It had been an eventful day for the millionaire ranchman and his son Paul, as well as for Norman Grant and Roy Moulton, to whom it had opened up possibilities that they could scarcely yet realize. It was now Colonel Howell's mission further to enact the role of a magician and to see if the plans he had outlined were to bear fruit for the young aviators.
"We'll be waiting to hear," announced the young Count, as he alighted and gave the chauffeur directions for finding the Grant and Moulton homes, "and I want to know the news to-night."
"I'll be disappointed if it isn't good news," responded the Kentuckian, "but don't you worry about that. We're going anyway. You see your father right away and he'll begin to plan your outfit. We're going to leave, the airship with us I hope, at three o'clock Monday afternoon."
It was half past nine when the oil prospector reached the Grant home. The evening there had been one resembling preparations for a funeral. Colonel Howell's offer had fallen on the Grant family with no sign of joy in anyone except the son. Dazed by the dangers which, to Norman's family, overshadowed all possible advantages, small time was lost in calling Mr. and Mrs. Moulton into the conference. After the arrival of the latter, it had been a debate between the two boys, their parents, and several sisters, with no apparent possibility of reaching a decision.
Even the appearance of Colonel Howell did not seem to help matters very much, but the formalities having worn off and the prospector having been invited to give his version of his own plans, the possibilities began to brighten for the young men. In the process of argument, even the somewhat hesitating Norman had talked himself into a wild eagerness to be allowed to go.
Roy was so impatient that he stuttered. The different effect of Colonel Howell's explanation was undoubtedly due to the fact that he emphasized the great possibilities of the business part of the trip. Roy had sought to win favor by expatiating on the ease with which the Gitchie Manitou was to overcome the perils and privations of the almost Arctic region.
Norman had also grown hoarse in demonstrating the entire safety of their aircraft. But their patron seemed to dismiss these arguments as matters needing no discussion. Rather, he drew a picture of the opportunities to be presented to the boys in seeing the new land, of what he called the comforts of their snug cabin and of the advantages that must come to all young men in becoming acquainted with the little-known frontiers of their country. He said little of the immediate pecuniary reward, but said enough to have both fathers understand just what this was to be.
Both Mr. Grant and Mr. Moulton had had their share of roughing it on the frontier and neither seemed to welcome the sending of their children against the privations that they had endured.
While the discussion dwindled into indecision, Colonel Howell, as if in afterthought, repeated in substance his talk with Mr. Zept, omitting of course some of the unfortunate details, all of which, however, were already well known to those present.
Mr. Zept was the leading citizen of Calgary, an influential and important man. He was also a character whom most men in that part of the country were proud to count as a friend. Among those of her own sex, Mrs. Zept occupied about the same position. When the flurry of questions concerning Mr. Zept's determination to send his son as a member of the party had died somewhat, it was perfectly plain that both Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Moulton had new thoughts on the proposition.
"Is he going as a workman?" asked Roy impulsively.
"Oh, he'll do all he's called upon to do," answered Colonel Howell, taking advantage of his opening, "but I really didn't need any more help. He's going because his father thought it would prove an advantage to him. In fact," continued the colonel, "Mr. Zept was kind enough to want to contribute to our expenses because his son was to be with us. But as I told my old friend, I was not running an excursion, and I have invited the young man to go as my guest."
"And he's paying us nearly three thousand dollars to do what the Count was willing to pay for," exclaimed Norman, as a clincher. "What have you got to say to that?" he added almost defiantly, addressing his mother.
"But he won't have to go up in a flying machine," meekly argued Mrs. Grant.
Norman only shrugged his shoulders in disgust. "There won't be any more danger in that," he expostulated, "than I've been in all week."
Colonel Howell turned to Mr. Grant, who held up his hands in surrender. Then he looked at Mr. Moulton. The latter shook his head, but the debate seemed to be closed.
"I guess they're able to take care of themselves," conceded Mr. Grant.
"I started out younger," added Mr. Moulton.
"I'm planning to leave at three o'clock Monday afternoon," announced the Kentuckian, with his most genial smile, "and we'll have a car ready for the machine Monday morning."
