CHAPTER XXIX.THE SECRET OF THE FACTOR’S DESK.
I shrank from the encounter. The sight of the fair girl whom I loved so passionately made me a coward, and I felt that I could not speak the words of her doom and mine. So I lurked to one side while Mrs. Menzies rushed up to her husband and clutched him hysterically.
“The house is on fire!” she cried. “The smoke drove us downstairs, and—Oh, you are shot!”
“A mere flesh wound,” Menzies answered huskily. “Tie it up for me with a strip of your skirt.”
With trembling fingers she obeyed.
“The worse, Andrew!” she pleaded—“tell me the worst! I am a brave woman; I can bear it.”
I did not hear Menzies’ reply, for he quickly led his wife into a darkened room adjoining; but I had a glimpse of his face, and it seemedto have aged years in the last minute.
“Denzil!”
I recognized Flora’s voice, and turning, I found her at my elbow. Her cheeks were white, except for a burning red spot in the middle of each. Her lovely eyes gazed into mine with a look of deepest affection, of heart-rending fear that she could not disguise.
“Come!” I whispered hoarsely.
I drew her past the little group of men to the far end of the hall, where the staircase screened us from the light of the candle. How to begin, what to say, I did not know. With one arm about her slender form, I pressed kisses on her lips and forehead.
“My darling!” I cried. “Oh, the pity of it—the pity of it!”
“Then it is true, Denzil?” she asked in faltering tones. “Don’t deceive me at such a time. Is there really no hope?”
It would have been worse than folly to speak false words of comfort now, and with an effort I answered:
“No; all hope is gone. You must know the worst, my darling! We have but a little while to live. Heaven has deserted us. Oh, God, that it should be my lot to tell you this!” She crept closer to me, hiding her face on my breast. For nearly a minute she was still, while confusion and clamor, Indian yells, and musketry fire reigned round us. I could feel the agitated heaving of her bosom, the throbbing of her heart. Then she looked up at me bravely, with a sublime expression in her tear-dimmed eyes that brought to my mind the Christian martyrs of old.
“God is love and mercy, dearest Denzil,” she said. “If it is His will that we die we must submit. We will find in heaven the happiness that is denied us on earth.”
“It is a cruel, cruel fate!” I cried fiercely. “I would suffer ten deaths to save you—”
“It is better thus,” she interrupted. “We shall not be separated! Promise me, Denzil, that you will not let the Indians take me alive!”
I tried to speak, but a sob choked my utterance. I nodded assent, and just then my name was called from the other end of the hall. I kissed Flora and led her forward, putting her in the care of Mrs. Menzies. The men were standing about in groups, some talking, some nervously loading guns, and others staring vacantly at the floor.
“We are considering what we had better do,” said Captain Rudstone, “and we want your opinion, Carew. If we stick to the house it means death for all of us by suffocation or by flames. If we sally out there is a possibility that one or more of us may break through and escape.”
“No chance of that,” Carteret answered bluntly. “The devils will be ready for us, and we shall be hemmed in and butchered to a man. I prefer to die fighting myself; but think of the women! Suffocation will be the easiest fate for them.”
I made no reply, for I did not know what to say—what alternative to choose. It was a horrible prospect either way, and I contemplated it with rage and despair, with such a whirl in my brain that I thought I should go mad. The musketry fire was dwindling a little, but the whooping and yelling of the exultant savages suddenly rose to a higher pitch, making such a din that the voices of my companions were quite drowned.
There was still an interval of time left in which to reach a decision—perhaps half an hour. By then, at the most, the house would be a furnace in which nothing could live. As yet owing to the snow on the roof, the flames were confined to the south side. But there they had eaten through the wall, and were roaring and crackling with fury as they devoured the thick beams and timbers. They had seized both angles of the house, and were licking their way into the room. We could see the ruddy glare under the closed door, and could feel the scorching heat. From cracks and crevices puffs of yellow smoke darted into the hall; had a wind been blowing in our direction we should have been suffocated long before.
“Shall we stay here to perish like trapped beasts?” cried Andrew Menzies, his voice ringing above the infernal clamor of the savages. “Let us unbar the door, rush out, and sell our lives dearly! Take your muskets, my brave fellows! We will fight to the death, and kill as many of the devils as we can. And if no merciful bullets reach the women, we will shoot—them—with our—own—”
He could say no more. He stood with his hands clasped and his lips moving in prayer, while the men, almost unanimously shouted eager approval of his plan.
“Make ready, all!” cried Captain Rudstone, “we must be quick about it, for at any moment the heat or a spark may touch off the powder in yonder back room.”
That the explosion might come that instant, and so insure us a speedy and merciful death, was my heartfelt wish as I leaned against the wall. I groaned aloud as I pictured Flora lying in the snow, her beautiful face and hair dabbled with blood. Just then a bullet, fired through a loophole at one side of the door, whistled within an inch of my ear. It gave me such a start that I lost my balance and reeled against an old desk of the factor’s that stood under the shelf holding the candle. It yielded, and we came to the floor together.
I picked myself up and saw the desk broken open and a number of loose papers scattered at my feet. A word on one of them arrested my attention. I reached for it—it was a yellow document, faded with age, once folded—and on the outside, scrawled in big letters with a quill, I read the following:
“PLAN OF A SECRET PASSAGE FROM FORT ROYAL, 1762.”
