At the close of the day the hunters and their dogs were returning to their cabin after having shot enough small game for sometime.
A solemn stillness had until now prevailed, when suddenly, without warning, there were heard with startling clearness on the frosty air hissing or whizzing sounds, like the crackling of firebrands in a furnace.
With the first appearance of the polaris in the heavens Dunbar became greatly excited, clutching the arm of his companion until he cried out with pain.
"It has come at last! Its the judgment! Its hell, hell! See the blood! See it on my hands—it covers everything. Hell's everywhere!" and the man shrieked, tearing his clothing from him and darting from side to side as if trying to escape some awful fate.
In vain the younger man tried to quiet him.
"The devil's coming! He'll get me! Keep him away!" he cried with curses, and he crouched at the feet of Gibbs, a wild-eyed, and screaming maniac.
At that instant the crackling about their heads became louder, and the older man sprang to his feet in a frenzy of fright.
Leaping, shouting, cursing, flinging out his arms to imaginary assailants, tearing hisbeard and his hair by handfuls, he ran to and fro, a raving madman. Then in an insane frenzy he turned his back on his companion for one instant as if about to flee to the woods, when Gibbs, snatching his revolver from his belt, aimed it at the man's back and fired.
Dunbar fell dead upon the ground.
Until that moment the dogs, quite unconcerned at what was going on about them, being intent only upon following their trail of the morning back to the cabin, now fled toward home, howling dismally.
The young miner was now alone; utterly and entirely alone. Above and around him shone the blood-red light from the heavens; at his feet the body of his only friend—dead.
Gibbs fainted.
The magnificent electrical hurricane of the night before had passed over, leaving behind one faithful sentinel—the moon. Lovingly and brightly her beams were shed over the wilderness of snow whose purity was marred by only two dark blots—the bodies of two men lying dead upon their faces. The first died by the hand of the other. The second by freezing. Both were suddenly called to that judgment so horribly feared by the older man, who saw in the unusual display of the aurora polaris the realization of his worst imaginings.
So these two men fell; while the influence of their evil deeds continue like the ripples on a lake surrounding a sinking stone; perhaps forever.
"For I hold it true that thoughts are thingsEndowed with body, breath and wings,And that we send them forth to fillThe world with good results or ill."
The inhabitants of Rainy Hollow were greatly disturbed. In the face of facts there really was justification for such excitement on the part of the miners, the issue at stake being an important boundary line between two great nations. Those loyal to the stars and stripes, and supporting themselves under the protection of their beloved colors, were surprised to hear hinted the possibility of their being placed, against their will, under the jurisdiction of a foreign power, whose hand might easily prove an arbitrary one. Restlessly they agitated the question at their miners' meetings, with a dim hope that some solution of the trouble would present itself, and ultimately they would be left in the happy possession of properties for which they had endured strenuous hardships and from which they would only part when compelled.
From the channel called Portland on thesouth, along the coast to the pinnacles of St. Elias, ten marine leagues were supposed from time immemorial to be defined; neither the channel, the salt water line, nor the mountain's top having been materially changed as to configuration. From Mt. Elias a perpendicular line to the Frozen Ocean farther outlined the boundary between the two nations, this not being included, however, in the debatable country at this time.
The question, then, before the miners, resolved itself into one peculiarly simple. It was this: Had the line of demarcation been successfully deflected in order to include the natural seaports of such increased importance since the gold discoveries in the Klondyke? and if so, how? The line was far from being imaginary. In the long, long ago in certain places natural landmarks had been made use of by the Russians, but where they were not available monuments of stone had been erected at intervals, and these built in solid masonry had withstood the encroachments of the elements for more than fifty years.
An old stone monument house built by the Russians almost a century before was yet tobe discovered by those of the "ten leagues" theory, and it must be searched for, but where, and by whom? If this could be found the authenticity of the old boundary line would be established, and those in authority could place their hands without hesitation upon proof which must be decisive.
Finally, one beautiful day in summer, a miners' meeting was called, and the Rainy Hollow men assembled to decide what they could do to assist the government to put an end to the matter forever.
A burly, old-time miner and pioneer called "Dick Dead-eye" by his fellows, was made chairman of the meeting. This name was given him because he was a good marksman, having an eye which seldom failed him in taking aim with a gun. He was seconded by a stranger, who, having a keen, quick glance and well knit figure dressed appropriately in leathern trousers and leggings, sat at the chairman's right and evidently "meant business", as Billy Blue intimated on the aside to his companions.
"This meetin' will now come to order," called out the chairman of dead-shot fame, giving two or three good, hard thumps on thetable with his heavy fist.
As the buzzing in the room ceased and each man gave his attention the speaker continued.
