Dude was lying a picture of innocence on the snow. How he could maintain an appearance of unconcern with a broiling hot beef-steak inside him was a marvel! John looked at him amazed: the smallest slit of a black eye was watching him.
"I was only away about three minutes."
"Half a minute is enough for Dude. He likes beef-steak!"
Hugh refilled the pan and then—civilization knows no artifice to better the enjoyment of such a meal!
They were partakers, too, of another repast—their souls were fed by the glories of nature: the sun was setting; its splendour spread from high in the heavens to the rugged range that yesterday had resisted them. On that vast canvas were painted salmon-coloured clouds with long ribbons of yellow, bearing the lustre of burnished gold.
It was the extreme of grandeur, awe-inspiring and ennobling. The evening was very still.
It was five o'clock on the morrow before the party was up, and six o'clock before, breakfast cooked and eaten, John and Hugh were on the road to the summit. They were to travel the twenty miles there, and return with one thousand pounds of supplies.
The glow of the sun was already upon the mountains when they set out.
"Say! it's going to be a hot day, and it's going to thaw some. It'll make hauling easy, but our feet will be pretty wet; good thing we've got some dry socks and rubbers in our outfit at the summit. Another thing is, we're going to meet a whole lot of fellows on the trail the way we're going to-day; and, what's worse, we'll get more of them coming back."
Sure enough, after they left Log Cabin, they could see the toilers coming, winding in a snake-like procession among the hills.
Hugh had prophesied correctly. By eleveno'clock they were in their shirt-sleeves. The dazzling whiteness of the snow, reflected from all sides, made the use of smoke-glasses necessary; but the perspiration, dimming the glass, troubled their sight. The end of John's nose became painful; his cheeks burned. It reminded him of the after-effects of his first sunny spring day on the water in England.
They met and passed scores of teams, and still more were pouring over the summit when they arrived there at one o'clock. It was half-past two before they had their feet encased in German socks and rubber shoes, and their load ready again for the trail.
"We can't make home before dark, but we should be able to make Log Cabin by seven, after which the trail will be clear, and we should arrive by ten. This trail will be mighty good going after it starts to freeze, which it will do, soon as the sun goes down."
At four o'clock they were three miles on the trail. There was already frost in the air.
Ere another half-hour had passed Hugh felt his cheek smitten by a gust of wind, laden with particles of ice.
"I thought so!" he exclaimed; "these last few days have shown too large a pay streak of spring to last. We're in for trouble. It will be down on us in half an hour. All we can do isto keep on as we are going, steadily. I guess we shall make Log Cabin, but not with this load. The soft snow makes a thousand pounds too much for the dogs. Look!" He pointed to a miniature cyclone coming along the trail, drinking up the ice particles as it whirled. It struck them sharply as a gust of wind.
The first contact of the storm was cold and cutting; then the wind veered, and down came the snow. The sleigh was soon too heavy.
"The only thing is to cache the sleigh and turn the dogs loose; the chances are we won't be able to keep the trail in this storm; and if we do come out alive, we won't be able to find the sleigh if we abandon it far from the trail."
"Do you think the storm will be very bad?"
"It's bad now, ain't it? How long will it be before there is eighteen inches of snow on this trail? For a time we can keep it by feeling it hard under us; but we are liable to get off it—and once lost, there is no finding it again. Mind, the wind is blowing from the right, half to the rear. Here's a tree; I've noticed this lone spruce before, and we can find it again. Let us stand the sleigh up against it, and turn the dogs loose."
So to the tree dogs and men struggled; the dogs were unhitched, harness was piled on top of the load. Then, with a great effort, the men managed to up-end the load against the tree.
Hugh called Dude to him, and pulled an old envelope out of his pocket, on which he scratched: "Cached sleigh on north side of trail by spruce tree, five miles from the summit.—Hugh Spencer." This he tied to a handkerchief, and that to Dude's collar.
"It's no harm letting George know where the grub is, for if we don't find camp again, Dude will."
The dogs went, Dude leading, and were soon lost to sight.
Down the trail the two men strode. The snow was six inches deep already, the wind piling it upon the trail. The weather did not feel cold; in fact, both were comfortably warm. For an hour they plodded along. Occasionally one would plunge into the soft snow and scramble back on to the beaten trail. Conversation was not much indulged in.
The light began to fail, yet they stumbled along. There was nothing they could recognize in the boulders and cliffs that loomed around them in a deathly monotony.
For half an hour darkness was upon them, when Hugh remarked that Log Cabin could not be far away. Immediately following his remark they plunged into soft snow. The trail seemed to have come to an end; but this could not be so. They retraced their steps and regained firmfooting. They felt cautiously around with their feet, but could find the underlying snow hard only in the direction whence they came.