The conference immediately turned into a business session to discuss immediate plans and the outfit needed by the newly enlisted assistants. In this the mothers took a leading part, seeming to forget every foreboding, and when Colonel Howell left, the two families were apparently as elated as they had been despondent on his arrival.
The next day's performance at the Stampede was more or less perfunctory, so far as the young aviators were concerned, and was only different from the others in that Roy accompanied Norman in the exhibition flight.
Colonel Howell, after a day of activity in the city, was present when the flight was made. No time had been lost by the boys in arranging for their departure, and mechanics in Mr. Grant's railroad department had been pressed into service in the construction of three crates—a long skeleton box for the truss body of the car, another, wider and almost as long, to carry the dismounted planes, and a solidly braced box for the engine. The propeller and the rudders were to go in the plane crate. These were promised Sunday morning, and Norman and Roy took a part of Saturday for the selection of their personal outfits. Over this there was little delay, as the practical young men had no tenderfoot illusions to dissipate.
The kind of a trip they were about to make would, to most young men, have called for a considerable expenditure. But to the young aviators, life in the cabin or the woods was not a wholly new story. Overnight they had talked of an expensive camera, but when they found that young Zept was provided with a machine with a fine lens, they put aside this expenditure, and the most expensive item of their purchases was a couple of revolvers—automatics.
Norman already owned a .303 gauge big game rifle, but it was heavy and ammunition for it added greatly to the weight to be carried in the airship. With the complete approval of Colonel Howell, he bought a new .22 long improved rifle, which he figured was all they needed in addition to their revolvers.
"It's a great mistake," explained Colonel Howell, who had met the two boys at the outfitting store just before noon, "for travelers to carry these big game high-powered rifles. The gun is always knocked down, is never handy when you want it, and the slightest neglect puts it out of commission. You take this little high-powered in your pocket, and you'll get small game and birds while you're tryin' to remember where the big gun is."
"That's right," answered Roy. "Grant and I were up in the mountains a year ago, back of Laggan. We weren't hunting especially, but I was carryin' the old .303. Up there in the mountains we walked right up on as fine an old gold-headed eagle as you ever saw. I was going to shoot, when I recollected that this wasn't a deer four hundred yards away. If I'd shot, I'd have torn a hole through that bird as big as your hat. If I'd had this," and he patted the smart looking little .22, "somebody would have had a fine golden-headed eagle."
Colonel Howell had few suggestions to make, but while he was in the store, he selected a small leather-cased hatchet and an aluminum wash-pan.
"Don't laugh," he explained. "Just take the word of an old campaigner and keep these two things where you can put your hands on 'em. You can get along in the wilderness without shootin' irons—or I can—but you'll find this tin pan a mighty handy friend. If your wise friends laugh at your luxury just wait, they'll be the first ones to borrow it. You can cook in it, wash in it, drink out of it, and I've panned for gold with 'em. It's the traveler's best friend."
The outfitter was busy enough displaying his wares, of which he had a hundred things that he urged were indispensable, but he was not dealing with States tenderfeet, and the volume of his sales was small. In it, however, the boys finally included two heavy Mackinaw jackets, two still heavier canvas coats reinforced with lambs' wool, two cloth caps that could be pulled down over the face, leaving apertures for the eyes, and two pairs of fur gauntlets, mitten-shaped, but with separate fore-fingers for shooting.
The boys made these purchases on their own account, and then Colonel Howell asked permission to make them a present. He selected and gave each of the boys a heavy Hudson's Bay blanket, asking for the best four-point article.
"They'll last as long as you live," explained the oil man, "and when you don't need 'em in the woods for a house or tent or bed, or even as a sail, you'll find they'll come in handy at home on your couch or as rugs."
Each boy had his own blankets at home, but at sight of those their new friend gave them their eyes snapped. Roy selected a deep cardinal one and Grant took for his a vivid green, both of which had the characteristic black bars.
"These look like the real things," exclaimed Roy, with enthusiasm.
