Читать книгу By Bursting Flash Bulbs - Roy J. Snell - Страница 5

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A feeling of mystery swept over Jimmy like a whiff of hot air from a June day sun the moment he had climbed that well-worn stairway and stood in the huge, dim-lit loft. The sense of mystery was connected with a feeling that had come over him in many places, merely a suspicion that in some great, empty space he was not alone.

It was not a feeling that there were spirits about, the spirits of dead men. Jimmy had his own notions about such things, rather vague notions. But for the moment he had a feeling that there was some living, breathing human being in the loft. And this disturbed him. Nothing had been said of anyone being there. Certainly as he allowed his eyes to wander from corner to corner of the vast loft, packed to the rafters with strange northern treasures, he saw no one.

“Oh, well,” he thought, “what if there is someone here?” And for the moment he shook himself free from that disturbing sense of mystery.

At once a new feeling swept over him, a feeling that this great loft was haunted by spirits of the past. He was looking at great piles of raw furs—fox, mink, seal, deer skins. The walls were lined with native garments, skin boats, parkas, bearskin trousers. In one corner were piles upon piles of boxes from which ivory walrus tusks protruded. The ceiling and walls of the place were dark with age and smoke.

How long had this building stood here? He did not know. Nome had seen a disastrous fire. But this building must have been saved.

Nome’s splendor was fading now, but she had seen a glorious past. A city of twenty thousand, she had watched men rush away across the tundra in search of gold. As Jimmy stood there he seemed to hear them tramping up those stairs, scores on scores of them, examining parkas and skin boots, trying them on, selecting the ones they could best use; looking over sleeping bags; tramping about here and there. At last he seemed to hear them tramping back down the stairs, rattling money on the counter, silver and gold; then tramping out into the cold arctic night, perhaps never to return.

“I wish,” he whispered, “I only wish I might have been here in those exciting gold days. I wish——”

He stopped suddenly. Had he caught a sound, a stealthy movement? He thought so. And yet . . . From below came the murmur of voices and the merry cackling laughter of some Eskimo woman. This feeling of mystery was nonsense. He’d shake himself free of it. But not for long.

Having been invited to look the place over he proceeded to do so. He marveled at the size and beauty of the white fox pelts, examined with interest the ladies’ parkas made with great care and more than a touch of art by native women. He stopped to gaze with real surprise and astonishment at a white bearskin suspended from the rafters. It was, he thought, a full twelve feet long. He measured the distance between the ears.

“Fourteen inches.” He let out a whistle. “I’d hate to meet that old boy on a dark night among the ice floes,” he murmured low. As he closed his eyes he could picture great jagged heaps of ice amid broad stretches of white cakes roofing the ocean, and seemed to see this white monster following in the track of the hunter. He had passed over just such ice floes as this coming up in the mail plane. What a strange, fascinating world this northland was. What——

His thoughts were broken in upon again. Had he caught the sound of a low grunt close at hand?

“What if I did?” he asked himself almost angrily.

Here were the boxes of carved ivory. The cribbage boards with carvings of dog teams and men, of walrus and their hunters, and of white fox and ptarmigan, were very attractive and cleverly done, but the carvers had been taught by white men.

In a dust laden box he found something truly rare. A broken bit of ancient ivory dug from the sand, where it had lain buried for hundreds of years, had been carved into the most fantastic and intricate designs. Walrus, polar bears and human beings were all there, woven and interwoven together.

“Ah!” he breathed. “Professor Cole would love this! I must get it for him. I——”

Once again his thoughts were interrupted. Little wonder, for, from behind a pile of skins, a pair of very dark eyes were staring at him from the shadows.

Appearing to realize that he had been seen, the man uttered a low grunt, then stood straight up. He was a native, dressed in skins. To Jimmy he was more than just another native. His was an unusual face. Jimmy had been here long enough to see a hundred Eskimo. None had been like this one. With the slow shuffling gait of a native, the man moved away. At the head of the stairs he paused in a bright spot of sunlight to look down to the room below. It was then that like a flash Jimmy swung his candid camera from beneath his coat and snapped it, not once but twice.

“Dr. Cole asked me to get a number of pictures for him, native types,” he reminded himself. “I’ll begin with this fellow.”