I fairly held my breath as I tore the paper open. Inside was a rude drawing that I recognized at a glance, and more writing below it. The latter I studied for a moment, and then my head turned dizzy with joy.
“Hurrah!—hurrah!” I cried, waving the precious paper in the air. “Thank God for His wonderful mercy! If this proves true we are saved—saved!”
My companions crowded round me excitedly, some thinking that I had suddenly taken leave of my senses.
“What is it?” they demanded. “What do you mean, Carew?”
“Look, look!” I shouted. “A secret passage from the fort—an underground exit built years ago—leading from the cellar to the very bank of the river! It opens from the east wall; the stone is marked with a cross!”
The paper was quickly passed from hand to hand, studied and read. The scene that followed—the transition from blackest despair to radiant hope—I am utterly unable to describe. Indeed, I saw but little of the behavior of the men. I ran to Flora, clasping her in my arms, and we mingled our tears of happiness together.
“Listen, men!” shouted Andrew Menzies. “I fully believe that this document is to be relied upon—that the passage exists. There was a rumor years ago that one of the forts was so provided when it was built, and that the tunnel was not repeated afterward on account of the vast labor; but I did not suspect it to be Fort Royal. Griffith Hawks alone knew the secret, and he died with it untold. We will proceed at once to verify this good news; there is not a moment to spare. Denzil, you and Captain Rudstone will come with me.”
He turned to the others.
“There is much to be done,” he added, “and it must be done quickly. Load a sledge with provisions, and get others ready for the wounded who are unable to walk. Let each may take a supply of powder and ball, and put on snowshoes. Helen, do you and Miss Hatherton prepare for a long and tiresome march.”
There was, indeed, no time to be wasted. The entire side of the house was a mass of flames, and the hall was so scorching hot, so filled with smoke, as to be almost unendurable. The Indians were in a cordon around us, whooping at the top of their voices, firing occasional shots, and evidently expecting that the flames would drive us to meet death in the open.
Leaving the rest to execute Menzie’s orders—Carteret volunteered to fetch the women their outdoor wraps from upstairs—the three of us procured a lantern and gained access to the cellar from the room at the end of the hall. Assisted by the plan, we quickly found on the east wall, a big square slab of stone marked by a faint cross.
“Here we are!” exclaimed Menzies. “Try to pry it out with axes.”
Two minutes of work sufficed. The stone fell inward, and we shouted with delight when we saw a yawning black hole before us, large enough for two stooping men to walk abreast. Captain Rudstone hurried upstairs with the glad news, and meanwhile Menzies and I ventured some distance into thepassage, finding the air sweet and pure.
When we returned to the mouth all of our little party were assembled in the cellar, each man—and the women as well—carrying a pair of snowshoes. Flora and Mrs. Menzies were protected against the bitter weather by furred cloaks. Of the five wounded men one had died within the hour; the other four were able to hobble along temporarily with some assistance. For transporting these when we were safely away from the fort we had two sledges, not counting the one laden with food supplies.
As yet the redskins did not suspect that they were in danger of being cheated of their triumph; we could hear their frenzied cries faintly. Overhead the flames were roaring and hissing, and the cellar itself was hazy with pungent smoke.
CHAPTER XXX.A STRANGE DISCOVERY.
“All ready?” exclaimed Menzies. “Then forward. If no mishap occurs we shall be miles away before our escape is discovered.”
He entered the passage first, flashing the lantern in front of him, and the others followed in double file. Captain Rudstone and I, who came last, took the precaution to replace the slab of stone as we had found it.
It was a strange experience to thread that underground corridor, built with herculean toil, when the fort was reared, for just such an emergency as it was serving now. We had to stoop low to avoid the raftered roof. The air was close, and not a sound reached us from outside. We groped along in semi-darkness for the lantern cast no light behind. It gave one a ghastly oppressive feeling of being buried alive.
The tunnel seemed longer than it really was. We were certain over and over again that we had passed under the fort yard and the outer clearing, yet still we went on. But at last Menzies stopped, and called in a low voice that he had come to the end. Captain Rudstone and I made our way up to him, and saw that further progress was barred by a slab ofrock that fitted exactly across the passage.
“It will yield with a hard push,” said Menzies.
“Wait!” said I. “Let us first blow out the lantern.”
This was done, and the three of us put our weight to the stone. It grated like rusty iron, gave way slowly, and went down with a crunching noise. Ah, the happiness of that moment—the joy of that first glimpse and breath of the air of freedom! It was all we could do to keep from shouting and cheering.
The tunnel had brought us out on a narrow ledge midway down the steep and wooded bluff that rose from the edge of the river. A canopy of trees sheltered us overhead, and below us, through the evergreen foliage, the frozen, snow-crusted river gleamed against the murky background of the night.
A short time before we had stared death in the face; now the hope of life and safety thrilled our hearts with gratitude for a merciful and wonderful Providence. All the circumstances seemed in our favor.
Off behind us the Indians were still holding mad revelry in the fort yard, little dreaming, as they screeched and bowled, of the trick that had been played upon them. Not a sound could be heard close by; there was reason to believe that all the savages were gathered inside of the inclosure. And the snow was falling so fast and thickly that it must cover our tracks almost as soon as made.
