The Rover Boys in Alaska: or, Lost in the Fields of Ice

"I suppose they did. It's the only thing that looks like a trail around here. If they didn't stick to this they'd soon become lost. And being lost on a mountain isn't very nice – you know that."

The snow was still coming down, and to the boys it seemed heavier than before. Jack Wumble looked at the sky many times and shook his head slowly.

"We'll be in fer it by to-morrow," he said. "An' then nobuddy can tell how long it will keep up. Winter is comin' sure!"

"Then the sooner we find Tom and get back to Dawson with him the better."

It was about five o'clock in the afternoon when they reached a spot where the trail ran along the bottom of a tall cliff. Far below them was the valley they had crossed in the morning, now all but shut out from their view by the falling snow.

"Don't either of ye slip here," cautioned Jack Wumble. "Because, if ye do, thar ain't no tellin' whar ye'll fetch up."

"I'll be as careful as possible," answered Dick.

"And so will I," added Sam.

The old miner was in the lead, with Sam coming next, and Dick bringing up the rear. Thus nearly half a mile more was slowly covered.

"We ought to be drawing close to Tom now," said Dick.

"I've got an idea!" cried his brother. "Why didn't we think of it before? Let us call to him, and fire one of the pistols."

"All right," said the old miner. "'Twon't do no harm."

All three raised their voices in a lusty shout, and Dick fired a shot into the air. Then they listened intently. There was no answer of any kind.

"Let us try it again," suggested Sam. "Now then, all together!"

This time their yell was thrice repeated, and Dick fired two shots. They waited several seconds for an answer.

"Listen!" exclaimed Dick. "I hear something!"

All strained their ears, and from a great distance made out an answering cry. It appeared to come from somewhere above them.

"I believe Tom and that man with him are on the trail above the cliff!" cried Dick.

"Just what I think," answered his brother. "Oh, if only we could climb right up there, instead of going away around!"

"Ain't no way as I can see to do it," said Jack Wumble, looking at the bare wall of rocks. "We'll have ter go on till we reach some sort o' a break."

Once again they cried out and again came the answering call. But those above them were so far away that it was impossible to make out what was said.

"I've got it!" cried Dick. "If that is Tom I'll give him a call he'll know."

"The old Putnam Hall locomotive whistle?" queried Sam.

"Yes. Now then, both together, Sam, and as loud and distinct as possible."

Both youths took a deep breath, and then out on the snowy air rang a sharp, shrill whistle, once, twice, three times, rising and falling in a fashion known only to the cadets of the military school.

"By gosh, thet's some whistle!" remarked Jack Wumble, in admiration.

Again all three listened intently. There was a long spell of silence, and then from a distance came an answering whistle, that sounded like an echo of their own.

"It's Tom!" screamed Sam and clapped his hands.

"Yes, it must be. Nobody else could imitate that whistle so perfectly," returned his brother.

"Oh, let us go on! We must get to him," went on Sam, impatiently. "Maybe that whistle will bring him to his right senses, Dick!"

"I'm afraid that is too much to expect, Sam. But I am glad he remembered the whistle, anyway. It shows that he hasn't forgotten everything."

"Let us yell that we are coming, and for them to wait," suggested the old miner.

"That's it," answered Dick. "Now then, I'll lead off."

And loud and clear rang the cry:

"We are coming! We are coming! Wait for us! Wait! Wait!"

To this some answer came back, but what it was they could not make out. Then, in the silence that followed, they picked up their traps once more and went forward on the wearisome trail.

With each yard of advance the walking became more difficult. In some spots the rocks were covered with snow and they had to proceed with caution, for fear of a nasty tumble. They were climbing upward steadily and they noted with satisfaction that the cliffs seemed to become correspondingly lower.

"We'll be up there in quarter of an hour more," said Jack Wumble. "But don't ye try to go too fast. This trail is gittin' wuss an' wuss."

At last they came to some rocks where further progress seemed impossible. There had been something of a landslide, and big rocks covered the footpath for a distance of a hundred feet or more.

They gazed around the spot in perplexity.

"Well, one thing is certain," said Sam. "Tom and that man must have come this way, If they could get over these rocks we ought to be able to do the same thing."

"I think I see a way," said Dick. "Yes, here are some footprints in the snow and on this fallen tree. They climbed up by holding on to those branches. We can do the same thing."

"Don't ye try it!" yelled Jack Wumble. "Thet tree is loose! It might carry ye to the bottom of the mountain!"

"Hark!" called out Sam. "I hear something! What is that?"

All listened. From a distance came a curious swishing and cracking sound, followed by a wild sort of yell. Then came a crash – and then – utter silence.

CHAPTER XXII

IKE FURNER'S CAMP

"Dick, what was that?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Sam. Sounded like something falling."

"It was a tree sliding down the mountain," put in Jack Wumble. "A tree jest like the one you was goin' to take hold on."