THE TRAIL OF THE "DEMON'S HEART"
The _tillicums_ of the gold country still speak with bated breath of
the "Demon's Heart," the great nugget that left its trail of
ill-luck, misfortune, and death, from the Black Fork Kaskana to
Dawson, and from Dawson to the divide--and beyond. The _tillicums_
wonder how far beyond.
About hot stoves in far-away trading posts men ask each other if the
great nugget is still working its harm among men. Has it found its
way to the mint and been stamped into coins? Or, to the jeweler, and
been fashioned into costly rings to encircle fair fingers? And if
so, have the crucibles and the melting pots removed the bane? Or,
will misfortune forever dog the footsteps of the women who wear the
rings, and the men who possess the coins, stamped from the gold of
the "Demon's Heart"?
But of all the _tillicums_ in the land of the peaks and passes, only
two know that the trail of the great nugget is ended. For Special
Constable Connie Morgan of the Royal North-west Mounted Police
prefers to speak of other things. And Ick Far, the leathern-faced,
the imperturbable, speaks nothing at all, but sits in sphinx-like
silence with his eyes fixed upon far things--thinking his own
thoughts.
As the _June Altroff_ sheered in toward the Dawson wharf, her stern
wheel lashing the waters of the Yukon into white foam, the little
knot of men who awaited her arrival were horrified by a dull roar and
a sudden high-flung column of smoke and steam, as before their very
eyes the little steamer disappeared from sight, leaving the surface
of the Yukon strewn with a mass of white wreckage, and the struggling
forms of men.
Five minutes later, the police launch _Aurora_, manned by Sergeant
McKeever, Corporal Rickey, and Special Constable Connie Morgan, shot
out from the bank and returned with the half-dozen survivors of the
wreck.
It was during the investigation which followed, that the great nugget
first came under the notice of the Mounted. In the Miners' and
Marines' Hospital the three officers who had accomplished the rescue,
closely examined the surviving members of the crew of the ill-fated
_June Altroff_. Neither the captain nor the chief engineer could
throw any light whatever upon the cause of the accident. The
engineer affirmed that the steam pressure had been well within the
safety limit, and the captain testified as to the recent overhauling
and inspection of his boilers.
"She jest up and nach'lly let go without no cause nor reason
whatsumever," he concluded, and at the words a man in the adjoining
cot, who had been frightfully scalded in the explosion, raised a
bandaged hand and beckoned weakly to the officers. Connie and Dan
McKeever bent over him.
"It's in my coat," he muttered thickly; "the thing that made the boat
blow up."
"You mean a bomb?" cried McKeever.
"No--gold," muttered the man. "It's a nugget. One hundred an' four
ounces, she weighs! An' she saps men's lives!" McKeever glanced
significantly toward Connie who stood upon the other side of the cot.
Interpreting the glance, the injured man continued, speaking with
difficulty: "You think I'm out of my head, but I ain't. I'm a goner!
I'm all burnin' up inside, an' my heart's on fire! But I tell you my
head's clear! Tell 'em to bring my coat. It's sewed in the linin'."
An attendant handed McKeever a soggy mackinaw from which the river
water still dripped to stand in little pools upon the floor. The
coat sagged heavily upon one side, and as the Sergeant held it he
noted that its weight far exceeded the weight of any water which the
thick garment could possibly have absorbed. As Connie slit the
lining with his knife, a heavy object thudded loudly upon the pine
floor. Lifting the object to the bed, the boy unwound a wrapping of
cloth. The next instant the officers, the hospital attendant, and
the men upon the adjoining cots stared with bulging eyes upon a great
nugget of gold that showed dull yellow against the grey of the
blanket.
"It's streaked with red--an' it saps men's lives!" moaned the man in
the cot as he sought to draw his bandaged body away from its fancied
contact. Connie lifted the lump to examine it more closely. It was
rudely heart-shaped in form, with one side rough as furnace slag, and
the other ground smooth as velvet by the action of sand and water.
But its most peculiar feature was the band of a darker yellow, almost
reddish cast, that appeared on the smooth surface and struck through
to reappear on the opposite side.