"An Indian will give you anything he owns for one of 'em," chuckled the colonel. "The tin pan is a luxury, but you've got to have these. If you learn the art of how to fold and sleep in 'em, you'll be pretty well fixed."
Colonel Howell did not seem to be worrying about his own outfit, and when he left the boys his work for the day was probably financial.
By the middle of Sunday afternoon, the Gitchie Manitou had been safely stored in its new crates, and then, with a small tool chest and a hastily-made box crowded with extra parts, had been loaded on a large motor truck and forwarded to the railroad yards. The remainder of the day was utilized by the young aviators in compactly packing their personal belongings, and in the evening the two young men had dinner at the Zept home. The young Count, whom they had not seen since the day before when he accompanied Colonel Howell at the closing exercises of the Stampede, was present and nervously enthusiastic.
After dinner the three boys went to Paul's room where Grant and Roy were astonished at the elaborateness of their friend's outfit. Paul had not confined himself to those articles suggested by his practical father but had brought together an array of articles many of which were ridiculously superfluous.
He had worked so seriously in his selection, however, that it was not a laughing matter. So his new friends hesitated to tell him that half of his baggage was not necessary. Therefore they said nothing until Paul, having proudly exhibited his several costumes, his new leather cases for carrying his camera, field glasses, revolvers, and two guns, noticed the lack of approval on their faces.
"Well," he said, with a smile, "out with it. I couldn't help getting them, but I know I don't need all this stuff. You fellows know. Throw out what I don't need. I bought a lot of it in Paris, but don't mind that. I'm not going to take a thing that I can do without."
Greatly relieved, Norman and Roy fell to work on the elaborate assortment and in a short time had but little more left in the heap than one man could carry.
"What's this?" asked Roy, as they reached a soft leather roll about the size of a big pillow, carefully strapped.
"It's my blankets," explained Paul, opening the flap and exhibiting two soft fleecy articles. "They're from London."
"Well," exclaimed Norman positively, "you give them to your sister for her picnics. Then you go down to-morrow morning and get a four-point Hudson's Bay blanket, fourteen feet long, pay your twelve dollars for it, get a strap to hang it on your back, and I reckon you'll have about all you need."
A little later, when Paul's father and Colonel Howell visited the room and Paul good-naturedly explained what his friends had done, Mr. Zept laughed.
"I told you all that," he exclaimed, "but I guess it was like the advice of most fathers. These young men know what they're doing. Hill," he said, turning to his guest, "I guess you haven't made any mistake in signing up these kids. There's a lot they may have to find out about the wilderness, but it looks to me as if they weren't going to have very much to unlearn."
The next morning was a long one. The baggage car secured by Colonel Howell for the aeroplane crates was soon loaded. Then nothing remained to be done except, as Colonel Howell put it, "to line up my Injuns."
Moosetooth and La Biche were yet in camp at the Stampede Grounds. The boys, including Count Zept, accompanied Colonel Howell to the Grounds about noon. Here the oil prospector was able to change his program somewhat, and much to his gratification.
Colonel Howell knew that his old steersmen were accompanied by quite a group of relatives but he did not know the exact extent of the Martin and La Biche families. They were all in charge of a man from Athabasca Landing, who was of course under contract to return the Indians to that place. Colonel Howell had thought it would be necessary to look after the immediate relatives of Moosetooth and La Biche, but when he found that the women and children belonging to these men would just as soon return to the North with their friends, he was able to arrange that the two old river men might precede the main party and accompany him alone.
The Indian makes very little ceremony of his farewells to the members of their families and after Colonel Howell had talked a few moments with them the dark-skinned boatmen announced themselves ready. The matter of luncheon seemed to worry neither Moosetooth nor La Biche. Each man had an old flour bag, into which he indiscriminately dumped a few bannock, some indistinguishable articles of clothing, and relighting their pipes, were ready to start for Fort McMurray.
It was the first ride either Indian had ever had in an automobile, but the quick run back to the city seemed to make no impression upon them. Leaving the taciturn Crees in the baggage car, well supplied with sandwiches, fruit, and a half dozen bottles of ginger ale, the others once more headed for the Zept home. In two hours the expedition would be off.