[10]Watch.
[10]Watch.
Therefore, beyond his orders—which were sufficient in themselves to work off an ordinary policeman's superfluous energy—Hope worked overtime. He discovered that George, Hugh, and Frank occupied the home-ranch once more, and were extremely busy. He reasoned that if a man's business be legitimate, it is easy to learn its nature. As the business of these men was not quite evident, he determined to find out what it was. So that on the morning of the meetingat the Dome Hope had made his way there also, by a detour to the east. His route was the longer, and the sun was hot. Also the trail he took led through some patches of swamp, which meant mosquitoes.
When he reached the nearest point to the Dome, where he could remain under cover of the bush, he was still out of earshot. He watched those who came in view, but because the council had been seated in a circle about the summit, after the manner of the Indian pow-wow, and he was below the level of that summit, he could see only some of those who had attended.
After the meeting had dissolved, and those remaining had plotted out their entrenchments and started to return to Dawson, Hope made bold to follow them. He drew back in time to avoid discovery from the five who still were gazing thoughtfully upon the town; but he happened to hear the reference to Five Ace Dan and the Wood-pile.
"They're camped on our trail. Five Ace would hardly be in demand for a prayer meeting," thought the guardian of the peace, as eventually he returned to the Police Barracks. He at once reported to Sergeant Galbraith.
"The big Tyee[11]held a council of war onthe summit at noon to-day. These fellows are sure up to something."
[11]Chinook for Chief.
[11]Chinook for Chief.
"Hear anything?"
"No; could not get near enough, except at the last, when the big Yankee said something about Five Ace Dan."
"Who's he?" asked Galbraith.
"The tin-horn on the Wood-pile for pulling a gun. Well, the Yankee said something about his helping their cause or something; and the one they call Hugh said he had no use for tin-horns. It looks as if the Yankee might be in communication inside the Barracks."
"Well, he wouldn't learn much."
"He might tell them how poor are our arms."
"They know that already," Galbraith snorted.
"And how weak our guard is."
"They know that, too. That's the reason of this insurrection, or one of the reasons. But what has a reference to Five Ace Dan got to do with this plot that is supposed to be going on?"
"Nothing, I guess. Probably nothing!"
"Well, the only thing you have to report is, that there was a pow-wow on the Dome this morning."
"I guess so."
"But whether they were planning to put us all out of business, or organizing an expedition to the North Pole—you don't know."
"That's right."
"Well, keep your eye on them, but don't report again until your report is calculated to make a noise."
Constable Hope, not a little discouraged by the way his report was received, sauntered out and drifted towards the Borealis. The seeds of his efforts had fallen on stony ground.
But after he was gone Sergeant Galbraith expanded his chest, drew up to the full extent of his six feet, and gazed through the door of his office at the muskeg, which did duty for a street.
"Another council at the top of the Dome," he said to himself. He stood a minute, stroked his moustache; then, his mind made up, strode out of the office, and in due course was in the presence of his Commanding Officer.
"Another council at the Dome, sir," he reported.
"Yes."
"Seems serious, sir, when men climb 1,800 feet, this hot weather, that they may talk in private."
"Any other signs, Sergeant?"
"It's the other signs that make it look serious. The number of men carrying rifles is increasing rapidly. Yesterday no less than three hundred rifles were seen in the streets."
"Did you question any of those carrying them?"
"No, sir. Had no orders, sir."
"Just so: it would not have done any good, and it might have done harm. And you have had all supplies bought up, arms and ammunition?"
"All that were better than our own, sir."
"Well, have them secretly brought to the men's quarters, and let each man have his pick. Then some of the best shots can have a day off to practise a bit."
"Very good, sir."
"Something is going to happen soon," said Smoothbore to Herbert, who during the interview had come in.
"Rather suggestive of Micawber that, if you will pardon my saying so," Herbert ventured to assert. He had been a sudden and complete convert to the theory that trouble was brewing. The inaction of his Chief had been getting on his nerves.
"Micawber had the great virtue of patience," answered Smoothbore with a smile.
"I would arrest the leaders, sir, on a trumped-up charge, and get the evidence out of them that way."
"That would be a mistake, my dear Herbert."
"Perhaps so, sir; but here they can shoot usdown like rats. If we have to die, we had better die like men."
"If something does not turn up—as, you remind me, Micawber might have said—you will have sufficient opportunity to die."
"I should wish to sell my life pretty dearly sir!"
"Perhaps you won't have to sell it at all—if the something happens that I expect."
"What do you expect, sir, may I ask?"
"Just something," and Smoothbore smiled again. After a pause he continued, "By all the laws of military and political science the British Empire should have been wrecked ages ago. But something always has happened. To arrest the leaders of this conspiracy would, I am sure, be an error. It would precipitate matters, and undoubtedly cause bloodshed. You must remember it is not with redskins we are dealing. Many of these fellows who are arraying themselves against us are excellent shots, accustomed to rough life, and in every way calculated to make good fighters in such a country as this. If they really take up arms against us, there is nothing to do but fight—fight to the death, sell our lives as dearly as possible, as you say. If they have no intention of taking up arms—and it is not yet certain that they will—we can suffer no harm by inaction."
"We might buy the leaders."
"A man who would sell himself and his friends would not stay bought; and, somehow, I do not feel that the integrity of the British Empire should be maintained by purchasing her enemies."
"But then there are our lives!"
"Our lives don't figure in this proposition," and once again Smoothbore smiled.