"You fellers all know why we came here to-day. We have with us one of Uncle Sam's men from Washington, D. C. He has been sent by our government to look up the matter of the boundary line between us and the Yukon territory, and see if we can't git things settled rightly."
At this a storm of applause greeted the speaker and along with the clapping of hands was heard the thud of the miners' heavy hob-nailed boots upon the floor in emphasis.
The chairman waited for silence. When it came he said:
"I have the great honor and pleasure, gentlemen, to introduce to you Lieutenant Adams, our friend from Washington. The lieutenant will give us a talk," and with that the chairman took his seat, while wiping away the perspiration incident to the exertion of conducting a meeting in the presence of a man from Washington.
The lieutenant rose quickly, and looking over the little band of miners, briskly addressed them as one of their number.
"My friends," said he, "you have all had experience in locating mining claims, but we want you to locate something else in order that you may keep possession of the ground you have, and that is the old Russian Boundary Line so long ago established by the first white settlers and traders in Alaska. If we can verify the boundary now held by us as being the one established and held by them, you will be left in the undisturbed right of your property."
"Hear! Hear!" exclaimed his enthusiastic listeners, causing the officer to smile.
"You probably all know that our government bought Alaska from Russia a few years ago at what seemed at that time an enormous sum for a frozen good-for-nothing country. The transaction was designated 'Seward's Folly', and the country was said to be a fit residence only for polar bears and Eskimos. The whale and seal industries were fast reaching extinction when gold was discovered, and this, too, in such vast quantities and widely separated districts as to enormously increase by leaps and bounds the value of the whole of Alaska. For this reason the matter ofthe boundary line has grown to be of immense importance, and in justice to our neighbors as well as to ourselves, it should now be authoritatively settled once and forever. What I want to know is, how many of those present will assist me in securing evidence of the old boundary marks. It is a big undertaking. We shall need guides and boats. I understand what it means for miners to leave their work in the busy summer season, but this affair is urgent and cannot be delayed. Will you help me?"
"We will, we will!" cried the men enthusiastically.
"I thank you heartily, and hope we shall soon accomplish our mission," and with that the Lieutenant took his seat.
Great applause followed, and again the cannonading of boots upon the floor was put into action.
The chairman arose and called for order. After a little time, during which the men gave what information they could, it was arranged that Dick Dead-eye should be the Lieutenant's guide into the mountains. The old pioneer was acquainted with Indians on the Klukwan River who had lived in that vicinity for many years, and as he was conversant with the Chilkat language he thought they could get the desired information. The Klukwan River was a tributary of the Chilkat, rising in the mountains which should be their first objective point.
In the late twilight of an Alaskan summer's day the keel of a little boat grated upon the pebbles of the beach at Klukwan. Mission and the west arm of Lynn had been left behind. Here two small rivers emptied their mountain waters into the big Canal whose long, wet fingers persistently pointed toward the Passes and the Golden North. Incidentally, also, they indicated the direction to the disputed Boundary Line, the exact whereabouts of which the pioneer "Dead-eye" and his official companion had come to determine. For years the Lieutenant had been engaged by the United States Government in making surveys along the southern coast of Alaska where he was no stranger to the Indians. These knew him, and he spoke their language, as did also the old hunter, trapper and pathfinder.
For two decades had the old hunter forced long trails into the unknown countryand blazed the way for those who were speedily to follow by thousands. To him Yukon and Selkirk were household words.
So their landing at Klukwan was no new experience. In truth a cabin, substantially built of logs and stocked with edibles and other comforts, awaited the two hardy frontier-men. Had there been no such luxuries they would have felt as much at home sleeping beside a camp fire in the open. They looked for those who could tell them of the doings of white men who landed on these shores nearly a century before, and for those who could point the way to boundary monuments wherever they were. Of necessity they must look among the aged ones of Chilkats for information.
On the day following their landing the Indians were assembled, and inquiry was made by the white men as to the location of the boundary monuments. Had any of the people present ever seen such, or did they know where they were to be found?
Two or three then declared that they had seen, many years before, a Russian Boundary House and knew how to reach it; but they were too old to walk so far, or climb themountains. They said they would direct some younger Indian, and he should guide the white men to the spot.
Their search, however, proved unavailing, for days they wandered about the mountains and even reached the divide indicated by the old Indians; but nowhere could a Boundary House, or anything of a like description, be found.
At last they returned to Klukwan for supplies and further instructions. There was evidently some mistake.
A consultation was held. An Indian, who had been upon the identical spot of the Boundary House, must accompany the white men and indicate the place, if possible.
Some one mentioned the name of Old Tillie. She was too old to see well, her teeth were long since gone, and she dozed often. No one thought her able to walk any distance; but if she were strong enough she could locate the place, if anyone could. She had been there in her girlhood, seventy years before. When she was asked to guide the white men to the mountains she slowly shook her head but said nothing.