To put some miles between ourselves and our bloodthirsty foes was our first thought, and we did not lose an instant by delay. Creeping down to the foot of the bluff, we strapped our snowshoes to our feet, and fixed the four wounded men comfortably on the two empty sledges. As we started off—twenty-one of us in all—the factor’s house seemed to be wrapped in flames, to judge from the increasing glare that shone around us. We traveled rapidly to the south, up the river’s course, and closely skirted the timbered shore nearest the fort. Gradually the whooping of the Indians died away, and the reflection of the fire faded, until it was only a flickering glow on the dark and wintry horizon. In the excitement of leaving the fort we had given no thought to our future plans; but now, as we hurried along the frozen bed of the river, we discussed that all-important matter. It had been commonly understood ina vague way that we should strike direct for Fort York. However, on reflection, we abandoned that plan. If the Indians should discover our escape, as was only too likely, they would suspect that Fort York was our destination, and make a quick march to cut us off.
“We must look after the interests of the company as well as our own lives,” said Menzies, “and I think I see a clear way to do both. The rising of the redskins and the Northwest people may be checked by prompt action; it is probably not yet known beyond Fort Royal, nor have there been attacks elsewhere. So I suggest that we split into two parties. I will command one, take the wounded with me, and push on to Fort Elk, which is about eighty miles to the southeast. You will command the other, Denzil, and strike for Fort Charter. It lies rather more than a hundred milts to the south, and your shortest route will be by way of old Fort Beaver. If we both succeed—and the chances are in our favor—two forts will be put on the alert, and couriers can be sent to other posts.”
This plan commended itself to us all, and was ultimately decided upon. There was little danger of pursuit, or of meeting hostile Indians in the directions we proposed to go. We made a brief halt at a small island about five miles from Fort Royal, and separated our party into two. Menzies, having the shorter journey, insisted on taking less men, and I reluctantly yielded.
Including himself and wife, and the four wounded, his party numbered eleven. I had eight men in mine, as follows: Captain Rudstone, Christopher Burley, an Indian employee named Pemecan, two voyageurs, Baptiste and Carteret, and three old servants of the company, by name Duncan Forbes, Malcolm Cameron, and Luke Hutter. Flora, of course, went with me, and she had made me radiantly happy by a promise to become my wife at Fort Charter, if the ceremony could be arranged there. One of the sledges, with a quantity of supplies, was turned over to us.
It was a solemn parting, at the hour of midnight, by that little island on the frozen river. The women embraced and shed tears; the men clasped hands and hoarsely wished each other a safe journey. Then Menzies and his companions vanished in the forest on the right bank of the river, and through the driving snow I led my band of followers to the south. Flora was beside me, and I felt ready to surmount any peril for her sake.
It was well toward noon of the next day, and snow was still falling, when we ventured to halt in a desolate region near the headwaters of the Churchill. We rested a few hours, and then pushed on until night, camping in a deep forest and not daring to light a fire. Of what befell us after that I shall speak briefly. The weather cleared and grew colder, and for two days we marched to the south. We made rapid progress—Flora rode part of the time on the sledge—and saw no sign of Indians, or, indeed, of any human beings. We all wore heavy winter clothing, so suffered no hardships on that score; and the second night we built huge camp fires in a rocky gorge among the hills. But our stock of provisions was running short, and this fact caused us some uneasiness.
As the sun was setting that second day—it was the third day’s journey in all—we glided from the depths of the virgin forest and saw what had been Fort Beaver on the further side of a shallow clearing. I had been thinking with strange emotions of the past since morning—since we began to draw near the neighborhood—and at sight of my old home, close to which both my father and mother were buried, my eyes grew dim and a choking lump rose in my throat.
“I have never been this way before,” remarked Captain Rudstone, “but I know the place by repute. It was of importance in its day; now it is a mass of crumbling ruins.”
“Is this really where you were born, Denzil?” Flora asked me.
“Yes,” I replied; “here I spent my early years and happy ones they were.”
“Ah, this is interesting,” Christopher Burley said, thoughtfully. “And here your father, Bertrand Carew, lived from the time he left England until his death?”
“Until a treacherous Indian killed him, sir,” I said. “And the murderer was never discovered. It is too late to go any further, men,” I added, wishing to turn the subject. “We will put up here for the night, and enjoy resting between walls and beside a fireplace.”
We crossed the clearing, and entered the stockade by the open gateway, which was half filled in with drifted snow. We went on, past crumbling outbuildings, to what had been the factor’s residence. The house was in a fairly good state of preservation, and a push sent the door back onits hinges.
We were on the threshold of the main room, where I so well recalled my father sitting musingly by the great fireplace evening after evening smoking his pipe. Now the apartment was dreary and bare. Snow had filtered in at the windows, and the floor was rotting away. There were ashes in the fireplace, and near by lay a heap of dry wood—signs that some voyageur or trapper had spent a night here while journeying through the wilderness.
“This is like civilization again,” said Christopher Burley, with a sigh.
“We are sure of a comfortable night, at all events,” replied Captain Rudstone.
“The first thing will be supper,” said I. “Baptiste, you and Carteret unpack the sledge. And do you build us a roaring fire, Pemecan.”
I went into another room for a moment—it had been my own in times past—and when I returned the Indian had already started a cheerful blaze. As I walked toward the fireplace, intending to warm my hands, a loose slab of stone that was set in at the right of it was dislodged by the shaking of the floor. It toppled over with a crash, breaking into several fragments, and behind it, on the weatherworn stratum of plaster, I saw a number of hieroglyphics. On pulling down some more plaster I found more lines of them, and they were doubtless an inscription of some sort. The odd-looking characters were carved deeply into the wall, and I judged that they had been made years before.
