Left on the Labrador

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The LABRADOR TALES of DILLON WALLACE

Left on the Labrador
A Tale of Adventures Down North. Illustrated $1.75

The Testing of Jim MacLean
A Tale of the Wilds of Labrador. Illustrated $1.75

Troop One of the Labrador
A Tale of Life Out-of-Doors. Illustrated $1.75

The Ragged Inlet Guards
A Story of Adventure in Labrador. Illustrated $1.75

Grit-A-Plenty
A Tale of the Labrador Wild. Illustrated $1.75

The Gaunt Gray Wolf
Fur-Trapping on the Labrador. Illustrated $1.75

Ungava Bob
A Tale of the Fur Trappers. Illustrated $1.75

The Story of Grenfell of the Labrador
A Boy's Life of Wilfred T. Grenfell. Illustrated $1.50

The Lure of the Labrador Wild
The Story of the Exploring Expedition conducted by Leonidas Hubbard, Jr.
Illustrations and Maps. 8vo, cloth $2.50

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[Illustration: HE HELD THE AX READY TO STRIKE THE FIRST ATTACKING
ANIMAL. (See page 189.)]

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LEFT ON THE LABRADOR

A Tale of Adventure Down North

By DILLON WALLACE

Author of "Troop One of the Labrador," "The Testing of Jim MacLean,"
"The Lure of the Labrador Wild," etc., etc.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK--CHICAGO
Fleming H. Revell Company
London and Edinburgh

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Copyright, MCMXXVII, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY

New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 851 Cass Street
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 99 George Street

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To Her
Whose Never Failing
Loyalty and Devotion
is My Fount of Inspiration
My Wife

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This life is not all sunshine,
Nor is it yet all showers;
But storms and calms alternate,
As thorns among the flowers,
And while we seek the roses,
The thorns full oft we scan,
Still let us, though they wound us,
Be happy as we can.

This life has heavy crosses,
As well as joys to share,
And griefs and disappointments,
Which you and I must bear.
And if we may not follow
The path our hearts would plan,
Let us make all around us
As happy as we can.

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CONTENTS

I. THE LOST PASSENGER 9
II. THE TWIGS OF PINCH-IN TICKLE 19
III. SKIPPER ZEB FIXES MATTERS 25
IV. MISSING 34
V. WRECKED 43
VI. THE CAMP AT THE DUCK'S HEAD 53
VII. A SNUG BERTH 64
VIII. THE TRAIL OF A LYNX 77
IX. THE FAR WILDERNESS 86
X. SKIPPER ZEB'S TRAPPING PATH 99
XI. THE WORST FIX OF ALL 112
XII. THE PANGS OF STARVATION 126
XIII. THE GREAT SNOWY OWL 141
XIV. THE BAY FASTENS 146
XV. LOST IN THE BARRENS 156
XVI. A WALL OF SNOW 171
XVII. SKIPPER ZEB'S DOGS 176
XVIII. THE FIGHT WITH THE WOLVES 188
XIX. CHARLEY'S NEW RIFLE 198
XX. THE REBELLION OF THE DOGS 213
XXI. THE CARIBOU HUNT 223
XXII. THE STRANGER 240
XXIII. THE LOST FUR 255
XXIV. THE VENGEANCE OF THE PACK 266
XXV. AMISHKU AND MAIGEN, THE INDIANS 273
XXVI. THE END OF THE FIX 281

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ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing Page

HE HELD THE AX READY TO STRIKE THE FIRST
ATTACKING ANIMAL title

"SHE'S GONE! THE SHIP HAS GONE!" CRIED
CHARLEY IN SUDDEN FRIGHT 18

SKIPPER ZEB'S OAR BROKE, AND THE BOAT WAS
DRIVEN UPON A ROCK 154

THE GREAT PAW SENT TOBY SPRAWLING 214

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I

THE LOST PASSENGER

Charley Norton was bored and unhappy. He stood at the starboard rail of
the mail boat gazing out at the cold, bleak rocks of the Labrador coast,
dimly visible through fitful gusts of driving snow.