When Old Tillie was youngWhen Old Tillie was young
"Well, Dick," said the Lieutenant, "wemay as well go home. It is too late to do anything more to-day. It is supper time."
Later, when their meal was finished, and tin cups and plates had been put aside, the officer took from its nail an old banjo, and began strumming. Presently he was singing, and his rich, clear voice, admirably suited to the time, place and surroundings, filled the little cabin and floated across to the green where the Indians camped. Song followed song, and the guide continually puffed his pipe near at hand.
By and by, a form stood in the doorway. It was old Tillie. She had heard the music and had hobbled over to the officer's cabin to listen.
"Come in and sit down, Tillie," called out the Lieutenant. "Do you like music?"
She smiled and nodded, accepting his invitation.
"Shall I sing for you, Tillie?"
A low spoken affirmative came from the old creature, who had seated herself near the entrance.
"I'll see if I can remember a few lines in Chilkat that I wrote some time ago," said the musician, as he again touched the strings.
It was only a simple song, descriptive of two Indian lovers, and it ran in this fashion:
In western skies the sun dips lowAbove the purpled hills,While glinting waters and their flowThe air with music fills.Filmy and light as fairies' wings,The fading clouds descend,Touching with finger tips the stringsWhile leaves on green boughs bend.The lone loon's call unto his mateThe rustle of the quail,Announce the day as growing late,And sunshine's pleasures fail.Then out upon the quiet lake,In tiny birch canoe,Ageeluk and her lover makeTheir vows for weal or woe.In Chilkat tongue the lover sings,The song all lovers know,To dusky maid with copper rings,Where long, lank rushes grow.The shadows lengthen, slowly creepAcross the water dark,While little waves are hiding deep,Around the lovers' bark.Content, at last, these lovers leapUpon the steep bank's stone.The leaves are still, the birds asleep,And they are left alone.
When he had finished the song he paused. Tillie seemed fast asleep. She had slipped to the floor at the beginning of the song, and sat with her head upon her drawn-up knees, with her hands clasped above them. She made no move. The officer continued his singing, still softly, and in a retrospective mood. He was a born musician. His whole soul craved song, and the greatest deprivation to him in Alaska was the lack of music. For this reason, he kept his own banjo with him, and many an evening's entertainment had he furnished in cabin and beside camp fire, when his fine barytone mingled with an ascending cloud from burning spruce knots, and added enjoyment to the hour.
At last the old Indian raised her head. Pushing back a few long wisps of hair that had fallen over her face, she asked for water. Her mouth seemed parched and dry, and her withered lips scarcely moved. She had just seen the old stone house they were looking for, and would tell the white men of it, she said.
"Is it the same you saw when a child?" asked the officer.
"Yes, but broken,—the walls stand not. Last moon came men from the north while hunting."
"What did they do?"
"They broke the house,—its walls are down," mumbled the old woman with a scowl.
"Howwere they before, Tillie?"
"Before? Ah, before! In my childhood I saw it,—that Boundary House on the summit. How green the spruce and pine trees, and the nuts that dropped before snow-fall! What fires we made, and the roaring and sweet-smelling! How dear the Indian lovers, and how brave in bear hunting! With teeth of the cinnamon and grizzly we made chains for our necks, and with breasts of waterfowl we made aprons. In streams we tracked beaver and muskrat, besides mink for our coats in the winter."
"But, Tillie, old woman, what of the white men,—the Russians?"
"Not much white, but dark," she returned, correcting him. "Fine dressing, many knives and guns in belt, buttons bright like money, and they sit on animals, big like caribou, what you call? Yes, horses. Then in boat they sailed to beautiful island. Listen!"
The old creature placed her hand behind her ear as if trying to catch some sound or name. Then, brightening up, she exclaimed: "Baranhoff it is! Big house, fine castle. Beautiful laughing ladies in lovely dressing. Gold, gold, I see everywhere on fingers, ears and necks. Money plenty. All make pleasure, good time, dancing, gambling; drink tea much from big copper dish. Ah, great man many sleeps gone by. This way they dance," then added the old creature, scrambling to her feet clumsily and catching up her tattered skirt daintily with each hand after the manner of a danseuse. Then, still with closed eyes, she glided gracefully and withdignified movement over the floor in imitation of long dead Russian ladies of high degree.
The Lieutenant strummed a few chords softly upon his banjo, but old Tillie was drowsily crooning her own accompaniment as she swayed backward and forward, and seemed not to notice.
At last, wearied by her unusual efforts, she sank upon the floor in her accustomed attitude and breathed deeply.