"Where did you get it?" asked McKeever hoarsely. "An' what's it got
to do with the blowin' up of the _June Altroff_?"
"Aye, what's it got to do?" shuddered the man in the cot, as he
stared with horrified eyes at the huge nugget. "It got the Injun,
an' it got Hans Anderson, an' me, an' them out there in the
river--that went down with the boat an' never come up ag'in. What's
it got to do with us all? An' why is it red, an' heart-shaped? It's
ha'nted, that's why! It's demon gold----!"
"But where did you get it?" persisted McKeever. "An' who is the
Injun, an' Hans Anderson?"
The man called for water and the attendant held a glass to his lips.
"The Injun was just an Injun," he muttered dully, after a brief
pause. "Hans Anderson found him dead in a wickiup on a crick an' in
his hand he held that!" The man stared in strange fascination at the
nugget as he talked. "An' he took it, an' buried the Injun. Hans
Anderson was trappin' an' prospectin', an' he had a cabin on Black
Fork Kaskana. My camp was ten miles above his'n. One day I paddles
down to see about us runnin' in our winter's grub by canoe before the
freeze-up. An' when I gets to his cabin there ain't no smoke comin'
out the chimbly, an' I shoves open the door, an' there lays Hans
Anderson in his bunk, an' a ragin' fever was on him, an' he talks
wild an' delirious about a big nugget streaked with red. I done what
I know'd how for him, an' bye 'n' bye he quieted down. 'Twas then he
told me about the Injun. 'There's a curse,' he says, 'on the gold
from a dead man's hand!' An' he showed me the nugget. 'It's got
me,' he says, 'an' it'll get any one that owns it.' An' he wanted me
to take it up to the crick an' bury it with the Injun. But I
wouldn't, an' that night Hans Anderson died. I wanted him to give me
the nugget, but he said it would bring me bad luck. An' he died with
his fingers a-grippin' it tight.
"Him a-tellin' me that-a-way, 'bout takin' it from the hand of the
dead Injun, an' then him a-dyin' like he done, when he was well an'
hearty the last time I seen him, a few days before, it give me the
creeps, an' had me plumb scairt of the red-streaked nugget. I
allowed I'd bury it with him. The next day I dug a grave an' I put
Hans Anderson in it, with the nugget still clutched in his hand. An'
then, jest as I give a last look, a shaft of sunlight struck down an'
lit up the gold till it shined, an' glittered--" the man paused,
shuddered, and moistened his lips with his tongue. "'The gold's got
you! You're a fool!' I yells to myself out loud. 'Gold's gold! An'
here's more of it in one lump than you ever seen or ever will see.
Gold ain't nothin' but rock, or whatever it is. It can't do him no
good, nor you no harm. An' it's as much yourn, now, as it was his'n
when he took it from the Injun!' An' I reaches down and tears the
chunk from his fingers, an' throws in the dirt, an' jumps into my
canoe an' paddles for the big river. I sewed the nugget in the
linin' of my coat. At Five Finger I caught the _June Altroff_,
an'--an'--it's got me--like Hans Anderson said it would."
The scalded man died. And that same night occurred the fire that
razed the Miners' and Marines' Hospital to the ground. By dint of
much work and no little heroism the patients were all removed. In
the official records the cause of the fire is given as a defective
flue, but those who had looked upon the nugget and listened to the
scalded man's story wonder. The hospital attendant, and the captain
and the chief engineer of the _June Altroff_ talked. And up and down
the river, and among the far hills, the nugget became known as the
"Demon's Heart," and men spoke in awed whispers of the ill-luck that
followed its trail.
During the excitement incident to the fire, the nugget was forgotten.
And though men searched and dug in the ruins for many days, no trace
of it could be found in the ashes. Then, suddenly, it reappeared as
mysteriously as it had vanished. This time in the possession of Nick
Mullane, who affected scorn for its power for harm, and exhibited it
in his store, where men flocked in numbers to gaze upon the misshapen
talisman of ill omen. These men who came to gaze remained to buy,
and Nick Mullane's business began suddenly to rival that of the A.C.
Company.