Charley Norton and his father's secretary, Hugh Wise, had boarded the
ship at St. John's ten days before for the round trip voyage to Hopedale,
and during the voyage there had not been one pleasant day. Biting blasts
swept the deck, heralding the winter near at hand, and there was no
protecting nook where one could escape them and sit in any degree of
comfort. The cabin was close and stuffy, and its atmosphere was heavy
with that indescribable odor that rises from the bowels of old ships.
The smoking room, bare and dismal and reeking with stale tobacco smoke,
was deserted, save when the mail boat doctor and Hugh Wise were
occasionally discovered there in a silent game of checkers.

Charley had tried every corner of the ship to which he was admitted, and
had decided that, as uncomfortable as it was, he preferred the deck to
cabin or smoking room.

It was the middle of October, and the last voyage the mail boat was to
make until the end of the following June, when the winter's ice would
clear from the coast, and navigation would open for another short
summer. The last fishing schooner had already hurried southward to
escape the autumn gales and the blockade of ice, and the sea was
deserted save by the lonely mail boat, which was picking up the last of
the Newfoundlanders' cod fishing gear at the little harbours of the
coast.

"A swell time I'm having!" Charley muttered. "Not even a decent place on
the old ship where I can sit and read!"

"Not having a good time, eh?"

Charley looked up into the smiling face of Barney MacFarland, the second
engineer.

"Hello!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know anybody was around. I didn't hear
you."

"Having a rotten time?" Barney grinned good-naturedly.

"The worst I've ever had!" said Charley. "It's too cold to stay on deck
and too close and smelly inside, and there's no one to talk with. Mr.
Wise sprawls in his bunk reading silly novels he brought with him, when
he isn't playing checkers with the Doctor."

"'Tis a bad season to be coming down to The Labrador," suggested Barney.
"Though there's fog enough in July and August, we're having fine weather
too, with plenty of sunshine. 'Tis then the passengers are with us, with
now and again sightseers from the States. And the fishing places are
busy, with enough to see. Then's the time to come."

"I didn't pick the time," explained Charley, glad to have an opportunity
to talk into sympathetic ears. "Dad was going hunting in Newfoundland,
and he took me to St. John's with him. I thought I was going along, but
after we got to St. John's he said I was too young to hike through the
country, and that this trip on the mail boat would be more interesting
for me while he hunted. He sent Mr. Wise along to keep me company. He's
Dad's secretary. He's left me alone most of the time. Dad said I would
see Indians and Eskimos and loads of interesting things, but I've been
on the ship ever since we left, except at Hopedale when the Captain
took me ashore for an hour while we were lying there before we turned
back. That was dandy! I saw Eskimos, and Eskimo dogs, and I bought some
souvenirs at the Moravian Mission for Mother and some of the boys. But I
wasn't there half long enough to see everything. They never let me go
ashore in the boat at the harbours where we stop."

"Well, well, now! That is hard on you, b'y," agreed Barney
sympathetically. "Where is your home?"

"In New York. But Dad is so busy at his office that I don't see him
often. I thought I was going to have a dandy time with _him_!"

Charley choked back tears, which he felt it would be unmanly to shed,
and gazed out over the sea.

"Lad, when you gets lonesome to talk come down to the engine room when
it's my watch on," Barney invited heartily. "I'll show you the big
engines, and we'll chum up a bit. I'm off watch now, but I'll be on at
eight bells. That's four o'clock, land reckoning. I'll come and get you,
b'y, and show you the way."

"Thank you! Thank you ever so much!" Charley acknowledged gratefully, as
Barney left him.

The ship which had been standing off from the shore was now edging in
toward the land. Suddenly there came a long blast of the whistle. There
was activity upon the deck at once. Sailors were swinging a boat out
upon the davits. Charley hastened to join the sailors, and asked:

"Are we going to make a port?"