“How strange!” cried Flora, coming to my side.
The rest also drew near, scrutinizing the mysterious discovery with eager eyes and exclamations of surprise.
“It looks like a cryptogram,” said Captain Rudstone, and his voice seemed to tremble and grow hoarse as he spoke. “What do you make of it, Carew?”
“Nothing,” said I. “You know as much as myself—I never saw it before.”
“Was it put there in your father’s time?”
“Perhaps,” I answered, “but I am inclined to think that it belongs to a much earlier date.”
The captain shook his head slowly. He stared at the hieroglyphics with a thoughtful face, with his brow knitted into tiny wrinkles over his half-closed eyes.
CHAPTER XXXI.A CRY IN THE NIGHT.
We all, more or less, shared Captain Rudstone’s curiosity. For a minute we gazed in silence at the strange marks—the company men stolidly, the two voyageurs with disdainful shrugs of the shoulders. Pemecan touched the spot with something like awe, and Christopher Burley followed his example.
“This is a very odd thing,” he muttered. “I wish I could take the plaster just as it is back to London with me.”
“I’ve seen nothing like it,” declared Luke Hutter, “and I’ve lived in the wilderness, man and boy, for nigh onto fifty years.”
Naturally Fort Beaver having been my home, the rest looked to me to throw some light on the mystery of the cryptogram—if such it was; but I was no wiser than they, and they questioned me in vain. I remembered the fireplace as being always in sound condition, and as my father had never spoken of the matter, I judged that the marks had been cut years before his time—perhaps during the youth of my maternal grandfather.
“It may be so, Mr. Carew,” said Christopher Burley; “but to my mind the work is of more recent date. I should say the stone had been purposely removed, and then put back after the hieroglyphics were carved on the plaster. I would take a copy, but unfortunately I have no material at hand—”
“It would be a useless waste of time, sir, if you had,” Captain Rudstone interrupted, almost fiercely. “The characters are meaningless. I’llwarrant ’tis but a jest on the part of some crack-brained hunter or trapper, or possibly one of the laborers who built the fort. And surely we have more serious matters to think about!”
“Ay, that is true!” I assented, wondering meanwhile at the captain’s earnestness. “Cryptogram or not, we’ll leave it for wiser heads than ours! Come, reset the stone!”
Baptiste and Carteret lifted the fragments of the slab, and fitted them into place again. That done, I ceased to think of the mystery, and it was not subsequently referred to.
It was a great relief, after the hardships at the fort and the exposure of the long march, to have a shelter over us once more. The danger of pursuit was a specter that had faded behind us, and we counted on reaching Fort Charter at the end of another day’s journey. We found some rickety stools and benches, and drawing them around the roaring fire, we ate our simple meal with thankful hearts. Flora sat beside me, and I watched her lovely face, now pensive, now radiant with happiness and love, as the flickering glow of the flames played upon it. I held myself a lucky man to have won such a treasure.
But we were devouring almost the last of our food; indeed, when supper was finished nothing remained but a sack of cornmeal and half a pound of dried fish. It was necessary to provide for the next day, since we would march but poorly on empty stomachs and so we arranged a plan that we had partly settled on that morning.
The suggestion was mine. About five miles to the east, in a hilly and timbered bit of country, a spring bubbled up, so cold and swift that it never froze near its source. The deer and other game knew it, and came to the place by day and night to drink, and there I proposed to guide one or two of my companions.
“We are certain to be back before midnight,” I said, “for we can make the round trip in less than three hours. And I’ll promise venison for breakfast—or perhaps moose meat.”
“Will it be safe to use firearms?” asked Christopher Burley.
“I don’t think there is any risk,” I answered. “There are no Indian villages within many miles, and as for our old enemies, they are probably searching for us in the neighborhood of the trail to FortYork.”
To this Carteret and some of the other men assented. They were all eager to go with me.
“I wish you would stay behind, Denzil,” Flora said wistfully.
“But I alone know the exact spot where the deer drink,” I answered. “Have no fear; I will return safely.”
“At least let me sit up until you come,” she pleaded.
“I am afraid I must say no,” I replied. “You need sleep and rest too badly. And here, between these walls, you will be as safe as if you were in Fort Charter.”
Flora yielded without further words, but there was an appealing, anxious look in her eyes that I remembered afterward. Twilight had turned to darkness, and no time was lost in preparing for the start. I chose to accompany me Carteret and Captain Rudstone; and I fancied the latter was ill pleased at his selection though he spoke otherwise. We donned coats and caps, strapped our snowshoes on our feet, and looked to the loading and priming of our muskets.
As a matter of precaution, I decided to set a watch outside the fort while we were gone—and indeed through the night—and Malcolm Cameron volunteered for the service. On pretense of showing Flora something I found an opportunity to snatch a kiss from her lips and to whisper a few foolish words into her ear. A little room to one side had been reserved for her, and a comfortable bed made of blankets. The rest were to sleep around the fireplace.
The moon was shining from a starry sky and the air was still and cold when the three of us started away. We waved our hands to Cameron, who was at the stockade gates, and plunged eastward into the forest. I led off, and Captain Rudstone and Carteret followed in single file.