"I guess we're off the trail, and have walked along a bank where the wind has packed the old snow good and hard. Looks to me as if we was lost."
"Don't give up," said John.
"Give up! I ain't giving up; but we're lost. I won't give up as long as I can wiggle."
"What had we better do?"
"Keep moving! If you don't, you freeze!" Spencer's voice was low and serious as he said, "Keep the wind on your right side; and if you've got any last will and testament to make, scratch it on a piece of paper and leave it in your pocket before your hands get numb, or your mind weak. We're up against it hard! We will stay together, of course; but should we get separated, don't move too fast, or you will tire yourself out and go to sleep in the snow. Don't let sleep take hold of you, or you're dead! Just keep moving fast enough to keep warm, or, at least, from freezing; go down hill rather than up; and don't fall over a cliff. Have you ever been up against a life-and-death proposition? If not, you are pretty near one now."
They proceeded on their uncertain journey, but were soon floundering in soft snow. Theykept on. It was easy enough to say "keep going down-hill," but, so far as John was concerned, he seemed to be walking up-hill all the time. They frequently exchanged shouts, and so remained together.
For hours they plodded on, the snowfall growing less, but the cold greater.
John began to act, to call, mechanically. His mind in that desolate trampling was transported to happier places. He thought of his Alice Peel. She was probably, he mused, thinking of him also. Did her mind ever picture such experiences as he was now realizing? She would possibly read in the newspapers of the great rush of gold-seekers over those terrible mountains and through the stormy passes. If he should die in that storm, and months afterwards she heard of his demise?... The thought drifted along to several loose ends. He must not sleep, or he would die; and it was his duty to live; but—oh! to sleep!... His father, and the old school, the church services! How much he would like to hear the old organ and the choir!... It had been the family wish that he should take Holy Orders, and he had refused the vocation, feeling it not his. Had he done right? He believed yes.... He might be about to meet his Creator. What might his record be?...
His mind went back to an occasion in Australia, when he had been lost in the Bush, and had wandered for days without water, till some blacks found him. He remembered, before going into unconsciousness with his back against a rock, that a vulture was watching him. He had taken a piece of stone, and, pretending it was a pistol, had pointed it at the bird....
John Berwick's mind was picturing sand and heat, while above him roared the Arctic storm.
How cold it was getting, and the wind was beginning to blow! The parka did not sufficiently protect his face.
Hugh shouted out that they were crossing a lake, and there might be a camp along its edge. They came in due course to the other side of the lake, with the cliff so steep they could not climb it. They followed the shore to the right, facing the storm. They crossed another lake, and still another. The air had grown intensely cold; the wind was higher, and ever there came that terrible inclination to lie down and sleep.
After they had passed over the last little lake Hugh shouted to John that they were surely now far from the proper trail, as he could recollect no such water near Bennett. Lake Lindeman was four miles long.
The wind was rising, and the increasing coldtold that it came from the north. Hugh began now really to doubt whether they would live through the storm.
Soon afterwards fine ice crystals impinged against their faces. Great swirls of wind fell upon them. This new severe onslaught of nature aroused John, who called to his comrade. He had suddenly realized how very, very close they were to death.
"The snow is going—it's easier walking," he said suddenly.
They closed together, and struggled along abreast. They were too nearly dead to notice that the going was good. Suddenly John fell into the soft snow, and Hugh, exerting his worn powers, dragged him back.
"The trail, the trail," gasped John, with his face close to Hugh's.
"Trail! we ain't been on any trail for hours."
"Feel with your feet!"
Hugh stopped to feel with his feet two runner tracks of horse sled. Hope came to them, made a great call to their resources. Meanwhile their tired hearts and very weary bodies endured the bombardment of the snow-laden wind, which seemed to penetrate them, taking the heat of life from their vitals!
They came to another lake. How the wind cut! The snow, driven over the surface of theice, gave a hard, grinding noise. Would ever they come to the end of that pitiless journey!
Bang! They stumbled against a sleigh standing in the middle of the road. Hugh kicked at it; the singletree rattled; he recognized the sound. He gave a desperate shout; another and another.
Then, at last, the promise of relief and of life came to them. They smelt smoke. Just for a second!—that creosotic odour was to them as sweetest perfume. It meant life, warmth, comfort, human companionship.
The figure of a man with a lantern loomed up before them, and a deep voice asked,
"What's the matter?"
"We're lost," said John.