"Aye, lad," answered one of them good-naturedly.

"What place is it?" asked Charley.

"Pinch-In Tickle."

"Will it be a long stop?"

"Now I'm not knowin' how long or how short. We stop inside the Tickle to
take on fish and gear. I'm thinkin' 'twill be a half hour's stop, or
thereabouts."

"May I go ashore in the boat?"

"Ask the mate. I'm doubtin' there'll be room. The boat comes back with
full cargo at this harbour."

Charley turned his inquiry to the mate, who was directing the men.

"No, lad. I'm sorry," he answered, "but there'll be no room for
passengers."

It was always that way! Charley left them to return to his old place at
the rail. The ship had slowed to half speed, and was already picking her
way cautiously into the tickle, where the cliffs, nearly as high as the
masthead, were so close on either side that Charley believed he might
have touched them with a ten-foot pole.

At the end of two hundred yards the narrow tickle opened up into a
beautiful, sheltered harbour. Perched upon the rocks at the north side
of the harbour were some rude cabins. Opposite these the ship swung
about, the boat was lowered, and manned by four sailors, pulled to the
rocks that formed a natural pier for the fishing station.

There was some bitterness in Charley's heart as he watched the
retreating boat, and so occupied was he that he failed to observe, until
it was quite near, another boat pulling toward the ship. It was a small,
dilapidated old boat, with a boy of fourteen or thereabouts at the oars.

Charley leaned over the rail, and with much interest watched the boy
make the painter fast to the ladder, and then, like a squirrel, mount
the ladder to the deck.

The visitor was dressed much like the other natives that Charley had
seen. An Eskimo adikey, made of white moleskin cloth, with the hood
thrown back, served as a coat. His trousers were also of white moleskin,
and were tucked into knee-high sealskin boots with moccasined feet. From
under a muskrat fur cap appeared a round, smiling face, tanned a dark
brown, and a pair of bright, pleasant eyes.

"Hello!" said Charley. "Looking for some one?"

"No," answered the boy, "I'm just pullin' over to look at the ship."

Charley was seized by a sudden impulse, and acted on it instantly.

"Will you take me ashore? The ship will be here for half an hour, and
maybe longer. I'll give you a dollar if you'll take me ashore and bring
me back."

"And you wants to go I'll pull you ashore," agreed the boy cheerfully.
"I'll be goin' down and holdin' the boat up so you can get into she
easy."

Without parley he slipped over the side and down the ladder into the
boat, which he drew broadside to the ladder and there held it until
Charley, who followed, was seated astern.

"Where you wantin' to go now?" asked the boy. "To the boat landin'?"

"Just anywhere ashore," directed Charley. "Let's land over where I can
climb that hill and have a look around."

He indicated a low hill midway between the tickle and the cabins, and
the boy soon made a landing on a shelving rock, above which the hill
rose abruptly. Charley helped him pull the boat to a safe place, and
waited while he made the painter fast. Then the two began the ascent of
the hill.

"What's your name?" asked Charley.

"Toby Twig," answered the boy.

"My name is Charley Norton, and I'm from New York. I'm taking a cruise
in the mail boat."

"I'm wishin' every time I sees she come in that I could be takin' a
cruise in she! It must be wonderful fine."

"I don't think it is. It's too cold on deck and too smelly in the cabin.
It must get pretty cold here in winter. Where I live we hardly ever have
snow until the end of December."

"Aye, it does get wonderful cold," agreed Toby. "'Twill not be long now
till the harbour freezes and the sea too."

"Can't you use boats in winter?"

"No, we can't use un much longer now. We cruises with dogs in winter,
after the harbour and the sea freezes."

"It must be dreadfully lonesome with no boats coming in."

"I don't find un lonesome. There's aplenty to do. We hunts in winter,
and 'tis fine fun."

"Did you ever shoot a wolf?" asked Charley in some awe.

"No, but I sees un. Last winter I sees five wolves, but they keeps too
far away to shoot un."