At the first I was troubled by a vague premonition of coming disaster, which, in default of sound reason, I set down to Flora’s ill-concealed solicitude for my safety. But when we had gone a mile or so this feeling wore off, and I enjoyed the exhilaration of striding on snowshoes over the frozen crust, through the silent solitudes of the wilderness, byrock and hill and moonlit glade. Never had the spell of the Great Lone Land thrilled me more deeply. Watchful and alert, we glided on from tree to tree, our shadows trailing behind us, and the evergreen recesses of the wood stretching on all sides like black pits. Birds and beasts were still; the only sound was the light crunch of our feet, the crackle now and then of a fallen twig.
Not a word was spoken until we came to a gap between two mighty hills, a short distance beyond which, on the verge of a flat of marshland, lay the spot we sought. Then I briefly explained to my companions what we must do.
We made a detour in a semicircle, working our way around to the right side of the wind, and so approached the spring. The cover of bushes and trees ended fifty yards short of it, and with the utmost caution we progressed that far. Crouching on the hard crust, scarcely daring to breathe, we peeped out.
I had expected to see several head of game, at the least, and I was disappointed. Only one was in sight—a fair-sized buck. He was drinking at the source of the spring, and the moonlight glistened on his pronged antlers and on the bubbling water.
“We have but a single chance,” I said in a whisper. “We must run no risk of losing it. I take it you are a good shot, Captain Rudstone?”
“I have twice killed my man in a duel,” was the curt reply.
“Then you and I will fire together,” I continued, “when I count three. And do you reserve your ball, Carteret, if by any chance we both miss. Ready now!”
“All right,” said the captain, as he took aim.
“One—two—three!” I whispered.
Bang! The two reports were simultaneous. Under the rising powder smoke the buck was seen to spring in air and then topple over in a quivering mass, dead beyond a doubt. The crashing echoes rolled away into the depths of the forest. We were on our feet instantly, ready to run forward with drawn knives; but before we could do so an unexpected thing checked us. Up the valley behind us, from a point no great distance off,rang a shrill, wavering call. As we listened, staring at one another with alarmed faces, we heard the sound again. And now it was a plain call for help.
“What man can be in this lonely spot?” exclaimed Carteret. “Our ears deceive us. It is the scream of a crafty panther we hear.”
“No; it is a human voice,” muttered the captain. “I’ll swear to that. But I am afraid of a trick.”
“If enemies were about they would have no need to lure us,” I replied.
“Come, let us see what it means.”
I started in the direction of the sound, and my companions followed me.
CHAPTER XXXII.THE TRAVELER FROM ALASKA.
Although the cries for help had now ceased, and were not repeated, our search was crowned with success in a brief time. Pushing up the valley for about five hundred yards, amid trees and thickets, we came suddenly upon a little camp. A lean-to of spruce boughs was rudely built against the base of the steep hill on the right, which towered upward above it to a dizzy and remote height, its alternate patches of timber and snow traced out by the moonlight.
The front of the lean-to was open, and inside, by the glow from a handful of smouldering embers, we saw a strange sight. In the far corner, apparently sleeping, lay an old man. On a small sledge near him were a powder horn, and bullet pouch, a musket and a few pelts.
There was no reply to our sharp greeting, and we ventured closer. Carteret found some bits of dry wood and threw them on the fire. He knelt down and blew them quickly into a blaze, which enabled us to see more distinctly. The old man was breathing heavily, and it needed but a glance to tell us that he was near to death from starvation or some illness. His head rested on a pillow of skins, and he was rolled partlyin blankets, which were pushed off enough to show his tattered and travel-worn clothing. His cheeks were deeply sunken, his gray hair was long and matted, and his tangled beard reached nearly to his waist.
“There is not a sign of food,” said I.
“It’s a clear case of starvation,” replied Captain Rudstone. “Poor old chap!”
Just then, roused from his stupor by our voices, or by the warmth of the fire, the stranger opened his eyes and looked about him wildly. He clawed at the air with skinny fingers, and tried to speak. I had a little rum with me, and I poured it between his lips. This brought a tinge of color to his cheeks and a brightness to his glazing eyes, but he was too weak to lift his head.
“Who are you?” he muttered faintly. “Friends? Ay, thank God! White faces once more—after all these months! I heard the shot, and judged that Indians or trappers were near. I called as loudly as I could, but—but —”
“The exertion was too much for you and you fainted,” said I. “But we heard your cries, and found you. How long have you been here?”
“Three days,” he answered—“three days and nights without food. I ate the last bite when I reached this spot, and a fortnight before I had fired my last charge of powder and ball. I was too ill to go further. I built this shelter to die in, and from time to time I crawled out for fuel to keep up the fire. But the end is close now. Don’t leave me—let me die with white faces round me.”
“Cheer up, my friend,” said Captain Rudstone. “You are going to live.”
“We have a deer yonder,” I added. “We will make you a venison broth, and then take you to the fort, where the rest of our party await us.”
But Carteret, who had the keener eye, shook his head gravely.
“It is no use,” he whispered.
The old man heard him.
“Ay, you are right,” he said. “I am past help. I feel death stealing over me. Months of privation have worn out my rugged frame—this frightful wilderness has drained my life blood. Comrades, I have journeyed on foot from the far province of Alaska.”