"No, you're not; you're right here on Crater Lake, just over the summit of the Chilkoot."
"Thank God!" said Hugh.
"We're the police; come inside." They staggered into a tent warmed by a tin stove, on which was a pot of coffee. The man quickly produced cups, and gave them to drink.
John Berwick just fell on a pile of wood, stacked near the stove, and fell asleep. Now that the great struggle against the elements, which force of personality rather than strength of limbs had carried him through, was over, he collapsed.
When the policeman returned with bread and meat for them, he found Hugh removing his friend's shoes, and brushing the snow from his legs.
"Let him sleep," said Hugh.
In far-away London at that very hour—in England high noon—Alice Peel was walking down Regent Street. Her spirits were restless. The bustling traffic, the interest of the shops, the passing of the people, could not keep her thought from a far wanderer. She was weary of this ordered civilization; and remembering John in his adventures heard the call of the wilds.
There was now a possibility for this yearning to be satisfied. Her father, Surgeon-Major Peel, had lost his money through a sudden misfortune, and had been prompted by the news from the Klondike also to make a bid for fortune there, not as a gold-seeker, but in his own profession. He was convinced that a hospital in that desperate region would be in all ways a good venture.
Alice had determined to accompany him. To her that spring morning, even with all the fever of restlessness in her blood, was full of hope. The soft air and the sunshine were conditions—how different from those endured by Berwick and his comrade in their life-and-death march!
After two hours of solid sleep, the blanket was lifted from the exhausted gold-seekers, and they were shaken back into life.
"Get up and eat, you need it."
Still aching in every bone the two poor fellows staggered to their feet.
A dim light was penetrating the canvas, as they looked about them. Underneath was ice—the frozen surface of Crater Lake—on which were spread piles of blankets, the beds of the police.
Notwithstanding the fire, the air of the tent was chill and frosty, and the canvas flapped in the wind. The walls of the tent were dark, showing the level of the snow around them. The presence of this snow, no doubt, explained how the tent had withstood the fury of the gale.
The policeman led the way to the cook tent, where they were given bacon and slap-jacks.
"Can't make bread here, and don't get it veryoften from Dyea, and we're just out now," apologized the policeman who acted as cook.
While they were eating ravenously, the officer in command of the post called to see them and inquired if they were any the worse for their experiences.
"Hardly salubrious, the climate, eh?" he said, after they had answered his particular questions. "On several occasions we have had the tents blown down, and frequently the men had to sit up all night holding the poles to prevent a catastrophe. I must say our fellows have shown great grit under most trying circumstances. You see we are on a civil campaign here, and there is not the excitement of fighting to keep the men up."
With that the officer left the tent. A policeman glanced after him and muttered,
"Civil campaign! Hear the old man talk! We're holding down the blooming Passes for the Queen! That's what we're doing. We could live in comfort at Lindeman, with all the wood we want for cabins and to burn."
"Where do you get your wood?"
"Down the trail—when we get any at all. They send a horse up from Lindeman. The last few days the trail has been pretty good, and some teams have been hauling from there to here: but we got only one load—which won't last us through the storm, if it holds much longer."
"Do you collect much duty here?"
"Well—rather! The old man just dumps the money he takes in a leather sack, and the other day he had thirty-five thousand dollars in it; but he hasn't got that much now. He sent one of the fellows down to Skagway with it. It was rather risky, for all the hard cases travelling the Passes got to know the sack; and there was a good deal of risk of the fellow getting shot; but he went through the whole gang and got on the boat at Dyea, and crossed to Skagway."
"The man had pluck!"
"Yes; but human nature in many ways is alike in both red-skin and white men, and the police have learned to do these sort of things. Down on the plains in the old days, when the savages were mean, it was often the case that one or two policemen would ride into a reservation, arrest a red-skin, and take him away with hundreds of armed Indians yelling around them. The Indians thought the police were crazy, and it is against their religion to kill a crazy man. I guess if Soapy recognized the sack he thought it was a job of some kind."
"Do as many men come over this Pass as over the White Pass?"
"More! The Chilkoot is the poor man's Pass. Most of the fellows who come over here haul their own stuff, and pack it over the summit, or hirethe Siwashes to put it to the summit, and haul from here themselves. They get it up here, and then, when they get a fine day, run it through to Lindeman or Bennett, where they build their boats. An outfit is putting in an aerial tram: that is, a cable from the foot of the big hill to the top."
"This summit is too steep for horses?"