Herbert felt his Chief was trifling with him and with the situation, so he rose from his chair, walked to the window, and looked out upon the quadrangle. This movement hid the flush of annoyance that had come over his face. He made an excuse, and found his way out of the office.
"If only I were in command here," he thought, "I'd clap these fellows on the Wood-pile, and then——"
After that point no well-defined line of action suggested itself to him.
Meanwhile, Smoothbore continued writing his report to Ottawa, telling of his suspicions, and explaining his action, or want of action. He intended to hold back the communication until the last moment—until he was satisfied that "something would not turn up," which would certainly be close to the crisis. Then he would confide it to a trusty scout and send to the "outside." Whilehe was writing his mind constantly played with the facts of his own position. It pleased him to compare it with that of Gordon in Khartoum; with these differences, that, for him, assistance was out of the question, and his enemies were not fanatical and were Christian. His would be a soldier's death, if "something did not turn up."
After being snubbed by his Sergeant Constable Hope lost heart—for a little while; but on the Sunday he was again working assiduously, with little luck.
Accident and caution caused Berwick to keep out of the way of the determined policeman.
Suddenly the idea of looking further into the possible connection of Five Ace Dan with the conspirators occurred to Hope. So on the day following his Sunday of ill-success he posted himself near the prisoners. He could distinguish the person of Five Ace Dan, and watched closely for any sign made to a possible confederate, but without result. This was disappointing, for brooding during the night on what Long Shorty had said, he brought himself to believe he was close to an important clue. As his inspection of Five Ace Dan brought no help to him he felt again discouraged, and became sullen and brooding. Then his interest awoke again, for LongShorty had appeared upon the scene. The constable was about to rise to his feet and abandon the enterprise when he saw the new-comer. He hid himself again immediately.
He watched Long Shorty take a piece of paper out of his pocket and write. The man laboured hard over the missive; he was evidently no fluent scribe. The paper, after being finished and carefully read through, was rolled into a ball.
At last, at stroke of noon, the prisoners filed back to the Barracks. Long Shorty at once strolled over, with careful casualness, to the scene of their labours, and, as before, dropped the paper beside the handle of the Five Ace's shovel. At once he went eager as a bird to Dawson.
When the coast was quite clear Hope came from his cover and annexed the letter. The policeman's spirits were very cock-a-whoop.
"The Eagle is very fond of Yellow-legs," he read in the awful scrawl, "and in two days' time a great many Eagles will gather together about the summit of the big mountain, where they may watch the Yellow-legs; and if the Yellow-legs don't come and make peace within two days, then at the end of one more day the Eagles will descend upon the Yellow-legs and make a meal of them. Any little dicky-birds found among the Yellow-legs may go the same way, unlessthey make a move for liberty. The Eagle loves liberty."
Constable Hope pondered over these words, and after copying them into his notebook replaced the original where he had found it. He then made his way to his Sergeant and the mid-day meal. No sooner, however, had he come to Galbraith than he changed his mind. He would carry his news to the Commandant himself, and not waste it on this discouraging minor light.
"You're somewhat glum. Seen a ghost?" asked the Sergeant.
"No, Sergeant, no!"
"Been drinking the wrong kind of hootch, I guess!"
"No, Sergeant, no!"
The first thing Hope did after lunch was to search the cell occupied by Five Ace Dan. There he found, stuffed between the logs which comprised one wall of the cell, the first missive written by Long Shorty. He searched but could discover nothing else, but that would do. Off he went to the Commandant.
"I have discovered something, sir, which I have thought sufficiently important to bring direct to you."
"What is it?"
"One of the men I am watching is communicating with a prisoner—Five Ace Dan. I heardhim mention the name on the Dome, on Saturday. To-day I followed up the clue and intercepted a note."
Constable Hope took out his notebook. He was a bit nervous and excited. He knew he was running a risk by not reporting, according to regulations, by way of the Sergeant. Smoothbore was eyeing him intently.
Constable Hope handed the letter found in the cell, and his notebook containing the copy of the missive left that morning, to the Commandant, who read them with stern eyes.
"You think these are not the idle words of some partially demented prospector?"
"I do not, sir. The big Yankee has nothing about him to indicate he has lost his wits."
"So you think this is right, that there will be a massing of forces about the Dome on Wednesday?"
"I do, sir."
"And if there is a display of force on Wednesday, an attack will be made on Friday?"
"On Saturday, sir."
"On Saturday; then if we see a massing of forces on Wednesday we may expect trouble by Saturday?"
"That is my idea, sir."
"What have you done with the original of the note you found to-day?"
"Put it where I found it, sir."
"And what do you intend doing with the one you found in the prisoner's cell?"
"I had thought to replace it, sir."
"Very good; we can see if to-day's note is hidden in the same place to-morrow."
Constable Hope was a proud man as he strode along the bank of the Yukon to the town. He had ventured much, and won. Visions of himself holding a commission passed through his mind. The possibility seemed more tangible now. Whom should he meet but the Sergeant?
"Well, young fellow, been hunting for more noiseless reports?"
"I've been keeping my eyes open."
"Seen anything?"
"Nothing much to trouble you with, Sergeant."
"Well, I've seen something I couldn't help but see. A stampede seems to have set in to the top of the Dome. Scores of fellows have been climbing up there, packs on their backs. You had better join the crowd."
"Not a bad idea."
In fifteen minutes Constable Hope had reached the Town Station, and made a roll of some blankets, in which he stowed several tins of bully beef and some biscuits. He was just setting out when his Sergeant arrived.
