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108 pages

English

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In this exciting adventure geared for younger audiences, brothers Tom and Jack Dacre accompany their uncle on an expedition into the frigid north, hoping to establish themselves as fur traders, but their plans are thwarted by a nefarious scheme. Will the crew make it back alive?

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Adventure (Guyana)

Adventure

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 avril 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776599059
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE BUNGALOW BOYS NORTH OF FIFTY-THREE
* * *
JOHN HENRY GOLDFRAP

*
The Bungalow Boys North of Fifty-Three First published in 1914 Epub ISBN 978-1-77659-905-9 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77659-906-6 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I - In the White Silences Chapter II - The Rescue of Sandy Chapter III - The Thief in the Night Chapter IV - The Tracks in the Snow Chapter V - The Wilderness Trail Chapter VI - Stopping to Rest Chapter VII - In the Trapper's Hut Chapter VIII - The Ghostly Cry Chapter IX - Tom Calms Jack's Fears Chapter X - The Mystery Solved Chapter XI - The New-Found Friend Chapter XII - The Friendly Indian Chapter XIII - The Indian's Prediction Chapter XIV - Swapping Stories Chapter XV - Tom on "the Dogs of the North" Chapter XVI - Coming Storm Chapter XVII - The Loups Galoups Chapter XVIII - Tom Plays Detective Chapter XIX - Old Joe's Threat Chapter XX - The End of the Trail Chapter XXI - The Little Gray Man Chapter XXII - "The Wolf's" Teeth Chapter XXIII - Sandy Alone Chapter XXIV - The Pack Chapter XXV - Hemmed in by Wolves Chapter XXVI - The Back Trail Chapter XXVII - Facing Death Chapter XXVIII - The Trap Chapter XXIX - Sandy Has a Nightmare Chapter XXX - The Law of the North Chapter XXXI - A Bolt from the Blue Chapter XXXII - A Providential Meal Chapter XXXIII - Over the Crevasse! Chapter XXXIV - A Battle Royal Chapter XXXV - The Death of "the Wolf"
Chapter I - In the White Silences
*
The air in the valley was still as death. Not a wandering puff of windswept the white, snow-covered slopes that shot up steeply from eitherside of its wide, flat floor; nor had any stirred for several days. Theland was chained and fettered in icy bonds, and would be for many longweeks.
The river—the Porcupine—that, when the Bungalow Boys had first come tothis valley in the Frying Pan Range, had dashed and sometimes ragedalong its shoaly course, was ice-fast. Occasionally from an overburdenedbirch or hemlock branch the accumulated snow would fall with a dullcrash.
These miniature avalanches alone broke the white silence. In the deadstillness they sounded quite loud and startling when they occurred.There was no twittering of birds nor were there traces of any largeranimals than field mice and small rodents. In the snow, as if it hadbeen a white drawing-board, these tiny animals had etched their trackseverywhere as they drove their tunnels or skittered over the surface.
But from round a bend in the river's course a column of blue smoke couldbe seen sagging and wavering almost straight up in the windless airtoward the leaden sky.
The smoke came from an odd-looking craft tied up to the bank of theriver. The boat in question was a small steamer with a single blacksmokestack. At her stern was a big cylindrical paddle-wheel to drive herover the shallows and shoals. For the rest she was homely in theextreme. In fact, she might not inaptly have been compared to a bigfloating dry goods box pierced with windows, and with a pilot house,like a smaller box, say a pill box, perched on top.
The Yukon Rover , which was the name she bore painted on her sides inbig black letters, was of a type common enough along the navigablewaters of Alaska, although she was smaller than most such steamers. Redcurtains hung in the windows of this queer-looking specimen of theshipbuilder's art, and the smoke, already mentioned, curled from a fatstovepipe, suggesting warmth and comfort within.
At the bow, lashed fast to a small flagstaff, was a strange-lookingfigure. This was Sandy MacTavish's Mascot of the White North, the famoustotem pole that the Scotch youth had purchased as a good-luck bringerwhen the lads, as described in the "Bungalow Boys Along the Yukon," wereon their way northward from Seattle.
A door in the forward part of the box-like superstructure suddenlyopened, and out into the frozen, keen air there burst three laughing,jolly lads. All were bundled up and carried skates. However depressingthe Alaskan winter might have been to many of our readers, it was plainthat these healthy, happy lads were enjoying themselves to the full.They slipped and slid across the frozen decks, and then made their waydown a steeply inclined sort of gangway leading to the frozen surface ofthe river.