"Oh, yes. It's as much as an ordinary man wants to climb it light, and it's much worse with a pack on your back, though a Siwash staggered up the other day with a cask of tar weighing three hundred and fifty pounds. The sad part of it was that then he could not get his five cents, a pound for his work!—at least he came to one of our fellows, who told him to hide the barrel in the snow and not show the owner where it was, till he got his money. Wait till you see the hill! It is one of the most remarkable sights, I fancy, ever seen in the world's history: thousands of men toiling in line up nine hundred feet of almost perpendicular ascent—for what?—to be given a chance of drowning themselves in the Yukon, or of dying of disease in the Dawson country!"
The time came for the evening meal; but the storm still raged outside and the weather remained cold. It would be hard to conceive more miserable surroundings! The heat given out by the stove was scarcely felt six feet away, and the icy floor, snow walls, and flimsy roof sapped the body's heat.Darkness came, and bed-time. Two policemen offered to share their bed with the guests, so that the strangers had somewhere to lay their heads.
It appeared to John that he had just fallen to sleep when he was awakened by the sentry calling to all hands to dress, as water was overflowing the ice and coming into the tent. So up all hands got, hastily dressing in the frosty atmosphere. By the uncertain light of a few flickering candles water was to be seen entering the tent; and what was the best move was a matter of discussion, till one policeman suggested that sleighs be hauled into the tent, and the beds built on them. This was done, but not before a good portion of the bedding had become wet.
Let any one who desires a picture of the hardships which policemen and civilians went through in those dreadful Passes imagine the poor fellows living in tents, with water six inches deep within, a storm surging without—and the thermometer many degrees below freezing-point! It was three more days ere the wind ceased to blow, and for those three days the police and their guests existed under distressing conditions. At the end of the three days milder weather came; but the water still remained on the ice, so that it was plain the camp must be moved. Preparations were being made to do this when John and Hugh bade their kindly hosts good-bye.
John and Hugh could not resist the temptation of looking at the far-famed Chilkoot Pass ere they turned for the last time from the Great Divide. So they mounted the steep ascent from Crater Lake to the summit. Reaching this, they found a great array of caches, or drifts of snow, the formation of which suggested a cache beneath them. A half-dozen policemen were levelling the new site for their tents.
"A desperate situation for an encampment!" said John; but there was no other.
Looking down the Pass it presented a picture like nothing so much as a great funnel, with the side towards the sea broken out. Through this passage from the sea a long line of ant-like figures, human beings, each laden with his load, was pouring towards them.
The town of Lindeman was reached at three o'clock; at five they arrived at Bennett. Dude rose up from his bed on the snow and looked atthem; but the four other dogs were bundles of fur before the camp, refusing to give even a silent welcome.
"Hurrah!" cried Bruce, "here you are at last; I knew you would turn up safe and sound, so stayed home to have something hot ready."
The two were ready for another meal; and as George had set up the camp stove in the tent they were comfortable.
As soon as his partners had started on the morning of the storm, George had set to work and put up the stove in the tent, and for the balance of the day, till the storm came, had been cutting firewood—with no other idea than to keep busy. And great was his reward! for he had enough to do and to think of to keep him supplied during the storm and the severe weather that followed. Then, at seven or eight o'clock, after the snow had been falling several hours, a low wail came from outside the tent door. Dude!
"You got the note on Dude's collar?" inquired Hugh.
"Yes; but I didn't go after the grub, being too anxious about you."
"That was right. The chechachoes will have the trail beaten for us to-morrow. I only sent it in case we did not turn up, which we came pretty near not doing! How have your neighbours been getting on: doing much quarrelling?"
"No; they have had too much trouble keeping warm, and have limited their disputes as to who should go out into the storm and cut wood. They weren't as lucky as I in having a good supply at hand."
How the wanderers appreciated their warm bed under the lynx-skin robe that night! for in their late abode the chill of the ice and water had seemed to penetrate to their bones!
The next day Hugh took a piece of canvas, and with a needle fashioned a sail, after which he fixed a mast in the front of the sleigh and set the sail.
"You see," he explained, "when spring sets in the wind generally blows from the south, and we might as well make it work for us."
As it did when they started on the morning following. A breeze from the south filled the sail and helped the sleigh over the frozen surface of Lake Bennett.
It was three o'clock, and as they were close upon the end of March the days were lengthening wonderfully, so that they had not been an hour on the trail when daylight came.
As the light increased so did the wind, which relieved the dogs of almost all the weight of the load. The trail was good, and by eleven o'clock they had travelled the twenty miles to Caribou Crossing, the site of the present town of Car-Cross. Here Hugh called a halt, declaring they had done a good day's work, and that the recently-abandoned camping-ground at which they then were was too good to pass. So the dogs were unhitched, and their evening meal put to boil. While this was in process the tent was erected and the bed made.