"But, Tillie, old woman," urged the Lieutenant, who had not forgotten his important business with the Indians, "what did the men leave in the old stone house on the mountain to tell us they built it?"
"I see iron box and many things in it; kettles, pipes, spoons and a big knife. I see small gun that shoots, and bullets to put in it. Many things are in box, and for it you must dig below the ground, not far, in a corner by the old chimney there; but first you roll the stones away."
"But we cannot find the place unless you show us the way, Tillie. Will you go with us?"
"Yes. Me quick find stone house; but Tillie is old, very old, and not much can hurry. She cannot climb mountains like young Indian," and she sighed heavily as she spoke.
"You shall take your own time, only show us to the Boundary House on the Summit, and I will pay you well," said the Lieutenant.
The following day they started. Everything that could be done for the comfort of the Indian woman was done by the two white men. When she was tired she was allowed to rest; and at night a bed of boughs was made for her near the camp fire. Along the banks of the Klahenia she led them, finally leaving the river and following a dry creek bed into the mountains.
Not since she was a little child had she visited this region except in her vision, when she had plainly seen her route and destination,—the ruins of the old stone house on the mountains.
On the afternoon of the fourth day the party reached the desired spot, exactly as old Tillie had described. The Lieutenant and his man found it. Clearing away the huge stones which had formed the walls of the house, they found, upon digging in thecorner, an old iron chest of ancient Russian manufacture. In it were the proofs (if more were needed) that this was the identical Boundary House for which they had been seeking. A couple of small copper kettles, blackened with age and dampness, like the rude knives, clumsy revolver, and bullets for the same, as well as a few old pipes, spoons, and a hatchet, lay as they had done for many years, in the bottom of this old chest. Upon the inside of the latter's lid was inscribed the owner's name—Petrofsky—Russian without a doubt; and a rude drawing which clearly traced the much disputed, much sought out Boundary Line between Alaska and the British Possessions.
On this drawing was shown the very stone house upon the site of which they now stood; and Lieutenant Adams and his companion, threw up their caps for joy.
Pressing the old woman's skinny hand in his own, the Lieutenant filled it with gold pieces, saying as he did so:
"Here is money with which to buy blankets. Take it. You are a wonderful woman, and you shall never suffer. You shall have a warm house and plenty of coal for the winter, and I will see now that you reach your camp safely. You have served us well, and I thank you."
So saying, the white man covered the iron chest, and even replaced the stones above as they had found them. They then returned to Klukwan and their own cabin.
Later, the Lieutenant was successful in gathering information from Indians at Bennett and Tahku, relative to boundary marks and monuments, which was also of great service to him in establishing the fact that the line as it then stood was the one of the original Russian owners, and that no power had authority to change it.
By arbitration between the two countries the matter was finally adjusted, leaving the miners of Rainy Hollow, as well as those of the Porcupine District and other places, in peaceful possession of their lands as they desired; but of those who had given assistance to the United States officials while inquiring into the location of Boundary marks, none had given more satisfactory and timely aid than Tillie, the Chilkat Indian, when she led the white men to the Old Stone House on the Summit.
The woman I loved above all others in this world had been my happy wife for a number of years when we decided to come to hunt for Alaskan gold.
We lived only for each other. Our attachment was very great, a feeling which at the first time of meeting sprang suddenly into existence. My love for my wife was my ruling passion, my ambition for Alaskan gold being always secondary, as were all other earthly concerns.
Her attachment for me was of a like nature, warm and sincere.
My greatest anxiety was her health. Never entirely robust, she had gradually grown less so, even with all my tender care, and as her mind grew and expanded her body became more frail. At last our physician prescribed an entire change of life and scene. As I was not a rich man, and must wherever I went still manage to bring in by business methods enough for our support, it was an importantquestion with us for some time where we should settle.
Olga (for that was the name of my little wife) wished to go to Alaska. There she thought we could together search for the precious mineral only recently discovered in various places; and though the journey was a long one she argued that the change would be beneficial to her.
So we came to the northern gold fields. Fortune favored us for two years. Our claims were turning out so well that we planned to build a good house in town soon which would be a comfortable home until, after the further growth of our bank account, we could leave the country forever.
Before that time arrived, however, a thunder bolt had fallen—Olga was dead.
I had gone for two days to my claims on the creeks ten miles away, leaving her alone. At night she was to have the company of a woman friend in order that she might not feel lonely, and the following evening I was to be at home again.
How I hated to leave her! Something like an unseen hand upon my arm held me back; but my men were even then awaiting my orders and I was obliged to go. To remain at home now meant a loss of thousands of dollars as the late rains had so swollen the creeks that sluicing was in full blast after many weeks of waiting on account of scarcity of water.