Carteret shrugged his shoulders, and the captain and I exchanged incredulous glances. Doubtless the stranger’s mind was wandering.
“You think me mad,” he said hoarsely. “But no; I will prove otherwise. Listen to my story. It is the last service you can do me, and you will find it well worth hearing.”
His manner was so earnest that we began to believe a little in spite of ourselves. We crouched on the blanket alongside of him, and in a voice that was barely audible—he was failing fast—the old man proceeded. The earlier part of his narrative, which was the least interesting, I will set down briefly in my own words.
His name was Hiram Buckhorn, and he was now sixty odd years of age. Half of his life had been passed in New York State and the Lower Canadas, and then he had gone across the continent to San Francisco. From that port he sailed with a dozen adventurous companions two years previously to explore the almost unknown territory of Alaska and prospect for gold. They sailed hundreds of miles up the mighty Yukon, and when their vessel was wrecked they journeyed some days inland on foot.
“And we found what we sought,” he continued, with sparkling eyes—“riches such as were never dreamed of! Gold? Why, men, it was as plentiful as the sand and gravel! The streams were paved with nuggets; it was everywhere under the soil! Our camp was near a tributary of the Yukon, and within a square mile was gold enough to purchase a dozen empires; but many a year will pass before men lay hands on the treasure. It is a terrible country—almost impossible to reach, and there is scarcely any summer season. And then the savage Indians! They fell upon us suddenly and treacherously, and butchered every one of my comrades. For some reason they spared my life and held me a prisoner.”
The old man paused a moment, breathing heavily. “After a month of captivity, during which my sufferings were terrible, I managed to escape,” he went on, in a weaker voice. “I could not return through Alaska, so I headed to the southeast through the Hudson Bay Company’s territory. I had musket and powder and ball—which I recovered from theIndians—and I built myself a rude sledge. This was thirteen months ago and since then I have been on the way. Ay, I have plodded more than fifteen hundred miles, through all seasons, over rivers, mountains, and plains. And to what end? To fill a grave in the wilderness! I had hoped to reach civilization, but the task was too great.”
Such was Hiram Buckhorn’s narrative, and when it was finished we looked silently at him with awe and amazement, with the deepest pity. His exploit had far surpassed anything in the annals of the pioneers of the Northwest. Fifteen hundred miles, on foot and alone, through an untrodden wilderness that even the Hudson Bay Company had never dreamed of tapping! It bore the stamp of truth, and yet it was so incredible a thing that we wavered between doubt and belief.
He noted this, and a grim smile flitted across his face.
“You shall see!” he whispered. “Reach under my head! Be quick!”
I gently thrust a hand beneath the pillow of skins, and drew out a small but heavy bag fashioned of rawhide. At his bidding I placed it beside the old man. With a hard effort, he loosed the mouth and turned the big upside down. Out fell on the fold of a blanket a mass of golden nuggets of the purest quality. There were not less than fifty, of large size, and they gleamed dull yellow in the rays of the fire. The sight almost took our breath, and we gazed with greedy, wondering eyes.
“Look! I spoke the truth,” said Hiram Buckhorn. “There is the evidence! Millions like them are to be dug in the region of the Klondike! But put them back—their glitter is no longer for me!”
I hurriedly gathered the nuggets into the bag and thrust it deep under the skins again. The old man watched every movement and heaved a faint sigh.
“The gold is yours, my friend,” he muttered. “Take it and divide it when you have put me beneath the snow. And one other favor I crave. Send word at the first opportunity to San Francisco, of the fate of those who sailed with me. They were trusty comrades! As for myself, I have no kith or kin—”
His voice suddenly dwindled to a whisper, and a spasm shook him from head to foot. His glassy eyes closed, he lifted one hand and dropped it, and then his heaving chest was still.
“Is he dead?” I exclaimed.
“Ay, that was his last breath,” replied Carteret. “He went quickly.”
“The excitement finished him,” said Captain Rudstone. “But listen! What is that?”
We looked at one another with startled faces. Far, far above us we heard a roaring, grinding noise, increasing each second. And we knew only too well what it meant!
“A snowslide—an avalanche!” cried Captain Rudstone. “It has started at the top, and will carry everything before it down the hill.”
“Ran for your lives!” shouted Carteret. “We’re in the track, and will hardly escape as it is!”
In a trice we were out of the lean-to, panic-stricken and alarmed, thinking of nothing but our lives; for of all perils of the Great Lone Land, the snow slide, with its speed and destructive power, was the most to be dreaded. We forgot the dead man—the gold under his pillow. We sped down the valley as though on wings, not daring to look up the hillside, where the avalanche was cleaving its way with a deafening noise, with the crash of falling trees, the grind of dislodged bowlders, and the roar of tons and tons of loosened snow. And the monster seemed to be reaching for us!
Flora’s dear face took shape before me in the frosty air, and I fancied I could hear her voice pleading with me to remain at the fort. Should I ever return to her arms again? The thought lent me speed, and I out distanced my companions. The next instant I tripped in a clump of bushes and fell headlong, and plump on top of me came Carteret and Captain Rudstone.
We were all three so tangled together that our efforts to extricate ourselves only led to worse confusion. We broke through the crust and floundered in soft and powdery snow. As we struggled hard—we had fled but a short distance—the avalanche struck the valley close behind us. There was first a mighty crash that made the ground tremble, next a long, deafening grind like a hundred thunderpeals in one, and then the hissing rush of a few belated rocks.
