# The Blue Envelop, St Nicholas, 1922/Chapter 4

From St. Nicholas magazine, Vol. 49, Part I, April 1922, pp. 625-627.

### CHAPTER IV
#### CAST ADRIFT

There was a shallow space beneath a tray of color-tubes in the very bottom of Marion's paint-box. There, on leaving Cape Prince of Wales, she had stowed the blue envelop addressed to Phi Beta Chi. She had not done this without misgivings. Disturbing thoughts had come to her. Was it the right thing to do? Was it safe! The latter question had come to her with great force when she saw the grizzled miner's face framed in the port-hole of that schooner.
But from the day they landed at Whaling, on the mainland of Siberia, all thoughts of the letter and the two claimants for its possession were completely crowded from her mind. Never in all her adventurous life had Marion experienced anything quite so thrilling as this life with the Chukches of the arctic coast of Siberia.
In Alaska, the natives had had missionaries and teachers among them for thirty years. But here, here where no missionaries had been allowed nor teachers been sent, where gold gleamed still ungathered in the beds of the rivers, here the natives still dwelt in their dome-like houses of poles and skins. Here they fared boldly forth in search of the dangerous walrus and white bear and the monstrous whale. Here they made strange fire to spirits of the monsters that they had slaughtered, and spoke in grave tones of the great spirit that had come down from the moon in the form of a raven with a beak of old ivory.
It is little wonder that Marion forgot all thought of fear amid such surroundings, as she worked industriously at the sketches which were to give her three wonderful years of study under well-known masters.
But one day, after six weeks of this veritable dream-life, as she lifted the tray to her paint-box, her eyes fell on the blue envelop.
Instantly a flood of remembrance rushed through her mind; the frank-faced college-boy, the angry miner, were pictured in her memory. Her hand trembled. She could not control her brush. The sketch she had been working upon went unfinished.
"AS SHE LIFTED THE TRAY, HER EYES FELL ON THE BLUE ENVELOP"
That very evening she had news that disturbed her still more. A native had come from East Cape, the next village to the south. He had seen a white man there, a full-bearded man of middle age. He had said that he intended coming to Whaling in a few days. He had posed among the natives as a spirit-doctor and had, according to reports, worked many wonderful cures by his incantations. Three whales had come into the hands of the East Cape hunters. This was an excellent catch and had been taken as a good omen; the bearded stranger was without doubt highly favored by the spirits of these dead whales.
"I wish our skin-boat would come for us," said Lucile, suddenly, as they talked of it in the privacy of their tent.
"But it won't, not for three weeks yet. That was the agreement."
"I know," said Lucile, resignedly, "the only thing we can do is to wait."
If the East Capers had been favored with three whales, the men of Whaling were not. One lone whale, and that a small one, was their total take. Witch-doctors began declaring that the presence of strange, white-faced women in their midst was displeasing to the spirits of dead whales. The making of the images of the people on canvas was also sure to bring disaster.
As reports of this dissatisfaction came to the ears of the girls, they began straining their eyes for a square sail on the horizon. Still, their boat did not come.
Then came the crowning disaster of the year. The walrus-herd, on which the natives based their last hope, passed south along the coast of Alaska instead of Siberia. Their caches were left empty. Only the winter's supply of white bear and seal could save them from starvation.
"Dezra! Dezra!" ["Enough! Enough!"] the natives whispered among themselves.
The day after the return of the walrus canoes, Marion and Lucile went for a long walk down the beach.
Upon rounding a point in returning, Marion suddenly gave a gasp:
"Look, Lucile! It's gone; our tent!"
"Gone!" murmured Lucile.
"I wonder what,—"
"Look, Marion! the whole village!"
"Let's run."
"Where to? We'd starve in two days, or freeze. Come on. They won't hurt us."
With anxious hearts and trembling footsteps, they approached the solid line of fur-clad figures which stretched along the southern outskirts of the village.
As they came close they heard one word repeated over and over: "Dezra! Dezra!"
And as the natives almost chanted this single word, they pointed to a sled on which the girls' belongings had been neatly packed. To the sled, three dogs were hitched—two young wolf-hounds, with Rover as leader.
"They want us to go," whispered Lucile.
"Yes, and where shall we go?"
"East Cape is the only place."
"And that miner?"
"It may not be he."
Three times Marion tried to press her way through the line. Each time the line grew more dense at the point she approached. Not a hand was laid upon her; she could not go through, that was all. The situation thrilled as much as it troubled her. Here was a people kind at heart, but superstitious. They believed that their very existence depended upon getting rid of these two strangers. What was there to do but go?
They went, and all through the night they assisted the little dog-team to drag the heavy load over the first thin snow of autumn. Over and over again Marion blessed the day she was kind to old Rover because he was a white man's dog; for he was the pluckiest puller of them all.
Just as dawn streaked the east they came in sight of what appeared to be a rude shack built of boards. As they came closer, they could see that some of the boards had been painted and some had not. Some were painted halfway across, and some only in patches of a foot or two. They had been hastily thrown together. The whole effect, viewed at a distance, resembled nothing so much as a crazy-quilt.
"Must have been built from the wreckage of a house," said Lucile.
"Yes, or a boat."
"A boat? Yes, look; there it is out there, quite a large one. It's stranded on the sand-bar and half broken up."
The girls paused in consternation. It seemed they were hedged in on all sides by perils. To go back was impossible. To go forward was to throw themselves upon the mercies of a gang of rough sea-men. To pass around the cabin was only to face the bearded stranger, who, they had reason to believe, was none other than the man who had demanded the blue envelop.
A few minutes' debate brought them to a decision. They would go on to the cabin.
"Mush, Rover! Mush!" Marion threw her tired shoulders into the improvised harness, and once more they moved forward.
It was with wildly beating hearts that they rounded the corner of the cabin and came to a stand by the door.
At once an exclamation escaped their lips:
"Empty! Deserted!"
And so it proved. Snow that had fallen two days before lay piled within the half-open doorway. No sign of occupation was to be found within save a great rusty galley-range, two rickety chairs, an improvised table, two rusty kettles, and a frying-pan.
"They have given the ship up as a total loss and have left in dories or skin-boats," said Marion.
"Yes," agreed Lucile: "They wanted to get across the straits before the coming of the white line."
"The coming of the white line!" Marion started. She knew what that meant far better than Lucile did. She had lived in Alaska longer; had seen it oftener. Now she thought what it would mean if it came before the skin-boat came for them. And that skin-boat? What would happen when it came to Whaling? Would the Chukches tell them in which direction they had gone? And if they did, would the Eskimo boatmen set their sail and go directly to East Cape? If they did, would they miss this diminutive cabin, standing back, as it did, from the shore and seeming a part of the sand-bar?
"We'll put up a white flag, a skirt or something, on the peak of the cabin," she said, half talking to herself.
"Do you think we ought to go right on to East Cape?" said Lucile.
"We can decide that now," said Marion. "We need food and sleep. The dogs need rest."
Some broken pieces of drift were piled outside the cabin. These made a ready fire. They were soon enjoying a feast of fried fish and canned baked beans. Then, with their water-soaked muck-lucks (skin-boots) and stockings hanging by the fire, they threw deer-skins on the rude bunk attached to the wall, and were soon fast asleep.
(To be continued)