The second day out from Lake Bennett was much like the first; and so it was until the fourth day, when they reached Miles Canyon and the White Horse rapids. From Lake Bennett they passed Windy Arm to Tagish Lake; and on Marsh Lake, which followed, they got more away from the mountains, when their range of vision became greater.
When they arrived at the foot of Marsh Lake, which merged into Miles Canyon, they found a number of men putting in a tramway, over which horses would haul freight when navigation opened, thus covering the five miles and avoiding the danger of the canyon and the rapids.
They hauled their load along the route of the tramway to below the rapids, where the waters of the Yukon are known as the Fifty Mile River. Here they found a number of men building boats, but they kept steadily on.
Below White Horse Rapids fewer men were on the trail. Some they met were travelling south, gaunt and haggard, unshaven, uncouth, loud ofvoice and wild of eye. These men had travelled the long trail from Dawson—five hundred miles it was; and the heavy toil and hard food had told on their minds and natures.
The party covered the fifteen miles from White Horse to where the Fifty Mile enters Lake Le Berge, when the crust had become so soft that they could not travel, so they camped. Recently the trail had taken on new conditions, that of standing higher than the snow on either hand, like the back of a great serpent. The fact was that the general level of snow was settling under the warmth of the sun, while the trail, being packed hard, remained as it was.
The tent was up and the bed made by noon. Hugh planned that the party should go to bed at three, and "hit the trail" again at midnight. There would be no wind to aid them further, for, as they left the coast range, the diurnal breeze had failed. Their own efforts, and those of the dogs, must haul the load the final stage of thirty miles to the foot of Lake Le Berge, where they were to build their boat.
They ate their dinner and spread spruce boughs, over which they placed their blankets, and enjoyed a rest in the glorious sunlight.
The view from the tent was beautiful. To the north lay the stretch of the lake, on either hand of which were great rounded hills—alldazzling white. To the south, far distant, were heavy ranges of mountains. The air was that of peace and hope, and seemed full of promise of the glorious summer soon to burst over this vastness of solitude, melting the snows, and flooding the hillsides with floral beauty.
Presently they saw two black specks crossing the frozen lake far beneath, which eventually proved to be two human figures approaching—one some distance behind the other. The first was hauling a sled, slowly, and evidently with difficulty. Hugh at once acted. He put the kettle to boil, and filled a frying-pan with beans and bacon.
"I guess those fellows coming up the lake will need a little grub when they get here," he explained; "at least they can drink tea, if they are too plumb played out to eat."
The actions of the leading man were very erratic. Frequently he would stop, place his hand before his eyes, and when again he endeavoured to start would stagger, plunging into the softened snow, which broke under him, bringing him to the knees.
"Snow-blind," was Hugh's comment.
The stranger seemed to smell the smoke from the camp fire, and gave a wild "Hullo!" The three answered the call. He turned towards the sound, and when he saw the camp he shook himself free of the harness and plunged through the soft snow towards it. When he saw the blankets stretched before the tent he threw himself on them at full length, and with his fingers at his eye-sockets groaned.
Sympathy being often better expressed by doing nothing, the man was left in his misery for some ten minutes. Hugh then poured him out a cup of tea, to which was added much sugar and condensed milk. The man raised his head at a word, and showed his blackened face, made horrible by the streaks of tears and perspiration. He drank the refreshment greedily. Hugh explained the man's curious appearance.
"This fellow has been taking a leaf out of the Siwash's book in blackening his face. The black saves the eyes a whole lot from the glare of the sun."
The campers turned their attention to the second traveller, now plainly in sight, and noticed that the pack on his back jolted him horribly, as he broke through the trail at every third or fourth step. As he wore glasses, he was evidently not in distress from his eyes. He saw the camp, staggered to it, and threw himself down, pack and all, sitting with his back against the load. He stared at the man in agony on the blankets.
"Hello! there's Bill! Ha! I told the blamefool not to travel without glasses. Wake up, Bill, and tell us your dreams. How's that wife you're so struck on outside, and you in such a hurry to give your dust to! Ho! Bill, wake up!"
As the prostrate man gave no sign of hearing, his hilarious companion turned to the others, and in more moderate tones continued,
"Bill and me have come from Dawson together, and he has near killed himself—me, too—trying to get out and see his wife and kids; and this morning nothing would do him but he must go and tramp on his glasses, and bust them. I told him to lay up to-day and travel to-night, but he wouldn't. Must keep moving to get to his wife. Ha! Wife be damned! I ain't got no wife."