"Are not you going to take a rifle?"
"I hadn't thought of doing so."
"You'd better: all the others have rifles."
"You didn't tell me."
"Then I tell you now. No—not the police rifle," as Hope picked up a carbine. "Take this sporting rifle. Don't let 'em see you are a policeman, and use your wits!"
Hope strapped on his bundle—it weighed full sixty pounds—and with a "Good-bye, kid," from his Sergeant was off.
He made a detour far up the Klondike to gain a more gradual ascent, and on the way did a powerful lot of thinking. The fact that many men were climbing the Dome was some foundation for the idea that a gathering was to take place there on Wednesday. He sat down to rest on the flat, or, as it was called in the diggings, bench, half-way up the Klondike bluffs. There was ample time, for it was still the season of perpetual light; and if he awaited some other pilgrim would certainly come along, from whom he might find out something. Sure enough a recruit to the forces of the rebellion came into sight before five minutes had passed. The man was heavily laden and struggling up the steep ascent. He clawed at the brush in his efforts to pull himself up; and when finally he succeeded flung himself down by the side of the policeman, his face streaming with perspiration.
"A fellow will need a fat job when things get righted to pay for this!"
"He sure will," said Hope.
"I'm looking for a job collecting gold-dust."
"But there won't be any royalty then."
"That's right; that's right," and a thoughtful look came into the man's eye. "I was promised a job—I wonder what kind of a job I can get? I really had made up my mind to hold out for a job collecting. It must be an all-fired good job if a fellow reckons on the dust these fellows who hold it now blow in on the girls and wine. One year would be enough for me: I'd save, and quit the country."
"Are you quite sure you'd save?"
"Sure thing, I'm sure—at least I think I'm sure."
"Now don't you think if you were given the job of collecting royalty, that you might feel tempted to go to a restaurant, order a steak with chechacho potatoes,[12]and buy a bottle of wine to round things off?"
[12]Fresh potatoes as distinguished from evaporated potatoes.
[12]Fresh potatoes as distinguished from evaporated potatoes.
The man gazed into vacancy a bit, and then looked Hope in the eye, and slapped his knee, as he said,
"Do you know, partner, I think I might—if I get any boodle out of this thing that's coming off, I think I will. Beefsteak! Beefsteak andonions!—and chechacho potatoes! Gosh! what a lay-out of them I could eat right now. Beans—beans—bacon and beans—and then beans and bacon! What a hell of a lot a fellow misses in this here country!"
"Yes, but I'm afraid we will not be able to take our appetites with us."
"Say! I wonder what John D. Rockefeller would give for my appetite and my stomach! Say! I bet he'd give a million cold cash. I bet he'd give a million and a half—enough to buy the best claim on Eldorado."
"Perhaps—perhaps; but never mind, there's a good time coming for us." Constable Hope did not wish the conversation to merge too much upon the abstract.
"Yes—in one week more—then we will have a chance to do some grafting. And I tell you I can do with some; yes, sir!"
"You mean it will be all over in two weeks? As I understand it, there is to be something doing on Wednesday."
"Only a line up, as I understand it; then on Friday the boss sends them word to quit, giving them twenty-four hours to make up their minds whether they will go to Heaven or down the River."
"Yes, I guess that's the programme," said the policeman, successfully hiding the satisfactionthat made his pulses throb. He felt this was the official plan, as it coincided so well with the terms of the letter now again folded in its place in the cell of Five Ace Dan.
Had Hope been without orders, he would have made an excuse, and posted back to town right away. But his Sergeant had told him to masquerade among the rebels; and he must obey orders.
So he resumed the upward march with the remark, "Well, pard, I guess we had better hit the trail," whereupon the pard, with the accompaniment of numerous oaths and grunts and sighs, struggled to his feet and onward up the hill.
Smoothbore was in possession of the facts Constable Hope had been able to gather, which were, indeed, very little less than the complete plot. Fifteen hundred men were camped in the bushes at the back of the Dome, with enough bullets to kill the Standing Army of the British Empire; and he had available a few more than one hundred men! True, they were good men; but so were most of those on the other side. The trouble was that both parties were right. It was for him and his men to subdue this rebellion because it threatened the integrity and honour of the Empire. At the same time the "insurrectoes" were demanding simple justice. It was an odious dilemma.
In his mind's eye he pictured the vast spaces that stretched between the Klondike and the "outside." They could hardly seem farther away from help if the Klondike were on the planet Mars. Well, he would not surrender;it would be better to die. The Yukon was sweeping along but a stone's throw from the gate of the Barracks; in eight or ten hours its rapid course would carry them into the United States. That might be a resource of security to his men, if they were beaten, but for himself he would fill a grave in that region of eternal frost.
It was Tuesday evening, the sun was sinking in the north, Heaven's vault was finely painted in pink. The abrupt cliff on the west of the Yukon threw a deep shadow across the mighty river, whose stately flood had long held sovereignty in that weird land of dreams. The light from the clouds above struggled against the shadows in the river, and was blended with them. It was certainly majestic, magnificent!
The Commandant, as he walked up and down his office, often paused to gaze upon the familiar scene.
A knock on the door caused him to start round. It was Herbert.
"I came to inquire, sir, for any fresh news on the situation."
"The news is, Herbert, that we may as well prepare to die a soldier's death. There is to be a display of force to-morrow, and mobilization on Friday, when a request to surrender will be sent in. Hostilities will open on Saturday."
"What will be their demands?"