But the man's prosperity was short-lived. No more does Nick Mullane
scoff at the power of the nugget to work harm. And the men of the
Yukon add one more milestone to the trail of the "Demon's Heart."
For, between two days, the nugget disappeared, and with it all the
gold that had accrued by reason of Nick Mullane's sudden increase of
business.
Nick Mullane appealed to the Mounted. And Sergeant Dan McKeever
accompanied by Ick Far headed into the hills, following a three-man
trail. On Burton Creek they buried a man, and at Hot Springs,
another, and at Bonnet Plume Pass the trail of the third man was so
completely lost among the rocks that even Ick Far could not follow
it. And the "Demon's Heart" passed beyond the ken of the men of the
Yukon.
But the _tillicums_ still wonder what lies at the end of the trail.
"Afraid of ghosts?" asked the Superintendent commanding B Division,
as Connie entered the office in answer to the summons of his chief,
and stood at attention.
Connie smiled. "No, sir!" he answered. "That is, I don't think I
am. I never saw one. I don't believe there are any. And if there
aren't, I _couldn't_ be afraid of 'em."
"Yes, but suppose there are," persisted the Superintendent with a
twinkle in his eyes.
"Well, then I _wouldn't_ be afraid. I guess if they're sensible
ghosts they won't try any monkey business with the Mounted."
The officer laughed. "You'll do," he said. "Of course there are no
such things as ghosts, but it's hard to make the Indians believe it.
In fact, it's hard to make 'em believe anything a white man believes.
Ordinarily I don't pay any attention to their yarns. But this case
is a little different." He picked a paper from his desk. "Here's a
letter that was brought in by a trapper yesterday. It's from
MacFarland, chief trader at the Tilton Lake, H.B.C. Post:
"'Superintendent commanding B Division,
Royal North-west Mounted Police,
Dawson, Y.T.
"'Sir:
"'I beg to call your attention to the fact that the Indians in the
vicinity of Red Tail Lake have abandoned their hunting ground and
have moved to the immediate vicinity of this post. They insist that
a ghost or _tamahnawus_ has taken possession of the Red Tail Lake
country, and they refuse to go back until the police come and chase
it away. These Indians have great respect for the Mounted, and if
you can spare a man or two I think they can be persuaded to return
without trouble. I am calling your attention to this matter because
the Tilton Lake Indians are beginning to resent the invasion of their
hunting grounds; and while there has been no open hostility, trouble
may break out at any minute. Also, because the Red Tail Lake country
is winter range for thousands of barren-ground caribou which are the
main dependence of these people for meat, and if the Indians are not
made to return to that section, the forthcoming cold weather will
cause a great deal of suffering among them.
"'I should have investigated this matter myself, but I am alone at
the post, my clerk having gone outside with the brigade. I am, sir,
"'Faithfully yours,
"'T. J. MacFarland, chief trader,
"'H.B.C. at Tilton Lake.'
"So you see," said the Superintendent, "that it is up to us to
straighten this business out. Your job will be to mush over there,
shoo the ghost out of the woods, and round the Red Tail Lake Injuns
back to their own stamping ground. Red Tail Lake is only forty or
fifty miles north of Tilton Lake Post, and I advise that you swing
around and have a talk with MacFarland before you visit Red Tail
Lake. Better talk with the Indians, too. Take Ick Far along. Use
your own judgment when you get there, and if you find that any white
men have put up a job on the Indians to scare them from their hunting
ground, bring them in, and I'll see that they get what's coming to
them. The thing is to get these Indians back home. You'll have to
step lively if you do it before snow flies."
Connie saluted, and as he crossed the room the Superintendent glanced
with pride at the trim figure of his youngest recruit. "He'll get to
the bottom of it," he muttered. "He's a sure enough _tillicum_."
Red Tail Lake lies beyond the Bonnet Plume Pass. On the second day
out, when Connie explained to Ick Far the object of their patrol, the
Indian listened in silence and at the end wagged his head gloomily.
Despite years of service with the Mounted, the Indian, Ick Far,
retained the savage's dread of the supernatural. But stronger than
this dread was his loyalty to the service. Orders were orders. And
Ick Far, albeit with fear and trembling, would have followed an
officer of the Mounted to the very place of departed spirits.
