XI

      THE MIDNIGHT SUN

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      It was two o’clock in the morning. There had been no night. The sun had not sunk at all beyond yonder dark, ragged fringe of the spruce-trees marking the horizon. Not even the lower edge of its disk had been broken by the top of the tallest spruce-tree. Yes, for one of the few remaining nights of that year it had been given to our young travelers to see the Midnight Sun at its lowest point.

      It was a strange sun, so it seemed to them all. After it had sunk far off to the left of the Peel River it seemed to hang there for a time, and then to go, not in the arc of a circle, but almost in a line parallel with the level of the earth plane, passing with considerable rapidity from left to right in its course. Its reflection upon the water of the Peel River, very noticeable at first, changed until by and by there was no reflection left at all and it had passed off across the spruce forest upon the right bank of the river. There again it seemed to hang, as in its upward course it began to forsake its semi-contact with the level of the earth’s sphere. For these few days at this latitude it would make its circle in what Rob called the northwest corner of the heavens, striving to give these poor natives who live in that land some sort of compensation for the terrible sunless nights of the immeasurable Arctic winter.

      Our young adventurers, be sure, had lost no time in this fine opportunity for photography — an opportunity given to very few travelers of any age or climate at this particular spot; for since the great Klondike rush had straggled through, broken and failing, twenty years before, few white persons indeed had ever stood upon these shores.

      “Run, Jesse, to our tent upon the beach!” called out John. “I’m out of films. Get all we’ve got. We’ll have to try and try again, so as to be sure we’re not missing anything.”

      “That’s right,” said Rob. “We don’t know much about this light. It’s soft and faint, but it seems to cut the film, after all, as near as I can tell. I’m going to make all sorts of times — from three seconds and five seconds and ten seconds up to twenty and thirty seconds; and with each of these times that I give it I’m going to use a different stop. Somewhere, some of us will get a picture, I’m sure of that.”

      “Well,” said John, looking at Jesse’s hurrying form as he scurried down the steep path to their tent upon the beach, “it would be too bad to come this far and then fail.”

      It may be added that the boys did not fail, for certainly they brought out from their trip what then were known as the best amateur negatives ever made in that latitude; and of all the trophies of their northern trips they have prized none so much as these pictures of their own, of that strange spectacle of the great, mysterious North.

      It was late that night, or early that morning, when at length they closed their labors with the cameras, all fairly content. Uncle Dick had left them to their own devices, feeling that if they got results — as he felt sure they would — they would feel all the more proud for having done so without the advice and aid of one older than themselves. Indeed, he was beginning more and more to trust these young lads to their own devices. Himself occupied with matters of business which kept him very largely about the government office — as might have been called the log barracks of the Northwest Mounted Police which made the only representative of the law in that far-off land — he for some time after the landing of the boat allowed the boys to shift pretty much for themselves, with what results we have seen.

      They had pitched their tent farther down the beach than the lowest Eskimo hut, and had in this case put up the great mosquito tent, which stood eight feet high and had windows like a house. Into this, late that night, they now crawled, one after another, through the sleeve of the tent.

      “My!” exclaimed Jesse, “I never saw such mosquitoes in my life as these little black fellows! There are simply clouds of them all along the beach here, and they follow you wherever you go.”

      They all stood up inside the tent before preparing for bed in their blanket rolls.

      “Take your socks, fellows,” said Rob. “We’ll have to kill every one in the tent, or they won’t let us sleep to-night. Jesse’s right; these little fellows bite worse than anything I’ve seen yet. I vow, when I came into the tent they almost scared me when they lit on my head and neck!”

      “That trader and his wife didn’t seem to mind them so much,” said John, scratching his own neck rather seriously. “She’s a white woman, too — Norwegian, I think some one told me — at least she speaks somewhat broken. She’s a nice woman, too, and I don’t see how she stands it up in this country.”

      “Her husband told me this is their third winter in the North,” answered Rob. “They say it takes two or three years to get used to these things, and then you sort of quiet down and get resigned.”

      “Or else you die!” grumbled John. “We don’t know how many people there are that don’t get resigned.”

      “How long is the boat going to be here yet, Rob?” queried Jesse, sitting up on his bed and unlacing his moccasins.

      “Until the jamboree is ended and all the fur is bought from the Huskies,” replied Rob, seriously. “Maybe two or three days yet — I don’t know. There’ll be plenty of time for us to look around a bit to-morrow, and even later. Meantime, Uncle Dick has got to get the supplies ready for our canoe. We’re a long ways from home yet. We’re not going back when the steamer goes, young chaps; you’d better remember that!”

      “Huh! Who cares?” said Jesse, contemptuously, pulling his blanket over his head. “I’m not afraid. We’ll get through somehow.”

      As Rob had said, they had ample time the next day to look about them in this strange and interesting environment into which they had now come. The unloading of the boat went on steadily, the slow stream of breeds, stooping under their heavy loads, passing up the steep bluff from the boat landing to the trading-post. The boys had time to prowl along the beach and watch the natives run their nets, and even pursue their native art of hunting; for that morning, hearing shots from the bank, they looked out to see a half-dozen native kayaks hurrying to a point out in the river where a black object bobbing up was seen now and then. It was, in fact, a beaver which had been spied. On the bank a half-breed was shooting at it with a rifle, while the Huskies were crowding around, endeavoring to spear it when it came to sight. At last a lucky shot from the rifleman brought an end to the chase. A Husky drove a spear into the body of the dead beaver, and they came ashore with it, all of them shouting and singing and flinging up their paddles or their spear-shafts as they raced ahead.

      “Look