Hugh interrupted the tirade.
"Have some beans?"
"Sure thing! Beans—yes; nothing like beans on the trail; besides, I don't mind eating your beans, seeing my own grub pile is most petered out. Just a little flour and baking-powder left; not much good to travel on."
The man fell to eating. His manner turned from hilarity to morosity. He bolted his food. Soon his companion on the blankets moved, and gasped, "Don't let that hog eat all the beans; I want some."
"Ha! I thought Bill wasn't dead: you're just a bluffer, ain't you, Bill? Say! Bill, let's turn round and go back to Dawson. We can travel along with these fellows: they have lots of grub, and we can buy off them."
It was evident to John and his friends that—if the first stranger was the worse affected in physical condition—the second was mentally the more upset. The snow-blinded sufferer raised himself and took from Hugh the plate of beans and a second cup of tea. This man ate slowly, while his partner continued to talk.
"You see, me and Bill came from Dawson together; and when we got to Thirty Mile we found it open, and the blame sleigh was always sliding into the open water. I wanted Bill to chuck the sleigh and pack our grub and blankets; but Bill wouldn't. So I says, 'I'll pack my half, and you can haul your half,' and that's the way we've been coming. Bill had a hell of a time with his sleigh sliding into the river; and then, coming up the lake, he never could keep it on the trail. No wonder he's bughouse!"[7]
[7]Crazy.
[7]Crazy.
When the first arrival had finished his meal Hugh led him into the tent and bathed his eyes with fresh-made tea. In the tent the sufferer was free from the glare of the sun. Hugh hung a dark grey blanket from the ridge pole, so thatif the sufferer opened his eyes he could fix his gaze upon it. Then he went out.
"How's Bill?" asked the erratic one.
"Better, I hope."
"Not bughouse yet?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, if he ain't bughouse, he is sure locoed on that wife of his."
Hugh made no reply, and the other continued,
"Ha! that's Bill Stanbridge; owns in on Eldorado with Slim Mulligan, who's in charge now, and will look after the clean-up. My name is Frank Miller; just blew in about the time Carmack made discovery, but went and used my rights on Boulder Creek. Boulder showed up better on surface than Bonanza or Eldorado, but there's nothing on bed-rock in Boulder."
As the man got his mind away from his partner, his conversation indicated less disorder of intellect. Hugh, quickly noticing the change, and with a view to further the good process, asked,
"How's Dawson?"
"Dawson! She's fine. Lots of grub. Old Healey gave the boys a speel last fall that they'd all starve if they stayed in the country, and then the speculators corralled all the grub and run up prices; but they're loosening now. You can get a pretty good meal of beans now for two dollarsand a half—even at Miss Mulrooney's. Say! that girl is making money."
"How's Bonanza?"
"Good; but Eldorado is better. Bill's go ground, some of it going five hundred dollars to the pan for picked dirt. But this high grade pay! The Government is going to send their yellow-legs round to relieve the boys of ten per cent., and fellows with poor ground will have to pay as well as the fellows on Eldorado. That ain't fair!"
"It's fair to charge for the administration of the country and keeping law and order," said George.
"To hell with law and order! You're a chechacho, or you wouldn't talk like that. Miners' meetings make pretty good law-courts; and now they have law and order, fellows begin to lock their doors. The country was a whole lot better before ever it saw an official."
"Yes; but the gang going in now will make things different," said Hugh.
"You're an old-timer?... Thought so when I first swallowed your beans. Chechachoes don't know how to boil beans like that. You'll find a big change round Rabbit Creek when you blow in there. It's gamblers and saloon men most have the good claims. Of course Carmack had to put his wife's relations in next to him on discovery; and when the crowd got up from Forty Mile they staked on Boulder Gulch and Adams Gulch. Neither any good—but say! they've got Dawson a hot town." He laughed. "Games running night and day; all the fun you want, but no gun-play; the yellow-legs will put you on the wood-pile right away quick, if ever you make a break; and it ain't no fun to be sawing wood at forty below, with a yellow-legs and a Winchester standing over you—for the glory of the Queen of England!"
Frank Miller's mind was lapsing.
Frank Corte stood at the door of his kitchen and, with a large smile, eyed the coming of the party. The new-comers were evidently going to build their boat at the foot of Le Berge; and already he had favourably sized them up.
There were many tents pitched around the cabin where Frank distributed the necessities of human sustenance; but Dude's instincts drew him to the kitchen, and down he and his canine followers flopped before the door.
"Well! well! fine dogs, nice day, strangers. Going to build boat here? yes, thought so. Thirty Mile is open to the Hootalink, and the Lewis is getting holes in it. Early spring, sure!"
