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CHAPTER XXVI
DAYS OF WAITING

With the coming of night a strong wind sprang up, and by ten o'clock it was blowing a gale. The wind caused the house to rock and groan, and for the travelers sound sleep was out of the question. The man in charge, however, had experienced such a condition of affairs before and did not appear to mind it.

"Some great winds here at times," he said to Granbury Lapham. "Once the top of the house was blown off and sailed away down into the valley."

"Excuse me, but I don't want to be here at such a time, don't you know," answered the Englishman.

The wind increased steadily, and at midnight it was blowing so furiously that Dave thought the shelter might go over. He went towards the door, to find a quantity of snow sifting in above the sill.

"Hello, it must be snowing again!" he remarked. "That's too bad, for it will make traveling worse than ever."

It was snowing, and the downfall continued all night and half of the next day. The wind piled it up against the house until it reached the roof, burying two of the windows completely from sight.

"This is a regular North Pole experience," remarked Roger, as he bustled around in the morning, trying to get warm. "I don't know that I want to go much further north."

"Don't want to become an arctic explorer, then?" queried Granbury Lapham.

"Not much! Say, stir up the fire, or I'll be frozen stiff."

Wood was piled on the fire, and soon a pot of steaming coffee made all feel better. When the man in charge went out to look at the sheep in the various folds Dave went with him. The air was filled with snow, and it was very dark.

"This is terrible," said Dave, on returning. He was thinking of his father and the others of the exploring party.

"Land of the Midnight Sun," returned the senator's son, laconically.

"The man says they'll not return to-day," said Granbury Lapham. "It would not be safe on the mountain trail."

"I thought as much," answered Dave. "Well, all we can do, I suppose, is to wait." And he heaved a deep sigh.

The day passed slowly, for the place afforded nothing in the way of amusement, and even if it had, Dave was too much worried about his father to be interested. All went out among the sheep and saw them fed. The folds were long, low, and narrow, and the occupants huddled together "just like a flock of sheep," as Roger remarked with a grin.

"What timid creatures they are," said he, a little later. "I suppose you can do almost anything with them."

"Not with the rams," answered Dave. And then he went on: "Do you remember Farmer Cadmore's ram and how we put him in Job Haskers' room?"

"I don't believe these animals are quite so ugly," said the senator's son, and went up to one of the rams in question. The animal backed away a few feet, then of a sudden it leaped forward, lowered its head, and sent Roger sprawling on his back.

"Wow!" grunted the youth. "Ho! chase him off!" And he lost no time in rolling over and getting out of harm's way. "Gracious, but that was a crack in the stomach, all right!" he groaned.

"He's what you can call a battering-ram," observed Dave.

"Yes, and a ram-bunctious one at that."

"Don't ram-ble in your talk, Roger."

"If he goes on another ram-page I won't ram-ble, I'll run."

"Say, this joke has too many ram-ifications for me, let us drop it," said Dave, and with a merry laugh both lads changed the subject.

The hours dragged by slowly. At noon they took their time eating a meal that all hands prepared. Fortunately they had with them a few canned goods, which gave them something of a change in their diet.

When night came again the wind arose once more. But now the house was so completely buried in the snow that it was scarcely touched. Dave was worn out and slept soundly, and the others did not awaken him until nearly nine o'clock.

"Any news?" was his first question on arising.

"Nothing," answered Granbury Lapham. "Porter, I am growing worried," he added, seriously.

"I think we have good cause to worry, Mr. Lapham. It is no joke to be out on a mountain top in such weather as this."

"The man here tells me there are several shelters up there, one built between the rocks where the wind cannot touch it. But for all that I am worried."

"Do you suppose they have enough food with them?"

"They should know enough to go well supplied."

All of that day and the next went by, and still nobody appeared at the sheep-station. Another snowstorm was brewing, and when it came the air was so filled with it that nobody could venture outside. The young Americans and the Englishman paced the floor of the shelter impatiently, but could do nothing. Their food was limited, and the tobacco for Granbury Lapham's pipe ran low, which caused the man additional trouble.

"I can get along with a poor meal, but I must have my smoke," he said.

A day later they were seated around the fire discussing the situation when Roger gave a cry.

"Well, I never!"

"What's up now?" asked Dave.