Olga was in her usual health and smiled brightly, standing in the doorway when I pressed my lips to her for a good-bye.
"Don't get lonesome, dear, I'll be back as soon as possible, and bring a good-size poke full of nuggets with me, too," said I hurrying away in the direction of the hills where my claims were situated.
Looking back from the tundra trail which I had been putting behind me as fast as possible for some time, I saw her standing in the doorway looking after me, but whether she had remained as I left her, or whether she had returned to the door after going inside, I never knew.
The next time I saw her she was dead.
I had walked ten miles to my claim and superintended the daily "clean-up" at the sluice boxes, securing as I had said I would a poke full of golden nuggets worth several thousand dollars.
It was a splendid clean-up, but for someunexplainable reason I was restless and uneasy. I had seen so much gold it was getting to be an old story; or my meals had not digested well; or perhaps I was working too hard—I tried in these ways to account for my indifference. My mind wandered from the work in hand. I looked often in the direction of home and Olga, but the hills were between us. I slept fitfully at night, after waking with a start which disturbed me greatly. At last I looked at my watch. It was past midnight, and I determined to go home.
Going to the creek where the night gang was at work, shoveling into the sluice boxes, I told the foreman I was starting for home, as I believed something had happened.
"You're nervous!" he said.
"I don't care what you call it; I'm going home to see how things are there," and I hurried away toward town.
"Don't worry, Mr. A.", called out the man after me, "Your wife's all right," then in a lower tone to himself, "That fellow'll go daffy over his little wife, as he calls her, if he isn't careful. It's a good thing I haven't any, for I couldn't watch her like that if I did have, that's certain."
I hurried on over the trail, the night being light and clear, the grass dewy, and the sun about to rise; for it was midsummer in Alaska.
Afterwards I remembered these things.
When half way home I saw a horseman coming toward me. He was riding rapidly, and when he drew near I recognized a neighbor. He reined in his horse.
"Good morning, Mr. A.," said he.
"What is it, Peter, tell me quick! Has anything happened at home?" I cried impatiently.
"Mr. A., I am sorry to tell you, but you're"—
"Don't say she is dead! Don't say that!" I begged.
"Mount my horse, and I'll follow. Go as fast as you can for the animal is fresh," said he; but I heard nothing, saw nothing. I was simply clinging to the saddle, as the animal galloped back over the trail.
In a dazed condition I reached home. Our cabin was filled with sympathetic friends, trying to assist in some way. As I came in they dispersed, leaving me alone with Olga.
They had placed her upon a couch where she lay with a sweet smile upon her lips, butthey were cold when I kissed them—her heart had ceased to beat, and for the first time in all our lives there was no answering pressure when I took her hands in mine.
Oh, the agony of that moment! No tongue can tell, no pen describe, the awful loneliness of that hour. She had been part of my life—of me. I could not live without her; I did not want to try.
Oh, God! How could I bear it? What should I do? I had given her my love, my life, and now she was dead—everything was swept away and there was absolutely nothing to live for. If I could only die! Dare I take my own life? No, for that would then mean everlasting separation, as she was doubtless now in the happiest state to which mortals could be assigned. I must try to reach her no matter at what cost. For hours I knelt beside her with her hands in mine, and my cheek beside her cold one.
I was again talking to Olga, as I fondled her face, her hair, her hands.
"Speak to me, my darling," I pleaded, "if only once more. I cannot live without you. Why did you leave me? How could you go without telling me? Surely you did not intend to do it, did you, darling?" Eagerly I watched her face to see her blue eyes open and her lips once more move. Could I bring her back by calling her? It might be so; and then I tried, repeating her name again and again, tenderly, lovingly, oh, so lovingly!
Hours passed thus. The smile on her lips remained. Presently I listened, my arms about her neck and my head upon her breast.
I was quiet now. The awful storm which had well-nigh uprooted my very soul was gradually subsiding. I must be ready to hear her if she should come back with a message.
This I believed she would do. Many times we had talked together of these things, and each had faithfully promised the other to return, if possible, with comfort and assistance from the mysterious beyond in the event of a separation by death.
I could see her now as she looked while speaking, and then I grew calmer immediately.
I would wait.
By and by it came—only two words.
"The letter."
The letter! Where was it? I had not seen it—I had not thought to look for such a thingbecause her departure came so suddenly. A burning building close to our cabin, with wind blowing the flames toward her, had caused the fright and heart failure which deprived me of Olga—but a letter! I would search for it.
Among her writing materials I found it. A sealed packet, directed to me in her own dainty Swedish handwriting.