Silence followed, and we knew that we were saved. With grateful hearts and trembling limbs we scrambled out of our pit and regained the firm crust.
“Thank God!” I exclaimed.
“We had a close shave of it, comrades,” Carteret said huskily, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow.
We turned back and were pulled up short within twenty feet. For in front of us, stretching two-thirds of the way across the valley, was a lofty barrier of snow, trees and bowlders; its track down the hillside was marked by a clean, wide swath, the beginning of which we could not see. And deep under the fallen mass, covered by tons and tons of compact debris, was the crushed body of Hiram Buckhorn.
“He could not have a better grave,” said Captain Rudstone. “No men or beasts will ever despoil it.”
“Peace to his bones!” replied Carteret, reverently taking off his cap. “He deserved to live, after what he did.”
“But the gold!” I cried. “It is buried with him!”
“And there it will stay,” Captain Rudstone said coolly. “Even when the snow melts in the spring, it will be covered deep by rocks and trees that no man could drag away.”
The old voyageur appeared equally unconcerned. Money meant little to him, and I could understand the captain taking as easy a view of the loss. But with myself it way different, I confess. I looked forward to marriage, and for Flora’s sake I longed for my share of the precious nuggets. But there was nothing to be done—nothing further to be said. With a heavy heart I turned and followed my companions down the valley. We quickly cut the deer apart, burdening ourselves with the choicest haunches, and then set off on our return to the fort.
CHAPTER XXXIII.A CONVIVIAL MORNING.
It must have been an hour past midnight when we broke from the forest into the clearing, and as we strode across toward the stockade we noted with relief that all was still and peaceful. Malcolm Cameron greeted us at the gate, and we passed on to receive a hearty welcome at the house. With the exception of Pemecan, our comrades were all awake, sprawled about a blazing tire, and at sight of the meat we carried they set up a great shout.
“Hush! you will rouse Miss Hatherton!” said I, for I saw that she had retired.
However, I doubt if she had slept a wink; and no sooner was there a lull in the conversation than she called from the little room adjoining, in a hesitating voice:
“Have you returned, Denzil?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I am back, safe and sound, and with a fat deer for breakfast. But go to sleep at once; it is very late.”
“I will,” Flora answered. “Good-night, Denzil.”
“Good-night,” I responded, and then my face grew hot as I saw Captain Rudstone regarding me with half-veiled amusement.
“You are a lucky chap, Carew,” he said; “but you have well earned your happiness.”
I never quite knew how to take the captain’s words, so I merely nodded in reply. We were all sleepy, and without delay we completed the preparations for the night. Two men were chosen for sentry duty at the gate—Luke Hutter and Baptiste, and the latter at once relieved Cameron and sent him in. Carteret and I had a look about the inclosure, and then, after putting a great beam on the fire, we rolled ourselves in our blankets and laid down beside our companions.
I must have fallen asleep as soon as my eyes closed, for I remembered nothing until I was roused by a hand on my shoulder. Luke Hutter was standing over me, and from head to foot he was thickly coated with snow.The gray light of dawn glimmered behind the frosted windows, and I heard a hoarse whistling noise. The fire was blazing cheerily, for Baptiste had replenished it when he came off duty. Several of the men were stirring; the others were sound asleep.
“A bad day to travel, Mr. Carew,” said Hutter.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
For answer he led me to the door, and as he opened it a fine cloud of snow whirled into the room. I cried out with astonishment, for one of those rapid changes of weather so common in northern latitudes had taken place during the night. A storm of wind and snow, much like a blizzard, was raging violently. The cold was intense, and it was impossible to see more than a yard or two in front of one’s face.
“It began several hours ago,” said Hutter, “and it is good to last until night. If we set out for Fort Charter we shall lose our way, sir, and perhaps become exhausted and freeze to death.”
I agreed with Hutter, and after some reflection I hit upon a plan that afforded me no little pleasure. My companions were by this time awake and up, and I called their attention to the storm. As to the danger and impossibility of proceeding on our journey, they were all of one mind.
“We need a rest,” said I, “and here is a chance to take it, with a bit of recreation and enjoyment thrown in. There is not the slightest risk of an attack by Indians. We can spare a day, and we have snug quarters and enough to eat. The storm will doubtless abate by to-morrow morning, and then we will push on. What do you say, men?”
They assented readily, even with enthusiasm, and I saw that they entered fully into the spirit which had prompted me to make the proposal.
“I’m thinking it will be like old times,” said Cameron. “It was a happy life at Fort Royal, on the whole, sir. There’s one thing we’ll be lacking for the day’s pleasure—a stiff glass of grog all round.”
“We’ll manage to get along without it,” I replied. “And now let’s finish up the work; there is plenty to do.”
First of all we made a kettleful of warm water by melting snow, and Ihanded a pannikin of it in to Flora, whom I had heard stirring for some time. She bade me a sweet good-morning, and showed me a glimpse of her pretty face round the corner of the door. Then some of us began to prepare breakfast—we had found an ample supply of dish ware in the fort—and others demolished a part of the stockade and brought the timbers in for fuel. Captain Rudstone and I busied ourselves by making the crevices of the door and windows secure against wind and sifting snow. For once we dispensed with sentry duty, thinking it to be unnecessary.