But now someone was coming up the stairs and the native was going down. It was that girl, Molly, coming up. With her bright golden hair, her round cheerful face and sturdy stride, she formed a strange contrast to the shuffling native. As they met the native said: “Hullo!”

“Hello!” the girl replied with a smile. And so they passed on the stairs.

“Who was that man?” Jimmy asked in a tense whisper as the girl reached his side.

“I don’t really know. Some King’s Islander, that’s all,” was her indifferent reply. “Probably wants to buy a wolverine skin for trimming parkas.”

“But he’s different from any native I’ve ever seen,” Jimmy insisted.

“Yes, I suppose so,” said the girl. “The King’s Island crowd are different. They’re stronger, keener, a rather superior lot. Father is using some of them as reindeer herders, just a special tribe of them. It’s astonishing how they catch on. Father thinks they are from quite another race.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jimmy, and instantly wondered why he had said it. “Look!” he exclaimed. “I found this in that dusty old box. It’s really rare. I want to buy it.”

“Father will sell it to you for a song,” she laughed. “That’s our scrap heap. We trade flour, sugar, sled material and other goods for ivory work, then send them out to dealers. But some things don’t make a hit. Here’s another dead one.” She held up one more piece that was carved with twisting and intricate designs.

“Dragons!” Jimmy exclaimed. “That’s what’s on it, a dozen of them, all set with green eyes. What do Eskimos know about dragons?”

“That’s what everyone wants to know. That’s why they won’t buy it. But the truth is,” the girl’s voice changed, “the very earliest carvings done by Eskimos show dragons. That proves they’re Orientals, doesn’t it?”

“Looks that way,” said Jimmy. “I’ll take this dragon one. I like the green eyes.”

“Where did this carving of dragons come from?” Timmy asked Bill Bowman when they were again on the ground floor.

“King’s Island,” said the trader.

“King’s Island?” Jimmy exclaimed. “They must be smart people.”

“Sure are,” said Bill. “They’re close to the Asiatic shores, perhaps that’s why. Another interesting thing.” He took up the piece of ivory. “See those green eyes? That’s jade. And it didn’t come from America, either. That kind is found only in the Orient.”

“That’s queer,” said Jimmy. Once he had made his purchase and thrust the ivory carving in his pocket, he forgot the jade, but not for good and all.

“I’m going to our reindeer herd tomorrow,” said Molly. “Want to go along? Our herd is truly worth looking at.”

“I—I’d like to,” said Jimmy. “That is, if the Seminole remains in port. I—I’m sort of attached to her, you know.”

“Find out and let me know,” said Molly. “We’ll go by pupmobile.”

“Pupmobile? What’s that?” Jimmy stared.

“Wait and see,” she laughed.

“O.K. I’ll be seeing you if the Seminole is still on your sand bar.”

As Jimmy stepped out of the store he all but ran into a tall, slim youth. “A typical college boy of the bookish type,” was his mental comment. The young man wore a belted knicker suit.

“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed. “I’m told you are from the Seminole.”

“I’m with my uncle, Captain Jack,” said Jimmy.

“I just arrived by plane,” said the stranger. “Name’s Lancelot Lawson. Don’t let the name bother you. Folks just call me Lance,” he chuckled. “I’ve been told one may travel by coast guard cutter if it is arranged. Do you think it could be arranged? I’m on a hunt for some thousand dollar eggs. You go to the islands, do you not? These eggs might be found there.”

“Let me know when you find them,” Jimmy laughed. “I’d like one for breakfast.”

“No, but I’m serious,” Lance protested. “Never more so. I’ll tell you all about it some time. Do you think it could be arranged?”

“The trip on the Seminole?” Jimmy thought a moment. There were, he knew, some empty berths in the after cabin. “It might,” he replied slowly. “You’ll have to pay for your eats.”

“Oh, most assuredly!” Lance made a phantom pass at his purse.

“I’ll talk to my uncle about it,” said Jimmy. “I’ll look you up. Staying at the hotel, I suppose.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll be no end grateful. I——”

But Jimmy was gone, and as he went he mumbled “Thousand dollar eggs! This northland is a place of strange dreams. And they say that some of them actually come true!”