Read Ebook: Secret Mission to Alaska Sandy Steele Adventures #5 by Leckie Robert

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Ebook has 1089 lines and 38239 words, and 22 pages

At that moment a jeep screeched to a stop nearby, its exhaust spewing out smoke like a chimney. The corporal at the wheel leaned out and yelled to them. "Dr. Steele here?" After the geologist identified himself, the corporal told them to pile into the jeep. "There's a gent waiting for you at headquarters. A detail will be right out to unload your baggage."

"How do you keep these runways free of ice?" Dr. Steele shouted to the driver above the loud, rowdy roar of the little jeep motor.

"Sweep 'em with giant vacuum cleaners regularly," the corporal replied. "When it gets really rough we melt the ice with flame throwers."

Professor Berkley Crowell was waiting for them close by the glowing steel-drum coal stove that reinforced the electric heaters in the big quonset-hut headquarters. "You can't beat the old-fashioned way," he said with a smile, toasting his fingers in the shimmering heat waves that radiated from the top of the steel drum.

The professor was a slight, stooped, very British-looking man in his middle fifties. He had a thin weatherbeaten face, a sharp nose and a close-cropped mustache. His deep-set blue eyes were warm and full of good humor.

"Well," he said, upon being introduced to Sandy and Jerry, "I understand that you boys will be helping me with my dog team."

"We'll do the best we can, sir," Sandy told him.

"They won't give you too much trouble," the professor said. "Titan--that's my lead dog--he practically runs the whole show himself. Possesses human intelligence, that animal."

"When do we get to see them?" Jerry asked.

"As soon as we get back to my ranch. I'm situated about ten miles down the Alaska Highway, toward Dawson Creek. That's the southern terminus of the highway."

When they had finished the steaming mugs of hot coffee served up by the flying officers' mess, Professor Crowell and his party climbed aboard the big station wagon parked in the drive and drove away from the air base.

The Alaska Highway was a broad, smooth, gravel-topped road hewed through some of the thickest forests and most rugged terrain on the North American continent. Now the gravel was topped by a thick crust of snow.

"A miracle of our century," Professor Crowell explained as they drove. "Built in just eight months by your amazing U.S. Army engineers in 1943, when the Japanese forces were threatening the Aleutian Island chain. It was a lifesaving artery to Alaska and a vital chain to our western air bases. Sixteen hundred and seventy-one miles. Just imagine!"

An auto filled with shouting children whizzed past them, traveling in the opposite direction. It was weighted down with valises and bundles strapped to the roof and fenders.

"Where are they going?" Jerry inquired.

"Pioneer settlers for your glorious forty-ninth state," Professor Crowell answered. "There's a steady stream of them. Did you know that the population of Alaska has tripled since World War Two?"

"It sort of gives you goose pimples," Sandy said. "It's almost as if you turned back the clock a hundred years."

"The last frontier of the United States," Dr. Steele remarked. "On this planet, at least."

"When will we be leaving, Professor Crowell?" Lou Mayer asked.

The professor glanced down at his wrist watch. "It's eight o'clock now. I estimate we'll be on our way shortly after noon. I want you fellows to get a hot meal into you first. Then we'll load the truck and station wagon." He looked around at Dr. Steele. "We'll pick up your equipment at Fort St. John on the way back."

Jerry was fascinated by the high banks of snow on the shoulders of the road. "Boy, I wonder how they keep this thing open. Back in the States we're always reading about whole towns being cut off by a measly two feet of snow."

"Even big cities like New York," Sandy chimed in.

The professor smiled. "That's because cities like New York aren't prepared for heavy snowfalls. Up here, we expect it. Why, I bet a little village like Dawson Creek has more snow equipment than most big cities on the eastern seaboard of the United States. Along the Alaska Highway, for instance, there are one hundred and twenty-five weather stations alone, and almost as many maintenance stations. No, you stand a better chance of getting marooned on the Pennsylvania Turnpike than you do on this road."