"Why, we've gotten into a new year and nobody ever noticed it!"

"By Jove, that's so!" answered Granbury Lapham. "Well, here's a Happy New Year to all of you."

"A poor beginning makes a good ending, they say," said Dave. "Let us hope that proves true in this instance." He was sorry he had not been in a position to send New Year greetings to those at home, and especially to Jessie.

Sunday passed drearily, and also Monday. On Tuesday it began to clear and the wind dropped entirely. Then the house was opened and they went forth, and the man in charge busied himself with his sheep. Two of the animals had died from the cold, and one had been trampled to death in the huddling together to keep warm.

"Thank fortune, the horses are all right," said Roger, after an inspection.

With the coming of comparatively good weather they watched eagerly for the return of the exploring party. The sheep-station keeper pointed out to them where the mountain trails ran and told them the party must come by way of one of them, for to descend in any other manner would be impossible.

"I really can't see how they are going to get down in such a snow," was Dave's comment. "Why, in some places it must be ten feet deep or more."

"The wind has swept some places clear," was Granbury Lapham's answer. "As far as possible they'll stick to those cleared spots."

"It must be fearfully slippery," said Roger. "And if any of them takes a tumble – " He did not finish.

The day was coming to a close when Dave, who was still on the watch, uttered a shout.

"I see somebody, up on yonder trail!" he cried. "One, two, three of them!"

"Only three?" queried Granbury Lapham.

"That is all, so far."

All ran out and looked to where Dave pointed. Three men were coming along the trail slowly. Sometimes they would be in snow up to their waists, and then again they could be seen crawling cautiously over the icy rocks which had been swept clear of snow.

"If we only had a field-glass!" murmured Dave. He wondered if one of the men could be his father.

The men were only in sight a few minutes, then some projecting rocks hid them from view. The man in charge of the sheep-station was questioned, and he told them it would take the men on the mountain a good two hours to get down to the house, as the trail wound around considerably to avoid several dangerous cliffs.

"Let us go out to meet them," said Dave. "I can't stand this hanging around doing nothing."

"All right, I'll go with you," answered his chum.

Granbury Lapham was also anxious; and in a few minutes the three started out, along a road the sheep-station keeper pointed out. It was now dark, but they kept to the road with ease, as it ran between several patches of stunted pines.

No words can describe the feeling that filled Dave's heart. Was he to meet his father at last? At times he trembled like a leaf just to think of it.

His eyes were on the alert, and after trudging along for half an hour he made out several forms approaching down the mountain trail. He set up a shout and so did his companions, and presently came an answering call.

In a few minutes the two parties were within speaking distance. Dave gave each of the three newcomers a searching look, and his heart sank. Not one of them was his father.

The three men were the Norwegian guide and two individuals named Hausermann and Davis. They were almost exhausted by their journey, and begged to be conducted to the sheep-station and given something to eat before telling their story.

"But my brother – what of him?" demanded Granbury Lapham.

"Who is your brother?" asked Samuel Hausermann.

"Philip Lapham, the head of this expedition."

"Oh, so you are Philip's brother. Well, he is safe – at least he was when we left him. He hurt his knee a little, slipping over some rocks, but it didn't amount to much."

"And what of my father, David Porter?" put in Dave, anxiously. "He was with you, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was with us," answered Samuel Hausermann. "But he – " The man stopped speaking and looked at his companions.

"But what? Oh, don't say something has happened to him!" cried Dave, and a sudden chill took possession of his heart.

"We're hoping he is safe," said Charles Davis. "You see, he went out yesterday, to look for some food. It was very slippery on the rocks and the wind knocked him down and rolled him over a cliff."

"And then – " Dave could hardly speak.

"We tried to get to him, but couldn't," said Samuel Hausermann. "Our rope wasn't long enough. Then he tried to climb up the cliff, but the snow seemed to blind him and he lost his grip, went down, and disappeared over another cliff about a hundred feet below. And that's the last we saw or heard of him."

CHAPTER XXVII
DAVE STRIKES OUT ALONE

It was dismaying news, and utterly downcast Dave followed the others to the sheep-station and listened to the details of what the newcomers had to tell. It was a long story, and while they related it a good hot meal was prepared for them.