"That the police and all Government officials quit the country; in other words, 'go down the river.'"
"And you will not comply?"
"I will not comply."
"Can nothing be done, sir?"
"Nothing but to fight to the last drop of blood."
"And the ultimate result?"
"Anyhow, we shall have upheld the prestige of the British uniform." There was a pause. Both men were very thoughtful. The Commandant then asked, "You remember Child?"
"Yes."
"He followed orders. He rode to death, because his orders were to arrest, not to shoot: he did not flinch before the levelled rifle. What he did as an individual the hundred and fifty of us can do."
"But we shall shoot!"
"We shall! While a cartridge remains and a finger has strength to pull a trigger!"
Herbert looked glum: he was not a coward, but he thought his Chief's policy was all wrong, and he was to give up his life—or die in ignominy. It made him bitter—and then his mind travelled across the great stretch of glacier, mountain, and plain, to his little cottage on thePrairie: it was not cowardice that brought the moisture to his eyes!
"Damn it all, sir, it's hard to die here like a rat in a trap," Herbert cried. He did not share his Chief's idealism. "Promise to force the Commissioner to bring some sort of order out of chaos and clear out the Gold Commissioner's office."
Smoothbore knew of the cottage and the little girl with golden curls who was all the world to the inspector; so he understood the emotion of the other and felt sympathy.
"Reform!—a promise of reform at this stage of the game would be no good. The leader of this movement is an idealist, a fanatic, and three-quarters of his followers—luck having been against them—hope to restore their fortunes by the experiment of a new Government. The situation is not dissimilar to that in the Thirteen Colonies at the Revolution: a leader of parts, of education, imbued with theories on the rights of man, at the head of a mob thirsting for the lands and jobs of the Loyalists! Why has Alaska a population? Because the Sheriff back East could not shoot straight.[13]Why had America a population before the Revolution? Because there were not prisons enough in Europe. In fact, the situation in the Klondike to-day is muchthe same as it was in America before the Revolution—only perhaps there is more justice on the side of these, our enemies, than there was on the side of the Yankees. The Government of George III taxed tea—which was then much more of a luxury than it is to-day: our Government taxes the one product of our people."
[13]A common saying in the North.
[13]A common saying in the North.
It was a long speech for the Commandant, but he knew what he was talking about. Herbert sighed.
"Any special orders, sir?" he asked.
"No. The men have been given their new arms, and the situation is pretty well understood among them."
"They are in fine fettle, sir, and spirit?"
"Good! If, as I expect, hostilities open, and things look hopeless, I shall give every man the opportunity of passing out and down the river, and this will include officers—but as for surrender, I won't."
Herbert, about to make his adieu, turned towards the door, when the Chief remarked,
"It appears a prisoner, known as Five Ace Dan, has been receiving communications from one of the leaders of the rising. I have given orders that a double guard be put on these men, and special sentries, to see that no word passes among them. You will see that those orders are carried out."
"Yes, sir; good-night, sir."
"Good-night, Herbert."
Smoothbore gazed at the river once again. It swung on its majestic course, but the rose tints were gone; only the dark shadows of the hill remained. The hour seemed ominous.
Surgeon-Major Peel was strongly imbued with the instincts of humanity, but, like many professional men, his business acumen was small. While one or two of his patients were prosperous claim-owners who could afford to pay an ounce and a half of gold-dust per day, there were many who passed into his care who could not pay, and these, the poorly nourished and mentally depressed, were the more susceptible to attacks by the deadly typhoid-bacillus.
Not that the patients were dishonest—they simply had not the money. What could be done under the circumstances? The delirious victim who was bundled up to the doors of St. George's could not be turned away! Obviously it was the duty of the Government, reaping enormous revenues from the whisky traffic and the gold royalty, to pay.
One day—it was the Tuesday before the meeting on the Dome—a big hulk of a man joined thepatients of the St. George's Private Hospital. His temperature was 104½, and he was delirious. A neighbour had brought him; his name was unknown, his residence was given as the North End. It was Long Shorty!
"Poor fellow," remarked the Surgeon-Major sympathetically, when he had taken his pulse, had slipped the thermometer under his arm, and was watching the gasping figure.
"Typhoid attacks even the strongest. What a handsome animal he would be if his face showed less dissipation!"
"He does not look likely to prove a profitable guest," Alice commented. She was the housekeeper of the establishment and found the domestic problems more difficult than her father imagined.
"Who knows, who knows! He may have property which will turn out a Bonanza; think of Gold Hill—ten English pounds to each shovelful of dirt dug from the bed-rock, and the claim-owners round about were coming to the two Swedes who owned the claim to ask them to work for wages!"
"Yes, father," said Alice, "but there's another side to these stories. Think of the thousands in and around Dawson living on one meal a day; it is always the same in every mining excitement. It is either too much wealth, or nothing at all!"
She was evidently thinking of John, remembering his talk of experiences. Her father, who, though blind to many of the aspects of life, was a keen observer of his daughter, guessed at the truth.
"It is strange we can learn nothing of John," he said.
"He must be away on the creeks," she answered wistfully. "I have sent several letters to him through the post; and it can't be that they all would go astray."
The girl sighed, and her father busied himself anew with the work of the hospital.
"Fred is to give this man a cold bath and put him in ward 'C.' I really must see the Commissioner—Hi-u Bill, they call him—and come to some understanding as to indigent patients."