Professor Crowell's ranch house was located on a cutoff about a quarter of a mile from the main highway. It was a sprawling frame building with a large barn at the back of the property and completely surrounded by a thick spruce forest.

The professor, a widower, had twin daughters, Judy and Jill, who kept house for him. Their domestic efficiency made them seem older than their seventeen years. The girls were blond and blue-eyed and very pretty, and Jerry couldn't look at them without stammering and blushing. It was obvious he was smitten with the twins.

The Crowell household also included a middle-aged French couple, the Dupr?s; Henri took care of the livestock and his wife, Marie, did the cooking. Then there was Tagish Charley, who took care of the kennels.

Tagish Charley was a full-blooded Indian. He stood 6? 4? tall, weighed 230 pounds and was as lithe as a panther. His hair was the flat black color of charcoal, and his skin was the texture of ancient parchment. Charley could have been any age, from 40 to 400. He spoke English well enough, when he spoke, which was very seldom; and he said what he had to say in as few words as possible.

"Charley is economical with his money and his speech," Professor Crowell said when he introduced him to his guests. "He's as stoic as a cigar-store Indian."

Sandy and Jerry hit it off with Charley from the start. While the geologists went over the last-minute details of their trip in the professor's study, Charley took the boys out to the kennel at one side of the barn. A dozen husky dogs were frolicking in the snow inside a wire enclosure. As soon as they saw Charley they all rushed over to the gate and piled up in a seething mass of yelping, snarling, twisting fur, leaping up against the chain link fence and falling back on top of each other. It was a wild melee.

"Wow!" Jerry exclaimed. "They look as if they'd eat you alive."

The Indian grunted. "No hurt. They want to play."

Jerry looked dubious. "I bet they play rough."

The Eskimo dogs were handsome animals. In reality they weren't particularly large; probably they weighed about 75 to 80 pounds and stood 18 inches high at the shoulder; but with their broad chests, thick necks and massive heads they looked enormous. Their great thick coats varied in color from black-and-white to slate-gray, solidly and in combinations of all three. They had powerful wolflike muzzles, sharp ears and slanting eyes.

"Charley!" Jerry yelled, grabbing Sandy's arm nervously. "He's charging us."

Sandy laughed. "Go on, you sissy. His tail is wagging. That means he wants to be friends."

"That Black Titan," Charley said. "Lead dog. Best husky in all the North."

As the big dog nuzzled against his leg, Sandy leaned down and stroked his broad, glossy head. "Nice feller. Good boy.... Hey, where did you get that lump on your skull, Titan?"

"He save professor's life," Charley declared without emotion. "Bad man hit him on head with club."

"Bad man! When?" the boys exclaimed in a chorus.

"Five, six nights back. Titan hear prowler. Jump over fence. Man open window, climb into professor's room, choke professor. Titan jump through window, save him."

"What happened to the burglar? Did they catch him?" Sandy asked excitedly.

"No. He club Titan, dive through window into snow. Get away with dog team."

"Gee," Jerry said. "Even up here they got characters like that. Only instead of a getaway car, they use dog sleds."

"Did he get away with anything valuable?" Sandy asked.

The Indian's brown face seemed to grow even darker. "He no come to rob money."

"What do you mean?" Sandy asked.

Charley shrugged. "Many strange things happen here this year. Professor sleep with gun under his pillow."

Sandy and Jerry exchanged wondering looks. "Now who'd be out to get a nice old geezer like the professor?" Jerry wanted to know.

Sandy was thoughtful. "I don't know, Jerry. I don't know. But I have a feeling we're going to find a lot more excitement on this trip than we bargained for."

"I agree with you," a terse female voice said from behind them.

Surprised, Sandy whirled around to find Judy Crowell standing in the open gateway. Bundled up in ski pants, mackinaw and high boots, she might have been a boy, except for the mass of golden hair sticking out in tufts from beneath her wool cap.

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