"We reached the top of the mountain in safety and also the plateau of the smaller mountain beyond," said Samuel Hausermann. "That was the place for which we were bound. Shortly after that the snowstorm came on, and the high winds, and it was all we could do to gain one of the old shelters up there between the rocks. In journeying around we lost a good portion of our outfit, including some of the provisions, and all we had to live on for two days was some venison – Mr. Porter shot a small red deer – and some beans and crackers. We had intended to do some more exploring, but the weather put a stop to everything of that sort. Then one of the party, Mr. Jackson, took sick and we had to do what we could to get him well again. At last Mr. Porter went out to see if he couldn't bring down something in the way of game. He could get only some small birds and they lasted only one meal. Then he went out again, after an elk he had seen at a distance. That was when he took the tumble over the cliffs."

"Are you sure he wasn't killed?" asked Dave.

"I am sure of nothing, my lad. But I think the chances are he fell in the deep snow, or on some of the fir trees, and that that saved his life."

"What time was this yesterday?"

"About noon. After that we decided to come down here, and at the same time look for your father. Philip Lapham said he would remain, to look after Jackson, who was as yet too weak to walk. We left all our provisions up there and came down here as fast as we could – and here we are."

This was all Samuel Hausermann could tell, and Charles Davis corroborated his statement. Dave shook his head sadly.

"Even if my father wasn't killed by the tumble he took, maybe he was starved or frozen to death," he said to Roger.

"Hope for the best, Dave," was all the senator's son could answer.

The Norwegian guide, Bjornhof, had agreed to go back to the mountain top with a load of provisions. He had expected to go alone, but Dave said he would go also, to see if he could not find what had become of his parent. Then Granbury Lapham said he would go also.

"Maybe I'd better go too," said Roger.

"No, Roger," answered Dave. "It wouldn't be fair to ask you to do that. There is too much of peril, and you must remember what you promised your mother and father. You stay here with Mr. Davis and Mr. Hausermann." And so it was finally settled.

All of the party were provided with knapsacks, which they filled with the best provisions available. The guide also carried an extra bag of stuff, strapped across the back of his neck. He was a brawny fellow, over six feet in height, and did not seem to mind the load in the least. He had a gun, and Dave and Granbury Lapham each carried a pistol and a box of cartridges.

"Good luck to you, Dave," said the senator's son on parting, and he shook hands warmly. "Remember, I shall be very anxious until I hear from you again." He followed his chum a short distance up the mountain trail, and the two were loath to separate.

The route was rocky and uncertain, and during the next two hours Dave realized what climbing the Alps must be. At certain spots they had to help one another along, using a rope for that purpose. Once they crossed a split in the rocks several feet wide and of great depth, and it made Dave shudder to peer down into the dark and forbidding depths below.

Yet he thought very little of the perils of that arduous journey. His mind was constantly on his parent. Would he find his father alive, or had the fall over the cliffs killed his parent?

"God grant he is alive!" he said to himself, over and over again.

They had started directly after breakfast, and by noon reached a small level spot where they took a well-deserved rest. From this place the guide pointed out the cliffs from which Mr. Porter had fallen.

"But you cannot reach them from here," he explained, in his native dialect, to Granbury Lapham. "To get to them we must walk at least a mile further. And even then I know of no way to reach the spot to which the poor man fell."

"I'll reach that somehow," said Dave, when the guide's words had been translated to him.

"Well, lad, you must be careful," cautioned Granbury Lapham. "No use in your losing your life, you know."

But Dave merely shook his head. He was bound to find his father, dead or alive, no matter what the cost. For the time being he could think of absolutely nothing else. That, and that alone, possessed him, heart and soul.

The air was clear, with little or no wind, which was one comfort. As they went on they had to pass around great ridges of snow and over hummocks of ice, where the water had frozen while tumbling down the mountain side. There were but few trees in that vicinity, although a small forest grew at the foot of the cliffs.

At last they reached a spot where the guide said a small and decidedly uncertain trail led to the bottom of the upper cliff – the first one over which Mr. Porter had fallen.

"Then that is where I am going," said Dave. "Perhaps I can find out something about my father there."

"You had better come with us," answered Granbury Lapham. "As soon as I have met my brother we can all come back to this place."