As breakfast was ready to be served, Flora tripped out of her little room looking radiantly beautiful. When she learned that we were to stop at the fort that day her eyes glowed with pleasure, and what I read in them set my heart beating fast. Seated about the fire on benches and rickety stools, we attacked the delicious slices of venison, the steaming coffee, and the crisp cakes of cornmeal. Then, the dishes washed and the room tidied a bit, we heaped the fire high and settled ourselves for a long morning. Outside the wind howled and the whirling snow darkened the air; inside was warmth and cheer and comfort.
Looking back to that day over the gulf of years, I can recall few occasions of keener enjoyment. The security and comfort were in such strong contrast to what we had lately suffered, that we abandoned ourselves wholly to the pleasure of the passing moment. We forgot the tragedies and sufferings that lay behind us, and gave no thought to what the uncertain future might hold in store. For me the horizon was unclouded. Flora was by my side, and I looked forward to soon calling her my wife.
Luckily, we had plenty of tobacco, and wreaths of fragrant smoke curled from blackened pipes. Baptiste and Carteret sang the dialect songs of the wilderness; Duncan Forbes amused us with what he called a Highland fling, and Pemecan, to the accompaniment of outlandish chanting, danced an Indian war-dance. Captain Rudstone and Christopher Burley, who were rarely anything but quiet and reserved, showed us sides of their characters that we had not suspected before; they clapped their hands and joined in the laughter and merriment. And in Flora’s unfeigned happiness and light spirits I took my greatest enjoyment.
“Comrade, it’s your turn,” said Forbes, addressing old Malcolm Cameron. “Maybe you’ll be giving us your imitation of the skirl of the bagpipes.”
“Man, it’s too dry work,” Cameron replied. “If I had a wee drop of liquor—But it’s no use asking for that.”
“By the way, Carew,” said Captain Rudstone, “as I was overhauling that heap of rubbish in the cellar this morning, I pulled out a small cask. Could it contain anything drinkable?”
I was on my feet like a shot.
“Come; we’ll see!” I cried. “Lead the way!”
I followed the captain to the cellar and we found the cask. I quickly broached it, and to my delight it, contained what I had scarcely ventured to hope for—a fine old port wine.
“Where did it come from?” asked the captain, smacking his lips.
“My father used to have it sent to him from England,” I replied, “and this cask must have been mislaid and covered up.”
“Your father?” muttered the captain: and he gave me one of those strange looks that had so mystified me in the past.
“Yes, he was a judge of wine, I believe,” I answered. “Come, we’ll go up. Cameron can wet his whistle now, and we’ll all be the better for a little sound port.”
When we returned to our companions with the cask, and told them what it held, they gave us an eager and noisy welcome. We rummaged about until we found a sufficient number of cracked glasses and cups, and then we filled them with the fragrant, ruddy beverage.
“Miss Hatherton shall drink first,” said I, as I sat down beside her and handed her a glass.
My own I held up with a little nod, and she partly understood me. Such a roguish look twinkled in her eyes that I carried out my purpose.
“Attention!” I cried, standing up. “A toast, comrades! to my promised wife!”
With an earnestness that I liked, the men drank, one and all, and Flora smiled very prettily through her confusion and blushes.
“Ah, she’s a bonnie lady,” old Malcolm Cameron said bluntly.
“And with the spirit of a man,” added Luke Hutter.
I acknowledged these compliments with a bow as I sat down. Most of the drinking vessels were emptied and passed to Carteret to be filled. That done, at a sign from me he carried the cask to a closet at the other side of the room. Some of the men were bibulously inclined, and for Flora’s sake I had to be cautious.
Of a sudden Captain Rudstone rose, his handsome, stern face almost transformed by an expression of genial good will.
“Mr. Carew,” he began, “on such an occasion as this I feel that I must say a word. Indeed you have won a prize. ’Tis an old proverb that a man married is a man marred, but in you I see an exception. Were I a few years younger I should have ventured to enter the lists against you. I have knocked about the world, and I can pay Miss Hatherton no higher compliment than to say that she is equally fitted to be queen of a London drawing room or mistress of a factor’s humble house. But enough. I wish you every prosperity and happiness, and a long career in the service of the company.”
The captain was evidently sincere, and I had never liked him so well as now, though I must confess that I felt a spark of jealousy when Flora made him a smiling courtesy.
He was no sooner down in his seat than Christopher Burley stood up. The law clerk’s face was flushed, and his eyes had an unwonted sparkle. He had drunk but two glasses of port, yet he was a different man to look at.
“Mr. Carew and Miss Hatherton, my compliments,” he said. “I shall think of this convivial gathering when I am back in London—in that crowded, bustling heart of the world, and I hope some day to have the pleasure of seeing you there—of seeing all of you, my friends. I will take you to my favorite haunt, the Cheshire Cheese, in Fleet Street, where the great and learned Dr. Johnson was wont to foregather. But I have much to do before I can return to England. The task that brought me to this barbarous country—this land of snow and ice—is of a most peculiar and difficult nature. I will take the present opportunity to inquire—”
“Enough!” suddenly interrupted Captain Rudstone in a harsh voice. “Your tongue is rambling sir. I am doing you a service by requesting you to sit down.”
“Sir, do you mean to insinuate—” began Christopher Burley.
But at that instant voices were heard outside and the door was thrown open.