I cannot reproduce it here. It was for my eyes only, and written a week previously; but she said she was expecting soon to be called away. She did not wish to worry me with goodbyes, and in truth there was no need of saying them for she would be as constantly with me as ever, even though I could not always see her. She did not want me to forget her and hoped I could conveniently manage to keep the poor little body (in which she had lived for nearly thirty years) quite close to me where I could sometimes look upon her face.
All this and much more she had written; each letter and word of which comforted me as only Olga knew how to comfort, because she understood my very soul.
We had been made for each other. We were souls twinned in creation by a higherpower than many know; but it had been given us to understand in her lifetime, and now that she had been called away for a season I must bear it as patiently as possible for her sake, and I would. God helping me, I would bear it! And my unreasoning grief should not disturb her quietude.
The day passed.
In the evening a knock at the door brought me back to my objective senses. I had been oblivious to the outside world all day.
"We thought you might like some coffee and supper, and I have brought it to you," said a kind miner, who was also a neighbor.
"Wife and I will come and stay all night here if you will go to our cabin and get some rest."
I thanked him, declining his last offer, but drank the hot coffee. I then asked him if he would go out and secure the use of the adjoining vacant log cabin for me, so that I could immediately move into it.
This he did, returning in half an hour, asking what further service he could render.
I told him I would move all my belongings into the log cabin, leaving Olga here. This was her house, and it was still to be her home.
By midnight this was done. The man had gone home after making me promise to call him when I wanted help.
In Olga's cabin of two small rooms there remained only a stove, a couch upon which she still rested, and an easy lounging chair.
The door at the front I soon padlocked on the outside, and barricaded within, leaving the back door as the only entrance. Next a man was hired to dig a narrow trench about the whole cabin to conduct all surface water away from the lot. During the hours following I busied myself with the receptacle which would contain the still beautiful, but now discarded body, of my darling Olga.
Carefully removing a part of the flooring in the center of the room, I began digging underneath. The ground was frozen. A pick and shovel in my hands found their way into the frost-locked earth and gravel; but at a depth of about five feet I stopped.
Her bed was deep enough; also long and wide enough. Its walls were of ice.
They had dressed her in a robe of pale blue veiling, distinctly suited to her, upon which rested the long braids of her yellow hair, while her only ornament was her weddingring upon her finger.
How perfectly serene and happy she looked! I fully expected her to open her lips and speak. When this did not happen, the sense of my awful loss surged back into my brain, seeming almost to take my reason; but another quiet hour by the side of my darling partially restored me.
It was midnight. A perfect storm of grief had just spent itself and left me weak and weary. I threw myself, with a heavy sigh, into the depth of the lounging chair.
Presently I slept. What was that? A bit of beautiful yellow light floated gracefully above Olga's head. With a fast-beating heart I watched it from my resting place. It grew in size, and increased in height, gradually assuming the form of my darling, a complete counterpart of the one lying before me in the soft blue gown.
The face, the golden braids, the fingers, and the wedding ring were all there, completed by a smile so heavenly that I gazed as one transfixed.
Could this, then, be Olga, and not a stray beam of light which had struggled through the curtains?
"Olga!" I cried, stretching out my arms toward her in an ecstasy of gladness.
"Dear Victor! Have no fear. I will come again." The voice seemed like Olga's and as full of love as ever.
With that the beautiful yellow light began slowly to fade, the form of my beloved melted into a haze which drifted gradually upward and out of sight. Then I awoke.
Weeks passed, during which the fall rains set in, and I was working as hard as ever; not so much in a feverish desire for the gold I was taking out of the ground, but because the work helped me to forget my sorrow. I did not cease to think hourly of Olga, but I wished to put behind me the shock of her sudden leave-taking, and remember the fact that she was still in memory mine, that she was watching over me and would visit me in my dreams.
My all-absorbing love for her I could not—did not wish to put away from me. I had loved her so devotedly that I envied the passing breeze which played among the loose locks of the hair on her forehead. I had envied the dust of the road as it clung to her feet because it could remain so near to her; and I longed to become the atmosphere she breathed, that Imight live a part of her very physical being This sort of love never dies, because it is part of one's constitution and sub-consciousness, and cannot be eradicated.
I grew more and more silent. I was physically well and strong, but looked forward from morning until night to going home to my cabin and Olga. Each evening when my lonely supper had been eaten I turned the key of the adjoining cabin door, and carefully locked it behind me. From the outer place I entered the room which was now a sacred spot. A solitary candle gave all the light required. Lifting the section of flooring upon which had been placed two strong hinges, a few turns of the mechanical contrivance brought up from below the narrow bed in which the earthly form of Olga rested, securely covered by clear and heavy glass.
In my low, lounging chair I sat for hours beside her, told her of my love which would remain forever the same; I reminded her of her pledges of constancy, reviving instances of our past lives, even bringing to my mind bright bits of pleasantry which had been habitual to her while here.