"No, you can come back anyway – I'll stay here now and look around," replied the youth, firmly.

Bjornhof pointed out the exact spot from which Mr. Porter had fallen, and without waiting Dave trudged off, and the others continued their climb up the mountain. Soon a point of rocks separated them, and Dave found himself utterly alone.

Had he had less to think about the boy might have felt very lonely. But now his heart was filled with thoughts of his parent, and he never gave the situation in which he was placed any consideration. On and on he hurried. Twice he fell on the slippery rocks, but picked himself up just as quickly. In his mind's eye he could see his father helpless at the bottom of the cliffs, with a broken leg or a fractured rib, or suffering for the want of food and warmth. Such thoughts were terrifying, and caused him to shudder from head to foot.

"This must be the place!"

He spoke the words as he came to a spot where footprints in the snow were plainly visible. He looked around eagerly and made out where his father had slipped from that cliff to the hollow below. Here was a long icy slide, and Dave did not dare to venture too close to the brink, for fear of going over.

"That hollow must be at least a hundred feet deep," reasoned the youth. "How am I ever to get down there?"

He called out, but no answer came back. Then he walked slowly to the far end of the cliff, behind and over some jagged rocks which at first seemed to completely bar the way.

He heaved a long sigh, then looked at the very end of the cliff. Here the rocks were notched and uneven, and he found a spot where he could drop a distance of fifteen feet in safety. But after that?

"If I get down there perhaps I won't be able to get back – if I want to," he reasoned. "But I'm going down, anyway – and find out what became of father," he added, recklessly. The drop taken, he found himself on a ledge several yards wide and twice as long. To his delight back of the ledge was a hollow leading downward.

"Perhaps that goes to the bottom of the cliff," he mused. "I'll try it, anyway."

The passageway was dangerous, being covered with ice, and he had to move literally an inch at a time. Once he slipped, but caught fast to a ridge of ice just in time to save himself. It made his heart leap into his throat, yet he kept on. He was so eager to gain the object of his quest that no peril, no matter how great, could have daunted him. Surely "blood is thicker than water" every time.

Having gained the bottom of the hollow inside of the cliff, he turned to where a streak of light showed. Here was a narrow slit leading to the greater hollow outside of the cliff. It was so small that the youth squeezed through with difficulty and had even more trouble getting his knapsack on the other side.

He now stood where there was a gentle slope leading to the firs growing at the foot of the cliff. Here there was a great drift of snow, in some spots fifteen and twenty feet high.

"I wonder if father came down in that?" he mused. "If he did he wouldn't be apt to break any bones. But he might get smothered before he could find his way out, especially if the fall took his breath away."

He gazed around in the drift and saw a spot where it looked as if the snow had been disturbed. Then he saw what looked to be footprints further on, leading among the firs.

"Hello! hello!" he called, with all the strength of his lungs. "Mr. Porter! Where are you?"

His voice echoed along the rocks and beyond, and he waited with bated breath for a reply, but, as before, none came.

What should he do next – go on or search the immense snowdrift for his father's body?

He deliberated for several minutes, then moved onward.

"I must see if he is alive," he reasoned. "I can always come back for his body later – if I have to."

The edge of the fir forest gained, Dave paused once more. Here was a track in the snow, but whether made by a human being or a wild animal he could not tell. Then he uttered a sharp cry and rushed forward to pick something up.

It was a box that had contained rifle cartridges. It was empty and practically new. Had his father possessed that and discarded it?

Suddenly he thought of something new, and pulling out his pistol fired it off as a signal. The last echo had hardly died out when an answering shot came back. His face lit up with joy, then grew sober again.

Perhaps the shot had come from above, from Granbury Lapham or the others up there. But no, it had seemed to be further down – beyond the line of firs which confronted him. At the risk of wasting too much ammunition he fired again. But this time no signal came back.

"If it was father he'll want to save his shots – especially if his cartridge box is empty," thought Dave. Then he resolved to push on through the timber, calling his parent in the meanwhile.

CHAPTER XXVIII
A JOYOUS MEETING

Dave had proceeded a distance of fifty yards into the patch of firs when he came to a halt. A peculiar sound to his left had caught his ears. He had never heard such a sound before and he wondered what it was.