Their passage down this runway was not without incident. Sandy MacTavishwas behind his two chums, Tom and Jack Dacre. All were laughing andtalking at a great rate, their spirits bubbling over under the stimulusof the keen air and the thought of the fun they were going to have, whena sudden yell from Sandy came as the forerunner to calamity.
"Whoop! Ow-wow! Hoot, mon!" shrilly cried the Scotch youth, as he felthis feet slide from under him on the slippery, inclined plane leading tothe ice.
"What in the world—!" began Jack Dacre, the younger of the Dacrebrothers, when he felt himself cannonaded from behind by the yellingSandy.
His exclamation was echoed an instant later by Tom Dacre, who was inadvance. He had half turned at the almost simultaneous outcries of hisbrother and Sandy.
"Gracious!" he had just time to exclaim, when it was his turn to give ashout.
As Jack had been bumped into by Sandy, so he in turn shot helplesslyagainst his brother.
In a flash all three Bungalow Boys were shooting down the slipperygangway. They fetched up in a snow pile at the bottom, a fact whichsaved them a hard bump on the frozen surface of the river.
"Whoopee! Talk about shooting the chutes!" puffed Tom, scrambling to hisfeet and shaking the powdery snow from his garments.
"Beats the time Sandy went sky-hooting down that old glacier on theYukon!" chimed in Jack, half angrily. "What's the matter with you,anyhow, you red-headed son of Scotland?"
"I'm thinking I'm loocky to be alive," muttered Sandy, feeling himselfall over as if to ascertain if he had sustained any mortal injuries.
"I guess we're the lucky ones," laughed Tom.
"Yes, we formed a human cushion for your freckled countenance to landon," pursued Jack, as Sandy rubbed his nose affectionately. The organ inquestion was of the snub variety and decorated with freckles like spotson the sun.
"Aweel, mon, dinna ye ken that you saved my beauty?" chuckled Sandygleefully. "You ought to be glad of that."
"I'll fix your fatal beauty, all right!" cried Jack, and he rushed atSandy with a whoop.
But the Scotch lad was too swift for him. He dashed off, and at a safedistance proceeded to adjust his skates.
"I'll get you yet!" cried Jack, shaking his fist, and then he and TomDacre sat down at the foot of the disastrous gangway and put on theirice-skimmers.
Jack looked up from his task to perceive Sandy making derisive gesturesat him.
"Hoot, mon, gie me a bit chase!" yelled Sandy, hopping about nimbly andexecuting some gliding figures with a taunting air.
"If it's a chase you're looking for, that is my middle name!" exclaimedJack, and with a shout and a whoop he was off after the other lad. Thesteel rang merrily on the smooth ice as Tom swung off after the othertwo.
The blood of all three boys tingled pleasantly in the sharp air. Theirfaces glowed and their eyes shone.
"You look out when I get hold of you!" exclaimed Jack, as Sandy, for the'steenth time, eluded his grasp and swung dashingly off, skimming theice as gracefully as the swallows soared above the river in the summermonths.
"Yah-h-h-h-h-h!" called Sandy tauntingly, "want a tow-line?"
Sandy gave a loud laugh as, elated at his easy escape from his irritatedchum, he gave a fancy exhibition of figure-making, and at its conclusionskimmed off again just as Jack's fingers seemed about to close on histormentor's shoulder.
"I'll wash your face in the snow when I catch you! Just you see if Idon't!" shrilly threatened Jack.
A laugh from Sandy was the only answer as he shot off under full steam.He turned his head to show his perfect command of the fine points ofskating. A broad grin was on his freckled countenance.
"Catch me first, Jack! I'll bet you—"
"Hi! Look out!" roared Tom.
But his warning came just about the same instant that Sandy, skimming atfull speed over the ice near the Yukon Rover's hull, gave a howl ofdismay as he felt the ice give way under him.
The next instant he vanished from view as the thin ice—merely askimming over the hole chopped early that day to get drinking water outof the river—broke under his weight.
Jack, close on his heels, had just enough warning to swing aside. Thelast they saw of Sandy MacTavish was two hands upheld above the water ashe vanished from view.
Then he disappeared totally.
"Tom! Quick! Help! He'll be drowned," yelled Jack at the top of hisvoice.
Chapter II - The Rescue of Sandy
*
On the edge of the thin ice that had formed over the top of the waterhole was a bucket. It was used to draw the supply of drinking water, andto its handle was attached a long rope. Jack, half beside himself withfright at the sight of Sandy's plunge and his own narrow escape, stoodas if in a trance as he watched Tom swoop down on the pail.
He had hardly done this when Sandy's face, blue with cold, appearedabove the water at the edge of the hole.
"Ouch! Ow-w-w-w-w! Fellows, canna ye get me oot of this before I freezeto death?"
"All right, Sandy old man. Hold on! We'll get you out!" cried Tomencouragingly.
"It's cuc-cuc-cold!" stuttered the Scotch youth, his teeth clicking likea running fish reel as he clung desperately to the solid ice at th