"My, but I'd like to see a wild wolf! Did you ever see a bear?"

"Yes, I sees bears, black and white. Dad killed a black bear last week."

The two had crossed the crest of the hill, as they talked, wholly
oblivious of the passage of time, until Toby suggested:

"I'm thinkin' now we'd better be goin' back. The mail boat never bides
long here."

"She was to be here half an hour," said Charley, as they retraced their
steps. "We haven't been half an hour."

A moment later they reached the top of the hill. Both boys stopped and
looked below them and in consternation into the empty harbour.

"She's gone! The ship has gone!" cried Charley in sudden fright.

"She's gone!" echoed Toby. "She's goin' and leavin' you!"

"Oh, catch her! Signal her! Do something!" Charley plead helplessly.

"We can't catch she or signal she! She's too far," and Toby pointed to a
long black line of smoke rising above the rocks beyond Pinch-In Tickle,
and more than a mile distant.

"What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?" wailed Charley in wild despair.

What indeed could he do? Here he was, left upon the bleak rocks of the
Labrador coast, at the edge of an Arctic winter, a lad of thirteen, a
stranger in a strange and desolate land.

[Illustration: "SHE'S GONE! THE SHIP HAS GONE!" CRIED CHARLEY IN SUDDEN
FRIGHT.]

II

THE TWIGS OF PINCH-IN TICKLE

"You'll be comin' along with me," suggested Toby. "Dad'll be knowin'
what to do."

"But the boat has gone! How can I get home?" Charley almost sobbed,
quite beside himself with despair and terror.

"Don't be takin' on like that now!" Toby placed his hand soothingly upon
Charley's arm. "Dad says a man can get out of most fixes, and he keeps
his head and don't get scared. Dad knows. He's wonderful fine about
gettin' out of fixes. Dad'll know what to do. He'll be gettin' you out
of your fix easy as a swile[1] slips off a rock. You'll see!"

Helpless to do otherwise, Charley submitted, and Toby led him down to
the boat, and when Charley was seated astern, and Toby was pulling for
the huts, a half mile away, with the strong, sure stroke of an expert
boatman, Toby counselled:

"Don't be lettin' yourself get worked up with worry, now. Dad says
worry and frettin' never makes a bad job better."

"It's terrible! It's terrible!" exclaimed Charley in agony. "I've been
left behind! I've no place to go, and I'll starve and freeze!"

"'Tisn't so bad, now," Toby argued. "You be safe and sound and well.
Maybe the mail boat folk'll be missin' you and come back."

"Do you think they will?" asked Charley, ready to grasp at a straw of
hope.

"I'm not knowin'," answered Toby cautiously, "but leastways you'll be
safe enough."

Toby's assurance gave little comfort to Charley. The snow was now
falling so heavily that he could scarcely see the huts perched upon the
rocky hillside, and there was no other indication of human life in the
great wide, bleak wilderness that surrounded them. The bare rocks, the
falling snow, and the sound of the sea beating upon the cliffs beyond
Pinch-In Tickle filled his heart with hopelessness and helplessness. As
uncomfortable and unhappy as he had been upon the ship, he now thought
of it as a haven of refuge and luxury. If it would only come back for
him! Why had he gone ashore! He had dreamed of adventures, but never an
adventure like this.

"Here's the landin'."

Toby had drawn the boat alongside a great flat rock that formed a
natural wharf. He sprang nimbly out, painter in hand, and while he
steadied the boat Charley followed.

Above the landing were three unpainted and dilapidated cabins. Smoke was
issuing from a stovepipe that protruded through the roof of the smallest
of these, and toward this Toby led the way.

"This is our fishin' place," Toby volunteered. "We fishes here in
summer, and lives in the house where you sees the smoke. The other
houses belongs to Mr. McClung from Newfoundland. The mail boat were
takin' he and three men that fishes with he, and their gear, and they
takes Dad's fish, too."