"Must have been some bird – or a wild animal," he murmured, after he had listened for some time. "There ought to be many kinds of small wild animals in a place like this."

He proceeded on his way again, but a dozen steps further came to another halt. Something lay in the snow at his feet. It was a fur glove. He picked it up, looked it over, and then, in his agitation, dropped it.

The glove was stained with blood!

"Can that be father's glove?" he thought. "And if it is, how does it happen that it is covered with blood?"

A shiver ran down his backbone that was not caused by the cold, and for the minute he could hardly move. He tried to call once more, but his throat was so dry he could scarcely make a sound. Again from a distance came that peculiar noise, low and muttering. He now recognized it as a growl, but whether of a dog or a wild beast he could not determine. He brought out the pistol he had placed in his pocket and held it ready for use.

"Footprints!" The word came from his lips involuntarily. He had reached a spot where the snow was only a few inches deep, and here the footprints of a man were plainly to be seen. They led through the belt of firs and then towards the jagged rocks at the base of a high cliff.

Again that suspicious growl reached him, and now Dave saw a dark object just as it disappeared around a corner of rock close to some brushwood.

"Was that a beast or a man crawling in the snow?" he asked himself. "That sound came from an animal, but the thing didn't look like a beast."

He went on, more cautiously than ever. Then he heard a sudden cry that made every nerve in his body tingle:

"Get back there! Get back, you brute!"

It was a man's voice, weak and exhausted, trying to keep off some wild beast. Then came a low growl, followed by the discharge of a pistol, and a few seconds later there came running toward Dave a full-grown bear, growling savagely and wagging its shaggy head from side to side. The youth was surprised but not taken off his guard, and as the animal came closer he leveled his weapon, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The bear had raised up on its hind legs and the bullet took it straight in the breast, inflicting a bad but not a mortal wound. Then Dave started to fire a second time, but in a twinkling the bear leaped over a low rock and disappeared in the brushwood. Listening, Dave heard it lumbering away, growling with rage and pain as it went.

"Hello!" came a faint voice. "Is that you, Lapham?"

"No, it is somebody else," answered Dave. He could scarcely speak, he was so agitated. "Where are you?"

"Here, near the cliff. I am wounded, and I – I – " The voice died out completely.

"I'm coming!" shouted Dave. "Just let me know where you are."

For a minute there was no answer, and Dave continued to call. Then came what was half call and half moan. With ears on the alert, the boy followed up the sounds and quickly came in sight of a man, wrapped up in a fur overcoat and crouched in a heap between two rocks at the base of the cliff. He held a pistol in his hand, but the weapon was empty.

For the instant man and boy faced each other – the former too weak to speak and the latter too agitated to do so. Dave's heart was beating like a trip-hammer and for the time being his surroundings were completely forgotten.

"Are you – are you – " he began. "Are you David Porter?" he blurted out.

"Yes," was the gasped-out reply. "Yo – you – "

"And you don't know me! Oh, father!"

"Eh? What's that?" asked the man, rising up slightly.

"You don't know me? But of course you don't – if you didn't get the letters and telegrams. I am your son, Dave Porter."

"My son? Wha – what do you mean? I – er – have no son. I had one, years and years ago, but – " Mr. Porter was too weak to go on. He sat staring at Dave in bewilderment.

"You lost him, I know. He was stolen from you. Well, I am that son. I have been looking for you for months. I found Uncle Dunston first, and then we sent letters and cablegrams to you, but no answer came back. Then I started out to hunt you up – and here I am." Dave was on his knees and holding his father's blood-stained hand in his own. "I see you are hurt; I'll – "

"My son? My son?" queried Mr. Porter, like one in a dream. "Can this be true?" He gazed unsteadily at Dave. Then he closed his eyes and went off into a dead faint. The youth was startled, for he saw that his parent might be dying. His hand was hurt and he had scratches on his ear, and one knee of his trousers was blood-stained.

"I must help him – he must not die!" thought Dave, and set to work with feverish haste, doing all that was possible under the circumstances. From his shirt he tore off the sleeves and used them as bandages. Then he rubbed his father's face with snow. Presently the man opened his eyes and stared again at Dave.

"Did yo – you say you were my – my son?" he asked, in a weak, incredulous voice.

"If you are David Breslow Porter, a twin brother to Dunston Porter."