For some reason, not apparent on the surface, Long Shorty made a great impression upon Alice. She interested herself in his case, and often sat by his bed. His fever remained high and persistent; he was still delirious. Wild things he said. What most interested Alice was his continuous references to "Parson Jack."
"Parson Jack, I knew he was no tenderfoot; a fellow what would mush forty-five miles for a sick pal—Parson Jack—and then want to mush back again. Parson Jack, Parson Jack—he gave Poo-Bah hell—hell on toast!—Parson Jack!"And the great muscles would stand out upon his neck and arms as he waved his clenched fists in the air.
"Parson Jack" might mean any one, thought Alice.
The fever had run about a week of its course when Long Shorty entered the hospital, so that the disease had another two weeks to run before the crisis would be reached. There was nothing to do but wait patiently for the return of consciousness. In the meantime, her imagination pictured much. She tried, by suggestion, to shape the course of his ravings, but found they were as fleeting and volatile as the changing winds of the heavens.
The special services rendered by Alice to Long Shorty did not escape her father's notice. He remarked to her one day,
"Alice, no one could accuse you of worldliness; you certainly are giving the delirious patient in ward 'C' a full measure of attention!"
"Do you know, father," she then said frankly, "in some ways he reminds me of John. I don't know how it is; I suppose they have something in common, something may link them together. He is perpetually calling on Parson Jack."
"Ha!" snorted her father. "Our patient is far from being of the type of Berwick!"
Both of them hurried away to their work.
That same evening, hours after the day-staff had ceased their labours, Alice was watching beside Long Shorty, and, notwithstanding its many disagreeable passages, listened to his wild flow of language. He was ever living over again his struggles with the forces of Nature, with his fellows, and his own tempestuous passions!
"The blue water, the blue water, keep her to the blue!"—her patient was again living a dash through a rapid in a canoe.—"White water means rocks and death—death—death, I say! To the right!"—and he would shout. In those anxious weary hours the girl grew to realize something of the wild, rough life of the frontiersmen.
On the morning of the Friday when the ultimatum was to be sent to Smoothbore, Peel returned to the hospital from the town. He was in a condition of excitement, as was every one else in Dawson.
"Alice, that typhoid fellow was talking about Parson Jack?"
"He was," replied Alice, opening her eyes with expectancy. "Why do you say that?"
"Because that's the chap who is trying to overthrow the Government. Our patient may be one of the conspirators."
"Possibly," said Alice, and hastened away. She knew "Parson Jack" was Berwick. Intuition told her so. She was absolutely certain of the fact.
The news that a plot was brewing had, of course, penetrated the walls of the hospital. Now that Alice knew John Berwick was concerned in it her interest quickened and her anxieties awoke.
The demonstration of force, as organized by Berwick, had taken place according to schedule. The display was plainly seen from the Barracks, and its intent generally known throughout the town, wherein it became the one topic of conversation. The dance-halls were but half patronized, the gambling-tables seemed to have lost their popularity on that Wednesday night.
Not that any fear was felt. The men of Dawson were generally not of the fearing type. They were thirsty for news; their interest was so stirred that they must let off steam by talking.
In the Borealis the woman nicknamed Roundeyes stood apart. Of all the faces present hers alone showed apprehension, for she had a real regard for Poo-Bah, the Prince of Grafters, whose domination at last was threatened.
Suddenly her eyes lit up. A big hulk of a man came stumbling into the place. Poo-Bah! Her face grew white as she ran up and caught his arm.
"What—what will they do with you?" she asked.
"Nothing, I guess." He laughed in a rambling manner. "What do they want me for?"
"Some fellow you have done up will take a shot at you now there is no danger of the yellow-legs!"
Until the present crisis the prestige of the police had been so great that the possibility of any one seeking and gratifying personal revenge had never crossed Poo-Bah's mind. What would happen now? With all his confidence the question asked by the girl would repeat itself. He knew he was not popular. Many a man owed the wreck of his fortune to him, and would enjoy a chance of shooting him. His hands clenched for a minute, but he put the thought away. It was the spirit of the voyageur, the custom of the country, to brush aside the disagreeable. The thought of death and of what may come after death was resolutely set aside.
"Oh, hell! Come and have a drink." So he endeavoured to disperse his own and the woman's fears. She was not so easily satisfied. She caught him again by the arm, bowed her head against his shoulder, and sobbed,
"Oh, my baby! my baby! Somebody will blow daylight through you!"
Poo-Bah drew his arm roughly from her withthe single word "Quit!" and strode towards a curtained recess, Roundeyes meekly following. In a minute or two a champagne bottle popped, and there was laughter, expressing the wild spirits of the underworld.
Meanwhile, on the Dome, John Berwick paced up and down, a prey to conflicting motives. He was now full in the vortex of civil strife; a few short days and hostilities in all probability would open. He had no doubts now as to the spirit to be shown by the Police Commandant.
On Point Lookout sat Constable Hope, with his face towards the Upper Yukon. To the left he could see the Klondike Valley; to the right were the Police Barracks, with Dawson beyond them. His back was to the Dome. He sat still; a project was in his mind; he was thinking hard.
At the same time Smoothbore was in his office with Hi-u Bill, the Commissioner, and Inspector Herbert. Sergeant Galbraith stood at attention before them.
"You have ordered your men to be in readiness to fall back upon the Barracks. The orders for additional commissariat are placed with the different companies? The men, I suppose, pretty well understand what is in the wind?"
"Yes, sir," Galbraith answered to every question.
"And the men are in good spirits?"
"I have told them, sir, you intend to fight."
"And how do they seem to take it?"