"You stay here, don't you? You'll stay here till the ship comes back for
me, won't you?" asked Charley pleadingly.

"We goes up the bay to-morrow marnin' to our tilt, our winter house at
Double Up Cove," said Toby, "but I'm thinkin' that if the ship's comin'
back she'll be back before night. Nobody stays out here in winter. 'Tis
wonderful cold here when the wind blows down over the hills and in from
the sea, with no trees to break un, and 'tis a poor place for huntin',
and no wood is handy for the fire."

"What'll I do when you go?" asked Charley in fresh dismay.

"You'll not be stoppin' here _what_ever," assured Toby. "Dad'll know
what to do. He'll get you out of _this_ fix! Don't you worry now."

Toby opened the door of the cabin, and the two boys entered. A tall,
broad-shouldered, bearded man stood by one of the two windows cleaning a
gun. A round-faced, plump little woman was at the stove, transferring
from a kettle to a large earthen bowl something that filled the room
with a most delicious odour, and a girl of twelve years or thereabouts
was placing dishes upon the table.

"Dad," said Toby addressing the man, "I brings with me Charley Norton
who was a passenger on the mail boat, and while he's ashore the mail
boat goes off and leaves he."

"That's a fix now! _That's_ a fix to be in! I calls that a mean trick
for the mail boat to be playin'!" He spoke in a big voice that quite
suited his size, but which startled Charley, and did not reassure him.
"What's to be done about un now? What be _you_ thinkin' to do?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to do," answered Charley timidly.

Toby's Dad put down the gun he was cleaning and wiped his hand on a
cloth.

"Leastways we'll make the best of un," he said, taking Charley's hand in
a bear-like clasp. "Besides bein' Toby's Dad, I'm Skipper Zebulon Twig
of Double Up Cove, and this is Mrs. Twig and this is Vi'let, the
smartest little maid on The Labrador."

Skipper Zebulon Twig laughed so heartily that Charley forgot his
difficulty for a moment, and laughed too, while he shook hands with Mrs.
Twig, who had, Charley thought, a nice motherly way, and with Violet,
who took his hand shyly.

"Now," said Skipper Zeb, "you're in a fix. You're cast away. The worst
fix a man can get in, to my thinkin', is to be cast away on a rock, or
on the ice, without grub. But you're cast away _with_ grub, and that's
not so bad. There's a pot of stewed bear's meat with dumplin' just
ready. We'll set in and eat, and then talk about your fix. 'Tis hard to
think a way out of fixes with an empty belly, and we'll fill ours. Then
we'll get to the bottom of this fix. We'll find a way out of un. You'll
see!"

III

SKIPPER ZEB FIXES MATTERS

Mrs. Twig placed the big earthen bowl with the appetizing odour in the
center of the table, together with a plate heaped high with slices of
white bread and a bowl of molasses. Then she poured tea.

"Dinner's ready this minute," boomed Skipper Zeb. "Set in, and we'll
eat."

There was no cover upon the home-made table, but its top had been
scoured clean and white with sand and water. The cabin boasted no
chairs, and chests were drawn up by Skipper Zeb and Toby to the ends of
the table, and a bench on each side, to serve as seats.

Accepting the invitation, Charley took a place beside Toby on one of the
benches, Violet sat on the bench opposite them, while the Skipper and
Mrs. Twig each took an end. When all were seated, Skipper Zeb, in so big
a voice Charley was sure the Lord could not fail to hear, asked a devout
blessing upon the family, the stranger within their home, and upon the
food.

"Turn to, now, and eat hearty," Skipper Zeb invited, indicating the
earthen bowl. "'Tisn't much we has, but 'tis good. Mrs. Twig makes the
finest dumplin' on The Labrador. I knows for I eats un. I shoots the
bear last week, and 'twere as fine and fat a bear as ever I sees. He
were just prime to curl up for his winter sleep."