"I am."

"Then I am your son – the one who was stolen from you by the nurse, Polly Margot, and her worthless husband, Sandy."

"It is – is marvellous! I can hardly believe it!" murmured Mr. Porter.

"But it is true – and I can easily prove it, father," answered the youth, in a happy tone. He bent over and kissed his parent. "Oh, I am so glad I have found you!"

"Yes! yes! I am glad too!" Mr. Porter's eyes began to beam. "But I – I – really can't understand it yet! I – my son, my little Dave! Why, it sounds like a fairy tale! I must be dreaming." He caught Dave by the shoulder. "Is it really, really so?"

"It is, father, and I'll explain it all after awhile. But now you are hurt, and you must take it easy. Did you tumble over the cliff, or did that bear – "

"Both, Dave. How queer it sounds to call you Dave, my Dave!" Mr. Porter caught the boy around the neck. "I can't believe it yet – I really can't. Where have you been all these years? And how did you learn – "

"I'll tell you afterwards, father – when we are safe. Then you fell over the cliff?"

"Yes, and while I was trying to crawl away to some spot to rest the bear got after me and scratched me in the ear. I let him have a bullet in his neck and that made him retreat. But then he came at me again, and I don't know what I should have done if it hadn't been for your arrival. The pistol is empty, as you can see."

"You heard my shot and you signaled back, didn't you?"

"Yes, I signaled back and shot at the bear at the same time. But that shot didn't hit him, although it made him keep his distance for awhile."

"I see your pistol is the same size as mine, so I'll load them both – in case the bear comes back." Dave set to work immediately and soon had the work completed. "Now you must have something to eat and to drink, and then you'll feel better."

He unslung his knapsack and brought forth his provisions, and sitting in the shelter of the cliff prepared a meal. Over some lighted brushwood he made a canteen of coffee, of which his father partook with satisfaction, and then ate a sandwich and some crackers and cheese. As he supplied his parent Dave told a good portion of his story, although he went into few details.

"It is queer that I never received any of those letters and cablegrams," said Mr. Porter. "Yet you must remember I thought your uncle was still among the South Sea Islands. He wrote to me that he was going on a trip that might last two years or more and might not be able to write to me for some time. Laura, your sister – how surprised she will be! – and myself traveled down to Rome and through Spain and then came up to Berlin. There I fell in with Hausermann and, later on, with Philip Lapham. They told me of this expedition into Norway, and got me interested financially. Your sister wanted to go to the United States, with some close friends, and I let her go and came up here. We traveled to Norway somewhat in secret, for we did not wish to let the object of our expedition become known. On that account we had some trouble with the police, who took us for political intriguers. After that we left no addresses behind us – which accounts for the non-delivery of the cablegram you sent to me from England."

"But what brought you up into this portion of Norway, father, and at this time of the year?"

"We came to locate a valuable mine, or rather a series of mines, in this section. Hausermann had some information about them, but had no money, and he came to me and then to Philip Lapham, and we 'staked' the expedition, as miners call it. We came up this winter because we heard that three other parties were coming up next spring and next summer, and we wanted to get in ahead."

"And have you done that?" asked Dave, with interest.

"Not as yet. We have found some traces of copper at one point and nickel at another, but not the rich deposits the information we possessed led us to believe could be located."

"Never mind, now we are together, perhaps you'll have better luck, father. I'll help you." Dave smiled broadly. "Tell me about yourself, and about my sister Laura, won't you?"

Both sat in front of the tiny camp-fire, Mr. Porter's bandaged head resting on Dave's shoulder, and a hand clasping that of the boy. They were supremely happy, and for the time being the world around them was forgotten. Mr. Porter told much about himself and of his travels, and Dave related how he had been raised at the poorhouse and taken care of by Caspar Potts and Oliver Wadsworth, and how he had fallen in with Billy Dill, the sailor, and gone to the South Sea Islands and found his Uncle Dunston.

"I know your sister Laura will be overjoyed to learn the news," said Mr. Porter. "She has often said how nice it would be if she had a sister or a brother. Since your mother's death we have been very lonely. Ah, if your mother could only have seen this day!" And the tears stood in Mr. Porter's eyes. Then he drew Dave to his breast, and a warm embrace by both followed.