gave place to a smile of understanding.

“Oh! you mean, am I a horse doctor? Is that it?”

“Uh.”

“That’s what he is. Anvik has got you properly located this time. Ha, ha!” laughed Chunky.

“Come, boys, unpack. We must give our guide his first lesson. You sit down and watch us, Anvik, while we make camp.”

The guide did so, grunting with approval or disapproval from time to time as the work pleased or displeased him. Under the now skillful hands of the Pony Rider Boys the camp rapidly assumed shape and form. All the tents were erected on this occasion in order that the guide might observe the whole process. The tents up, the boys settled them. There were plenty of trees about from which to get boughs for their beds, and wood was brought and a campfire built up. This especially interested the guide. He uttered grunts and nods of approval as he watched Tad build the fire in true woodsman-like manner.

“White man no make fire like Indian. You make fire like Indian.”

“Thank you,” smiled Butler.

“You make cook fire. How you make sleep fire?”

“A little fire close up to the tent,” answered Butler. “I make it so as to get all the heat into the tent instead of sending the heat up into the air where it will do no good.”

“Heap good. You good Indian.”

“That’s what he is, Anvil, he’s an Indian,” cried Stacy.

“I seem to be a good many things in this camp,” laughed Tad. “Any further compliments you can pay me, Stacy?”

“No, but if you don’t chase that buck over yonder behind the Professor’s tent, I reckon you’ll lose your rope,” reminded the fat boy.

Tad sprang to his feet, leaping over the tent ropes to the rear. A native had reached under and was hauling out Butler’s lasso. Tad grabbed the fellow by an arm and sent him spinning.

“You get out of here or I’ll wallop you!” threatened the freckle-faced boy. “Don’t you try that! It doesn’t go in this outfit. Anvik, tell your friend that someone will get knocked in the head if he steals anything in this camp.”

The guide uttered a volley of protest in Innuit, which the assembled squaws, papooses and bucks received in stoical silence, and with impassive faces.

“They don’t seem to be particularly impressed by your lecture,” said Ned.

“Him no take. Anvik tell um stick um with knife if take.”

“You will do nothing of the sort. We will do all the punishing. Don’t let me see you using your knife to stick anyone. Now, I guess you had better show us around. Take your pony and come along,” rebuked Rector.

“Where you want go?”

“Oh, anywhere. You lead the way. Will anything here be taken while we are away?” questioned Ned.

“No take. Anvik stick um if take.”

“You’re a savage, that’s what you are,” declared Chunky.

The boys got on their ponies, while Anvik, after letting his blanket slip to his waist, started away at a stride that the ponies had to trot to keep up with.