At times I placed my cheek upon the icyglass as near hers as possible, whispering words of love—always my great love, which like a deep and flowing well refused to be stopped.
At last one evening I leaned back in my easy chair much wearied, and because of the stillness, soon slept.
Ah! She had come again! In the brightest and purest yellow light she stood there bending toward me with a radiant and happy smile upon her face.
"Victor," she said, softly, "don't worry so much, dear, you will make yourself ill. Believe me you will soon cease to do this for you will know the better way and find real happiness. I know that this trial has been very hard indeed for you to bear, but you must not grieve longer," then I seemed to feel the light pressure of her hand upon my head.
Oh, the joy of it all once more!
"Tell me, Olga, do you still love me as well as before you went away?"
"Victor, dear Victor, believe me, I love you far better than ever before, because I understand. Try to be happy, dear." Then, with a light caress, she vanished.
For a moment I felt dazed. I looked aboutme. The lighted candle was sputtering itself out in its socket, fitfully darting a thin and feeble flame upward into the darkness. My mouth was parched and dry—I must have water.
Carefully I lowered the blue-robed form to its resting place, adjusting the cover, locked the door behind me, and crept back into my own cabin.
Time passed. With a young lover's regularity at the side of his sweetheart I visited my dear one in the little cabin beside my own. Casting about in my mind how to make the place appropriate for the purpose for which it was now used, and at the same time be somewhat more comfortable, I had covered the walls of Olga's cabin both inside and out with a heavy black paper, well calculated to keep out the wind. Upon the ceiling of the front room hung silvered stars which shone brightly, and with a fitfulness not all unnatural in the flickering candlelight. In one corner of the outer room there still remained the heap of earth and gravel taken from the spot where Olga's body now rested. The rainy season was far advanced and before many days the snow and ice would be herefor long and weary months. My mining would then be over until another summer. I had been successful beyond my dreaming and could afford to rest, but I dreaded the tediousness and loneliness of winter.
One evening, while dozing in the depths of the easy chair, I saw a form bending above the sand and gravel in the next room. I fancied I heard a pleased and gentle laugh like Olga's of old, and I asked timidly, "What is it, friend?"
"Here is gold. Will you pan out this sand and gravel? You will be repaid." And again I heard the gentle laugh.
"What," said I in astonishment, "will I there find gold?"
A gesture of assent was given.
"Then this cabin and others must stand upon rich, gold-bearing ground?"
A second gesture of assent.
With that I wakened. I immediately procured a gold pan from my cabin, and used it for a few hours to good advantage.
The ground was truly rich; and Olga's form was lying in a bed literally lined with gold. There was wheat gold as well as dust and small nuggets. In my agony of mind ather sudden death it had never occurred to me while digging that the gravel might contain anything of value; but it was plain to me now. Only for my dream I would surely have shovelled the sand thoughtlessly outside where someone might have made the discovery to my own loss.
Not long afterward a strange incident occurred. It happened in the following way. It was raining and past midnight, being one of the last rainstorms before the regular freeze-up it was proving to us there was no shortage of water in the clouds which seemed wide open, and it was pouring in torrents. For four hours I had been using the pick and shovel in the frozen gravel under the adjoining cabin, and had finally gone to sleep, lulled by the patter of the regularly falling rain upon the roof.
Suddenly I was aroused with a fear of—I knew not what. I instantly sprang from my bed, striking a match, and getting into my clothing as rapidly as possible, I made my way through the storm into the next cabin. It was then but a moment's work to lift Olga's casket to the floor from its icy bed beneath. As I did so a small stream of water burst itsway through below the flooring and began pouring over the side of the excavation, at the bottom of which only a moment before had rested Olga's casket.
Like a flash I understood the situation. The small trench around the cabin had filled with water and become obstructed, while the heavy rain had saturated the surface of the ground swelling the little stream beyond the capacity of its bank. I immediately ran out of doors to make a search for the obstruction, which, once removed, allowed the water to pass away as before. A small clump of grass and sticks had found lodgment, having been swept there by the unusual amount of falling rain, and in less time than it takes to write it, the mortal remains of my darling would have been flooded, had it not been for the warning and my prompt response. To clean out the small amount of water which had entered while I hastily worked at the trench was short work and soon completed.
With these and other incidents was my life henceforth made up. For months I spent several hours each day with pick or shovel in my hands. I bought the adjoining cabins with the lots upon which they stood, thereby continuing my work of thoroughly prospecting the ground, even after finishing that upon which Olga's house stood.
Following my practice of working during the midnight hour when most people were asleep, the indistinct noise of my pick in the frozen gravel below the floors aroused no one; though I once overheard two belated pedestrians outside my door wondering from what quarter the noise of the picking and shoveling came. No light was allowed to betray my whereabouts, as a single tallow candle placed low in my prospect hole beneath the floor told no tales; and once hearing the sound of voices in the street my labors instantly ceased.