Frank's heart was hospitable; but the cost of grub was high: moreover, the grub he cooked was not his. He was debating how far his hospitality could go.
Frank Corte was a Hungarian by birth, and a citizen of the United States of America, whichhe proudly announced as opportunity offered. He was over six feet tall, with long arms, stooping shoulders, and an angular form. His physical strength was enormous: there was a wealth of native kindness in his heart. His chief diversion was argument, in which—thanks to his study of the Bible, and a small, besmeared pocket-edition of Webster's Dictionary—he was rather effective. He could argue with any one; or even on necessity address his convictions to the little red-haired female dog that was ever at his heels. Frank thought the world of Fanny.
"Say! fellows, it's against orders to feed pilgrims, though I guess you ain't altogether tenderfeet; but if you wants to boil your tea and cook grub on my stove, you're welcome. Come right in and cook up."
"No, thanks," said Hugh, "though I guess I will leave the team here and mooch round and get a good camping-place. I guess we'll be here three weeks, and might as well set up our tent in a good place. We're not hungry."
"That's right; and you can't have a better camping-ground than right over against that bunch of spruce." Frank was interested in these strangers, and his desire for news stimulated his hospitality; so he continued, "Come right in and feed up, and look for your camping-ground after. Days are getting long now."
Hugh hesitated, and then accepted. Frank put on more wood, to which the tin stove quickly responded.
"How's Soapy?" he inquired.
"Fine," replied Hugh, "hold-ups galore. The people of Skagway have a murder nearly every morning for breakfast!"
"Say! what a time Soapy would have if they only let him operate around Dawson—wouldn't he make a killing! But them police! They don't have any more excitement beyond the games and dance-halls in Dawson than they do outside. That's no mining-camp for a country like this, and the crowd what's inside there now. I don't like to see too much killing, but a hold-up now and again is interesting!—besides, these rich claim-owners can stand it. A fellow was telling me that it was nothing to see the 'Big Moose'[8]coming into Dawson, last summer, with ten or twenty thousand dollars tied to his saddle, and him without a guard! Say! we're going to have a squaw-dance Friday night in the dining-room here, will you come? One of our fellows has an accordion, and we'll have fine music. Only four bits a dance. I'm going to try and get some hootch. There's nothing like hootch to get the squaws on the move—if the yellow-legs don't get on to it. They soak you like the devil if theycatch you at it, though. Say! how's Uncle Sam getting on licking them there Spaniards?—he'll do them up in about three weeks. I'd like to be outside to go to the Philippines. After he gets through with the Spaniards he's going to come in and take Canada,"—and here Frank stole side-glances at Hugh's companions; but his instincts of hospitality stayed him from this, his favourite joke.
[8]Indian name for the late Alexander McDonald.
[8]Indian name for the late Alexander McDonald.
"Say! where did you get those dogs? Fine team!"
"Three I got inside; the others in Skagway."
"I thought you was no chechacho. You come from Uncle Sam's country, don't you?"
"I come from all over: what's this outfit you're with?"
"Jack Haskins is building two scows to take down some freight he hauled in over the ice. He has me cooking for him, though I could get $250.00 in Dawson for the same job. He only pays me $150.00 per month; but I'll soon be in with the best of them. Say! if you fellows is going to build a boat, I'll ask Jack if you can't use one of his pits. He has two, and I guess you fellows can get the chance to use one of his pits for all the lumber you want—and that will save you building one. I'm glad you fellows have showed up—it will make more company—and I hope you'll come to our dance. You'll seethe squaw-camp down the river a bit. They're out from Dalton House, came out to Tagish, visiting some Siwashes there, and drifted down here, just to take in the sights! Are a bit shy, though some have picked up a little English."
"Here is another human study," thought John, as he and his friends moved over to the point suggested for their encampment. They found it satisfactory, so went back for the dogs.
"Say! if you fellows want anything in the way of dishes, or if you're real short of any grub, maybe I can let you have it on the sly," said Frank to the party as they returned, his hospitality getting ahead of his morals. But Hugh assured him the party was fixed up all right.
Frank's generosity was of the aggressive kind, for as John Berwick's party sat in their tent that evening he stuck his head in at the door and said they could have the use of one of Haskins' saw-pits on the morrow, and probably right along.
"Don't work too hard, for I want you to be lively on Friday night! Two fellows have just blown in from Dawson, and they say the river is full of holes; so it is just as well you fellows don't have to build a pit; it looks like an early opening, maybe about the first of May."