"One of the fellows said he'd go to hell for you, sir."
"Well, that would seem satisfactory." The Commandant smiled grimly. "Our best hope is dissension among the rebels, and I have no idea how that may be brought about. That will do, Sergeant."
After the policeman had left there was silence for some time, which was at last broken by Hi-u Bill.
"I don't fancy they will do anything to me, and as I'm not called upon to fight I'm out of it. I am—and I suppose I may say it in modesty—a bit of a shot; but one has others to consider as well as himself."
The Commissioner was in the habit of spending his afternoons at target practice, which was not altogether appreciated by those whose business with him was pressing.
"I'm afraid you are altogether too modest; you know you're a famous shot."
Under usual circumstances Hi-u Bill was quite ready to receive compliments on his shooting, but the present circumstances were extraordinary, and he was undoubtedly perturbed. But the Commandant was merciless, for he continued,
"Of course, I am letting it be understood thatI shall welcome all volunteers who desire to lend their aid at the present crisis."
"Yes, yes; no doubt there will be many who will avail themselves of the opportunity." Hi-u Bill was not over enthusiastic as he said this.
"Indeed, I think I could make my friends fairly comfortable under the circumstances."
"Certainly, quite so. My cabin at the North End is quite comfortable, and so close under the Dome that they could not shoot at me unless they came half-way down, in which case they would expose themselves to your fire. Capital idea that of yours, securing the long range sporting rifles. I almost feel sorry that I could not be with you here, as well as at my cabin, just to try a shot or two; but you see I think I had better stay outside. I have many friends among the old-timers, and nobody has ever accused me of doing anything serious. I certainly am not rich on ill-gotten gains." Hi-u Bill rubbed his hands nervously and cast a look at the Dome.
"Of course if you feel"—Smoothbore was choosing his words—"there is fear of any of the unsuccessful attributing their failure to you and wreaking vengeance on you I shall be quite happy to give you our protection."
"Oh, no, no. I prefer to run my chances outside; really I do."
Herbert, who was distressed equally at theirony of his Chief and the determined density of the Commissioner, diverted the conversation to another channel.
"In case of a siege, sir, there will be the question of water supply."
"Yes, I have thought of that. We shall have a supply from the river before hostilities break out, and after that a well may be sunk in twenty-four hours; the earth is not frozen here. But then if something turns up——"
"Something turns up!" ejaculated Hi-u Bill, almost rising from his seat. "What could turn up? It would take an army eighteen months to get here across country, even by the Stikeen route; it will be close upon winter by the time news of this reaches Ottawa, and by the earliest time a force could be fitted out the Passes would be oceans deep in snow."
"I know—there's the luck of the British Empire!" There was a quiet smile on Smoothbore's lips. "Something always has turned up to save the British—except, except in the case of Gordon. That was the exception to the rule."
There was a sharp knock at the door, and the "Come in" was answered by Constable Hope—his face flushed. He was evidently very excited. The idea—on which for long he had been brooding—had come to maturity!
"I have a plan, sir, which will save us, I think.To carry it out I shall require gold, within limits, but the more the better."
Gold! The Commandant should have large quantities, the proceeds of royalty collections. Hi-u Bill pricked up his ears, bethought him of the fact, and asked directly,
"What have you done with all your gold?"
"I've had it buried. The plan of the exact spot will reach the authorities if we go under. But Forty Mile royalty came in to-day and has not yet been buried. How much do you want?" he asked. Constable Hope's heart gave a great leap as he realized he was going to be trusted.
"At least twenty thousand dollars, sir. Down River gold will do."
"Your plan will take that much?"
"I shall need that much, sir, but shall return it all, or nearly all."
"Very good, here it is." With the words the Commandant took a bag of gold out of a rough chest and handed it to the policeman.
"Thank you, sir, I——"
"That will do, Hope."
"Very good, sir." With the best salute he was master of the youth left the office.
Hi-u Bill had both eyes wide open, staring at Smoothbore. "What the devil——"
"That is just a tribute to the gods; I may not bribe our enemies, but the fates——"
"A bag of gold you can hardly lift! Why, your man will go down the River and stay down. You know the Yanks would afford him every protection, seeing that he stole from our Government."
"He won't steal the gold," replied Smoothbore.
"He won't! How do you know he won't?"
"I know my men!"
An unusual thing had happened. For a private to ask his Commanding Officer for the loan of twenty thousand dollars in gold, for that Commanding Officer to entrust it to him for some unexpressed purpose was strange—but many strange things happen on the frontier, and this was a time of crisis.
Berwick's muster had been fifteen hundred strong on the Friday at noon. Of discipline there was little or none, and Berwick knew better than to attempt to enforce any. They had chosen him as their leader, and up to the present had not disputed his authority.
His directions were that the men should hold the Dome, retire to their camps in the forest to cook their food, but be ever-ready promptly to regain their position.
At noon he stood upon a boulder, and read to his followers the summons to surrender he had dispatched to Smoothbore. To the present—nine o'clock in the evening—no answer had been received, the summons to surrender was being received with contempt. He felt the responsibility upon him greater than ever; its weight increased as the time for the use of force approached. The twenty-four hours' notice before striking had nearly expired. He loathed theprospect of taking life, and prayed that the police would submit! If only they would see the hopelessness of resistance and send a pacific answer! Would that answer never come?
As he sat in meditation Berwick observed a restlessness among some men who were grouped, talking, gazing down the river. He looked in the same direction, and noticed a column of smoke. Then the hulk of a river steamer hove in sight. This visibly affected the men, who began to leave their posts and scramble down the hill to the town.