After a few weeks it was whispered about the camp that strange noises proceeded from the mysterious black cabin at midnight, and later that the same uncanny sounds seemed further away. Only a few persons had ever heard them, and they assured their friends that the vicinity was a good one to keep away from at night time; the latter advice pleasing me quite as well as it did them.
For this reason I was never disturbed; and if more and more left to myself by my neighbors I was not displeased, as it suited myframe of mind best to be alone with my own thoughts—and Olga.
Many months now passed. My life was a very quiet one, the most enjoyable hours to me being the ones spent in dreaming of Olga. Gradually the fact dawned upon me that my life was now a most selfish one. I was feeding upon memories of dear, by-gone days, but allowing the present to slip unimproved away. If I could arouse myself to some good purpose in life, and take a hand at scattering bright bits of happiness to console some lonely hearts who had less of comfort than myself, might it not be better? With the wealth which I had rapidly accumulated in Alaska, I could assist in much good work for the poor and needy if I were so inclined.
Perhaps I would find more happiness and contentment in living henceforth unselfishly, with more thought for others and less for myself.
Many times during the long winter evenings I had felt twinges of conscience concerning my selfish mode of life, well knowing that Olga would enjoy spending our wealth for the good and happiness of others before accepting luxuries for herself. Now I had cometo feel in the same way, and no longer craved riches or that which they would bring. My own wants were simple, and would continue to be so. I would make others happier. The helpless, homeless and suffering, I would relieve. My wealth would now permit it.
In this manner, and by my dreaming, my sorrow had been somewhat mitigated, and that grief, so terrible in the beginning, was to some extent assuaged. Not that I loved Olga less, or had forgotten, but all unknowingly I had been striving to be more worthy of her memory.
Daily I meditated in the sweet silence, and hourly received strength and consolation therefrom. Many pledges I made which I would fulfil later on—the future then held no terrors for me—I would work, work and wait. More, I would learn, I would grow, I would climb. I resolved to reach those heights to which many were traveling, and to which Olga had already surely attained. In due time, my Olga, we shall no doubt meet again and live, love and work together as of old, only that our happiness will be farther perfected because we have farther advanced.
It was midnight. I seemed to visit the land of Holy Dreams. In the distance I heard a chorus of voices, exquisitely beautiful and well modulated, coming nearer as I continued to listen. The singers were many, but so perfect was the rhythm and harmony that I dared not breathe for fear of losing some part of the beautiful song. Not only so, but the accompanying orchestra faithfully upheld and completed the symphony which rose and fell with crescendos and diminuendoes more glorious as the chorus pealed louder and nearer. I was listening in sheer delight and with each nerve tingling, when a dear familiar voice began in obligato, so clearly and sweetly that the tears sprang into my eyes—
"Have love; not love alone for one,But man as man thy brother call,And scatter like the circling sunThy charities on all."
Two women sat weaving baskets. They were not Aleut Indians, and barely escaped being Russians; but were of mixed blood so common on the Aleutian Islands.
The younger one broke the silence.
"I'm tired of baskets! I want to do something else," she said, with a yawn.
"Run out upon the hills awhile, but first finish the row you are doing, then put all away in a safe place. No Russian leaves her work scattered to get lost or soiled," said the older woman.
"Am I a Russian lady?" queried the girl, apparently about the age of eighteen.
"You may be if your father comes to take you to Russia with him. But by this time he is likely dead;—there is no telling. It is three years since we saw him, and he promised to come again in two." And the woman sighed.
"Oh, he may come at any time, and I am going to the top of the hill to look for him now," said the girl with youth's hopefulness, as she hastened to obey her aunt.
"Don't set your mind on it, for sailor men are very uncertain; only they are pretty sure to roll around the whole world, making excuses that ships take them whether they will or not. A poor excuse for not coming is better than none." Then as the door closed behind the girl she added, "I wish he would send money to buy her clothes; it would be as little as he could do, for she is not my child, but my sister's. I, too, wish he would come, for a cold winter we have had taking much coal and many furs, and my money is nearly gone. To be sure when the steamers come with their hundreds of people bound for the gold fields we shall sell some of our baskets, but it will be weeks before they arrive," and she pulled industriously at the long strands of dried grass she was weaving into her basket.
While her aunt meditated on these and various other matters the girl, Eyllen, glad to get away from the cabin and basket-making, crossed the foot bridge over the smallstream which ran behind the house and began to ascend the high bluff which she claimed as her watch tower. If she could only discern her father's ship in the distance, how surprised her aunt would be!