"The river won't open by the first of May, but it will before the tenth, most likely," commented Hugh.
Next morning the party visited the yard where the scows were building, and introduced themselves to Mr. Haskins, who again informed them that the saw-pits were at their disposal when he did not require them.
"Ever do any whip-sawing?" asked Haskins.
"Some," said Hugh.
"It's no picnic."
"I never found it so. How's timber? That looks pretty good up the hill there," and Hugh pointed to a clump of spruce.
"Yes, it's all right; but you'll find bigger and clearer stuff higher up, and you can mush it down the hill easy. I suppose you have your own saw?"
With this the three friends stormed the hill. They were to cut the trees and slide them to the bottom, after which the dogs would aid in hauling them to the pit. The trees Hugh selected were the larger ones, clean and free from knots. By the close of the day sufficient logs were at the pit.
A saw "pit" is a scantling of poles eight feet high, on which the logs are placed to be sawn. Themodus operandiis that one man stands below the log and another on the top: the upper man pulls the saw towards him, the lower man co-operates. The work is simplicity itself, but very hard. The three companionswould want from two to three hundred feet of lumber, which meant perspiration and backache. As Hugh expressed it, "the upper man is up against about the hardest proposition a white man puts himself at, these days."
About three o'clock on the first afternoon of whip-sawing Frank Corte appeared with Fanny at his heels. George was the upper man, and even his elastic muscles were aching at the work. Hugh was having a spell off, but keeping an eye on his friends.
"Ha! how do you fellows like hard work? This will teach you to go hunting after gold! What have you done with your last summer's wages? Say! we're going to have a great time at the dance—a regular potlatch: one of the Sticks has just come in saying he's killed a caribou back on the hills, and is going to potlatch it. Now if I can only get some hootch! I'd give ten dollars a bottle for some."
"Better cut the hootch out," said Hugh. "The police may catch you and send you down to Dawson; and put you sawing wood for Queen Victoria. And it won't be Uncle Sam's men who will be chasing you with a Winchester."
"Yes, yes. A damned pity Uncle Sam would not come over and take Canada: then we should have a camp at Dawson."
George was very hot and sore; and this sortof bantering was new to him. He was in that humour which causes a man to go into a fight on little provocation; but John, he noticed, was smiling amicably, so he held his peace.
"If this was Uncle Sam's country, Soapy would have been here taking away your wages before this," laughed Hugh.
"I wouldn't kick if he could do the trick. Say! can you dance? This is going to be a swell dance all right! Wish I had enough lumber to cover the floor, so we could dance proper. Poles is mighty hard to dance on. Well, I must be going—I have some beans boiling. Don't you fellows tire yourselves too much sawing lumber, so you can't dance to-morrow night."
"Are you all set? Then dance! damn you, dance! Come on, gentlemen, get partners for the next."
Frank Corte's great dance was on. Hugh and his companions stood by the door of the dining-hall. On went the dance; and through the atmosphere—thick with tobacco-smoke—the native women were guided, their bronzed faces speaking excitement.
"Come on in, gentlemen!"
The walls of the room were lined with men. Squaws, who had not yet learned the dance, sat on boxes. The three friends crowded into the room and stood with their backs against the wall. Frank Corte was beating time with his foot and clapping his hands, while he sang the calls in a weird drawl.
"Honours to the right." Each man bowed most gravely to his partner, who most respectfully returned it. "Honours to the left." Eachman bowed to the lady at his left in the quadrille: and when "Swing your right-hand lady; dance around the room" came, the men grabbed their partners and whirled around—quarters were too close to permit of any great range of movement, and the squaws were so excited, they seemed to occupy more room than really they did.
"A la main left." All stood to attention. "First gent swing the left-hand lady, with the left hand round."
Every gentleman turned towards the lady on his left. The ladies turned to the right. They grasped left hands at the height of their shoulders, and pranced round to the left.
"The left hand round.—Turn your partners, with the right hand, round.—The right hand round.—All chassez!—First couple lead to the right.—Four hand round.—Dos à balnette.—Right hand to partner, and grand dos à balnette." Every man took his partner's right hand and wheeled to the right; and then her left hand. This movement brought them opposite, and so they were in a circle, at which they balanced, the men facing outwards, the women inwards.
"On to the next!"
The men wheeled, and with their ladies pivoted to the left; then the men took the hand of the ladies next on their right as they swung round. The ladies holding the men bythe left gave their right hand, and at the words "dos à balnette," all again balanced—the men this time facing inwards, the ladies outwards.
"On the next!"—again brought the men facing outwards, the ladies inwards—and so on. The quadrille was concluded with,