The arrival of a steamer in Dawson in the summer of 1898 was a matter of moment. An idea came to Berwick at the sight of her and the procession of people hurrying to meet her. He would go to the town. Everybody there would be keen to attend the docking of the steamer, making it practically certain that his visit to the Barracks would not be noticed. So to the Barracks he went.
"I wish to see the Officer commanding," he said to the sentry.
"Name?"
"John Berwick."
The man gulped, and stared at the visitor. He knocked at the door, and announced,
"A man to see you, sir, by name of John Berwick."
Hi-u Bill was again in the office, had just read the ultimatum, the discussion of which had been interrupted by the entrance of the man. He opened his eyes wide at the mention of the rebel's name.
"Show him in!"
Had the usual happy accident come to pass? flashed through Smoothbore's mind as he gazed with eyes of curiosity at the pseudo-President of the Klondike Free State that was to be.
Berwick entered, and stood facing the two chief executive officers of the Government. He at once picked out the Police Commandant, and returned his gaze without flinching.
"What can I do for you?" he was asked.
"I've come in the hopes of saving life. I have come to plead with you to comply with our request and surrender to our forces."
Smoothbore was struck by the transparent candour of the man and his quixotism. "British garrisons are not in the habit of surrendering at the call of rebels," he answered stiffly.
The word "rebel" roused Berwick. It stung. "I do not come to you from any cowardice, or through fear of death, or defeat. I come in the spirit of humanity."
"A very worthy mission! Then why not disband your forces?"
Berwick brushed the suggestion aside. "Ihave ten men for every one of yours, and my position commands these buildings. My men are in earnest, and there is justice in our cause, even to warrant the shedding of blood. This you must recognize."
"I recognize nothing but that I am here to uphold the law of the land."
"You must know—you must recognize—that great dishonesty exists within the Civil Service, and that we have met to protest and put an end to it!"
"Officially, I know nothing of that. It is my duty to maintain the Union Jack flying in the land."
"We can fire your buildings——"
"You may be able to fire our buildings; you may be able to kill us all; and then you may lower the flag. I tell you I intend to sink with my ship. When you have burned us out, those men of mine—who wish to—may take to the river. That is all. You have my answer."
Berwick's eyes filled; a lump was in his throat. He gulped, and with a husky "Good-evening!" staggered into the open. He bent his head that the sentry might not see his emotion, and so gained the street by the Yukon's bank.
"He does not look much like a traitor," remarked Hi-u Bill.
"He is a man of evident ability. I fancy inEngland, in other days, he would have been a Whig. He has too little philosophy, or too much. Well, Commissioner," he said to Hi-u Bill, "are you going to stay with me, or run your chances in the town?"
"Me! I really think I'd better stay in my cabin. You see I am really not in this, and there are a lot of papers and records I had better bury somewhere."
On leaving the Barracks Berwick had been in somewhat of a daze. He was still in that condition when he found himself at the dock. The steamerSusanwas tying to the wharf; the swift current had made docking difficult, so that he was in time to witness the landing of the passengers.
The crowd on the steamer was much as he had expected; but there was one man coming down the gang-plank who attracted his attention, and that of the onlookers generally; his hair fell to his shoulders; he had a great beard; his clothes were covered with grease, and he was very dirty.
He had a small pack strapped to his back; it was a very small pack—not much larger than a turnip; yet the figure that carried it bent under the load.
There were no signs of hesitancy in the movements of the man with the small round burden. He entered the Borealis, advanced to the bar, upon which he threw down the sack.
"Pass along your poison," said he to the bartender.
"What will it be?"
"What will it be! Why wine, what else would it be? Pass along a bottle."
"Large or small?"
"Large or small! Why large, of course! Say, son, what do you take me for?"
The bottle of wine was opened, and the new-comer quenched a willing thirst. He then turned to the crowd that had by this time clustered round him.
"Come on and have a drink, boys," he said, waving the bottle. "Belly-up to this good American timber." He jumped upon the barand drank again. "Wine, wine! Give them wine, feed the nectar of the gods to the swine! Make 'em happy for once."
Notwithstanding the manner of the invitation, the crowd responded, and soon the two bartenders were busy.
"Stack the empties there so I can see and count 'em; thirty dollars per," and the host pointed to a shelf against the wall.
"Where did you get it?" shouted one of his guests.
He made no reply, but continued his tirade.
"Oh, you malamoots, you coyotes! You swine, descended of jackals! Drink, damn you, drink—you who live in this neck of the woods, and lie down and are robbed! no self-respecting jackal would own you for his sons. You who call yourselves citizens of the great and glorious United States! You're here rottin' in your cabins, the manhood squashed out of you by the yellow-legs. Say! throw the booze into you, and then tell me what I can call you to let you know how low down I think you."
"Say! partner," called another, "cut out all that and tell us where you got the swag."
"You sundowners and larrikins! Do you not remember Hanson's reward? Why don't you get in and dig?"
"Blow that, and tell us what's what—straightwire." Kalgoorlie Charlie also was feeling the effect of the liquor.
The man on the bar began to dance a hornpipe, while the crowd surged excitedly around. The news had spread like wildfire through the dance halls. "Some fellow from new diggings was blowing himself!" The Borealis soon became crowded.