"It looks good, and I'm hungry," said Charley, transferring, with a big
serving spoon, a portion of the stewed bear's meat and dumpling to his
plate. "I never ate bear's meat, and I've always wished I could."

"Never ate bear's meat!" exclaimed Skipper Zeb. "Well, now! And we gets
a bear most every year. What kind of meat does you eat where you comes
from? 'Tis likely you gets plenty of deer's meat?"

"Beef, and lamb, and veal, and pork, but I don't care much for pork,
except bacon," said Charley.

"Well, now! In all my days I never tastes beef or lamb or veal! We gets
pickled pork at the post, and 'tis wonderful fine meat _I_ thinks. If
beef and lamb and veal be better than pork, I'd like to try un once.
_They_ must be a rare treat." Skipper Zeb smacked his lips. "Yes, sir,
I'd like to try un once! And does you hunt un?"

"No," Charley smiled, "the animals are raised on farms and the meat is
sold at stores."

"Well, now! What wonderful things goes on in the world, and we never
knows about un down here on The Labrador." Skipper Zeb shook his head in
astonishment. "Does you mark that, Sophia? They raises the animals and
then kills un, and sells the meat at the tradin' stores!"

"'Tis a queer way," admitted Mrs. Twig.

"'Tis a fine way!" enthused Skipper Twig. "Twould be fine if we could
raise deer and kill un when we wants un."

"Here's sweetenin' for your tea," and Toby, observing that Charley had
not helped himself, passed the molasses.

"Thank you," Charley accepted, putting a spoonful of the molasses into
his tea, and wondering why it was used instead of sugar, but venturing
no question. Had he asked, Skipper Zeb would have told him that it was
much less expensive than sugar, and that sugar was a luxury they could
not afford.

There were no vegetables, for on the Labrador coast the summers are too
short and too cold to grow them, and not one of the Twig family had ever
so much as tasted a potato or an onion or a tomato, or, indeed, any of
the wholesome vegetables that we, in our kindlier land, have so
plentifully, and accept as a matter of course. But Charley and the
Twigs, old and young, found the stewed bear's meat, with Mrs. Twig's
light, fluffy dumplings and the good bread and molasses, both satisfying
and appetizing; and when Charley declined a third helping, urged upon
him by Skipper Zeb, he declared that he was as full as though he had
eaten a Christmas dinner.

When all were finished, Skipper Zeb bowed his head and gave thanks for
the bountiful meal; and then, with Toby's assistance, drew the benches
and chests back to the wall.

"Set down, now, and when I lights my pipe we'll talk over this fix
you're gettin' in," said Skipper Zeb. Drawing a pipe and a plug of black
tobacco and a jack-knife from his pocket, he shaved some of the plug
into the palm of his left hand, rolled it between his palms, and filled
the pipe. Then, with some deliberation, he selected a long, slender
sliver from the wood box, ignited it at the stove, lighted his pipe and
carefully extinguished the burning sliver.

"This _is_ a fix, now! Well, now, '_tis_ a fix!" Skipper Zeb sat down
upon a bench by Charley's side, and for a minute or two puffed his pipe
in silence, sending up a cloud of smoke. Then, turning to Charley, he
boomed: "But 'tis not such a bad fix we can't get out of un! No, sir!
We'll see about _this_ fix! We'll see!"

"Thank you," said Charley gratefully, and with hope that there might be
a way out of his trouble after all.

"Now, to start in the beginning, and that's where most things have to
start," said Skipper Zeb, "we won't worry about un. Worry is bad for the
insides of a man's head, and what's bad for the insides of a man's head
is bad for all of his insides, and if he worries, and keeps un up, he
gets sick. To-day is to-day and to-morrow is to-morrow. 'Tis but sense
for a man to provide for to-morrow, and do his best to do un, but if he
can't there's no use his worryin' about un. That's how I figgers. You're
feelin' well and hearty to-day?"

"Yes," admitted Charley.

"You just had a good snack of vittles?"

"Yes."

"You're warm and snug?"

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