"Oh, you lily-livered gelatinous-vertibraed apologies for men!" cried he. "What do you take me for? Me to go off into the bush for months and rustle new diggings, and then tell a lot of perambulating carrion like you where I struck it! Drink, and be damned to you! I don't care for a little gold. I wouldn't mind letting you have a claim next to mine; the claim I have will produce enough gold to make the Bank of England look like the baby's savings-account! Do you think I would show a bunch of Weary Willies like you where a month's work would make you all millionaires? Come, have another drink, and get wise."
The speaker again put the mouth of his bottle to his lips; but a keen observer would have noticed that his throat gave no movement to indicate that the wine was passing to his stomach. This was noticed by Berwick alone, who had followed the man with the big poke, but had stood just inside the doorway. Berwick guessedhe was acting a part, and wondered why. He watched.
There was a confused buzz of conversation.
"He must have struck the real stuff," remarked one.
"He sure has the goods," agreed another.
"This will make a hole in his poke," said a third.
"If what he says is anything near right, this ain't a pinch of snuff," was the comment of a fourth.
The man dancing on the bar stood waving his bottle, looking at the crowd with a stupid stare, evidently awaiting inspiration, when a voice cried,
"Say! old cock, won't you let us have the news? We'll protect you in discovery."
"Oh, you North American Chinamen, called Canadians, do you know what I think of you? You English, you ain't no better than the others; do you all know what I think of you?"
"You've told us straight enough—there's lot's of colour in your bouquets; now tell us which way the new diggings is."
"There ain't no yellow-legs there."
Some one shouted, "There won't be any yellow-legs here after to-morrow," but the remark was lost in the general noise.
"It's in Alaskie—God's country," came a voice from the tumult.
"I did not say so."
"But it is, it is!"
"I don't say it ain't."
"It's in God's country—whereabouts?"
"That's what I ain't tellin'."
There was a clamour of inquiries. The new-comer, still holding his bottle prominently, was the target of eager gaze.
"Up the Porcupine—the Tanana, or the Koyukuck?"
"You must think I'm easy!" He spoke with a leer.
"You've made your stake, why not tell us where to make ours? It's a law of the frontier."
"So it is among pards. You ain't no pards of mine; I'm just standing you a few drinks out of pity, finding my reward in tellin' you what I think of you."
"You've told us what you think of us. Now tell us what we want to hear."
"Quite sure I've expressed myself strong enough?"
"Quite! Oh, quite!"—came from a dozen voices.
"Well, then, I'll tell you."
But he from the newly-found Eldorado stopped at the promise, and paused, regarding his audience. A strange silence came over the erstwhile struggling and swaying mass. The building wasfull, and the crowd extended into the street, where there were hundreds more; and to this great number additions were continually being made.
"Well, where is it?"
"It's on the south fork." The speaker put the bottle to his mouth once more.
Groans and hisses broke from the crowd. "If you don't tell us after keeping us here we'll string you up on a telegraph-pole."
"I did not keep you here: it was the free booze; besides, there ain't no telegraph-poles in Dawson."
"Well—we'll chuck you into the river."
"I'll swim out: I'm strong on baths—though perhaps I don't look it! Have another drink?"
"What we want now is a straight tip—and you had better give it."
"It's on the south fork of the north branch."
"The north branch of what?"
"I ain't tellin'."
"By God, you'd better! We ain't going to stand for more foolin'."
"You are all what I say you are—the scum of the earth."
"All right! We're anything you like: but let us have the news."
"It's the south fork of the north branch of the south fork——"
"What are you quitting for? why don't you spit it out of you?"
"Ain't I getting rid of it?"
"Not fast enough; quick, out with it!"
"Don't be impatient, sons, patience is a great virtue. It's taken me nigh to fifty years' hard prospecting to make a strike—and you fellows want me to tell you all about it in fifty minutes! How many minutes are there in fifty years?"
"You old fool, you'd better quit playing with us."
"Who wants to play with you?"
"You're teasing us; now quit! What river is this where you found the gold?"
"Well, it's the south fork of the north branch of the south fork of the south branch——"
"Oh, hell!" interrupted one of the impatient ones.
"There now, just when I get going you fellows spoil it all. Remember, it took fifty years almost——"
"And it will take you fifty years to tell us where you did find it."
"No, it won't; it's on the Fifty-Seven Mile River."
"The Fifty-Seven Mile River! The south fork of the north branch of the south fork of the north branch of the Fifty-Seven Mile River!" A great shout went up.
The Fifty-Seven Mile River emptied into the Yukon on the Canadian side, but it "headed" in Alaska, where the diggings probably were.Within two minutes the Borealis was practically empty.
Of the few remaining John Berwick was one. He stood with his back to the wall, staring at the man who still stood on the bar, who returned the stare. Meanwhile the host had turned to the row of bottles and begun the counting. The number was sixty. "Sixty! eighteen hundred dollars, cheap at double the money," said the man, who proceeded to weigh out the cost. That done he stalked out of the saloon and rapidly went his way. There was so much activity and excitement about that his progress to the Barracks was uninterrupted. No sooner was he within the gate than he tore off his beard and wig. It was Constable Hope.
Berwick had followed him from the saloon and watched him enter the Barracks. He now realized all that it meant. A blow had been struck at his organization. He realized that it was too late for any counter-effort. Greed of gold had taken possession of the men. A new rush was beginning. What call could reason, loyalty, righteousness make against that?
He wandered to the water-front and watched the activity, for within half an hour of the news of the supposed new strike being received boats had begun to shoot out from the river bank, bearing adventurers to the new diggings.