On Burton Creek, and again at Hot Springs, the scout with much
muttering and foreboding of evil, pointed out the graves of the men
he had helped McKeever to bury.
"I'm t'ink dat _kultus_ gol' she cross to de Red Tail Lak'," he
grumbled. And as they pushed forward Connie's thoughts recurred to
the great misshapen nugget of pure gold with its uncanny streaks of
red, and to the graves that marked its trail.
At Tilton Lake Post, Connie interviewed MacFarland. But the
Scotchman could add nothing to what he had already written.
Whereupon, the boy turned his attention to the Indians.
With much gravity the chief of the band expounded: "In the first days
of the dripping moon came a white man and a woman to Red Tail Lake.
They came from the north-westward and not from the country of the
Mackenzie. And upon the shore of a spruce-sheltered bay, they built
a cabin. The man did not seek to trade, nor did he give any presents
of tobacco, or fish-hooks, or files.
"For the space of a moon they lived in the cabin, and each day his
canoe was to be seen on the lake where, always in company with the
woman, he fished and hunted to obtain his winter supply of meat.
Always the man appeared to be afraid. Always his eyes searched the
shores. And always he scanned the faces of the Indians who
approached in canoes as though he feared some man who would come to
him over the water. But now, the Indians know that it was no man he
feared, but the _kultus tamahnawus_. For one day, a small party of
Indians who were hunting upon a hill saw the canoe of the white man
driving rapidly down the lake. In the bow was the woman and the man
was in the stern, and both paddled furiously so that the canoe shot
forward with great speed. And they turned to pass down the river by
which the waters of the lake find their way to the frozen sea. And
even as the Indians looked, the canoe, in the time of a lightning
flash, was gone. The _kultus tamahnawus_ had reached from the depths
and had pulled them beneath the surface of the swift-flowing river.
With their own eyes, the young men who hunted had, seen this thing.
And in great fear they hastened to the village, and would have fled
from the Red Tail Lake country. But there the hunting and trapping
is good. And there come the caribou in thousands to winter, so that
always there is meat in our bellies, and the robes in our lodges are
warm.
"I, Sam Spotted Raven, am chief, and that night I called a council.
The young men who were fearful spoke with eloquence and were loud in
their demands that the village be moved far from the shores of the
spirit-ridden lake. One or two even affirmed that they had seen the
great hand of the _kultus tamahnawus_ rise from the water and drag
the canoe into the depths. But this I did not believe. For I know
that young men who are stricken with fear are more apt to see with
the eyes of the heart than with the eyes of the head. And there are
many strange and terrible things told which, in truth, never
occurred. Many of the older men were like-minded. For they knew
that to move from good hunting grounds at the coming on of winter is
bad. I told the young men that the canoe had struck upon a rock and
had been destroyed after the manner of canoes since the memory of
man. I told them they would find the broken canoe and the bodies of
the drowned ones upon the bank of the river below.
"In the morning I selected three young men and three old men and we
started at a point far below to search the banks of the river. In an
eddy, revolving close beside the bank, we found fragments of the
broken canoe with the bark battered and scraped where it had pounded
against rocks. 'See?' I said to the young men. 'Your _tamahnawus_
has chewed up the canoe but he did not like it and he has spewed it
into the river.' And the old men laughed, but the young men scowled
and said nothing. And farther on, upon a bar of white gravel, the
body of the man bumped softly against the pebbles in the current.
He, too, had been battered upon the rocks of the rapids and we
dragged him from the water and buried him after the manner of the
white men." The old chief paused and puffed at his pipe of heavy
tobacco:
"Once more I ridiculed the young men, and once more the old men
laughed, but the young men replied that the body of the woman we had
not found. That the _kultus tamahnawus_ had broken the canoe and
killed the man, but the woman he had taken to live with him upon the
floor of the river. We continued on toward the lake, searching the
banks, for I did not believe the young men. I believed we would find
the body of the woman even as we had found the man.
"It was noon when we camped in the scrub but a short distance below
the place where the canoe had disappeared. I wanted to visit the
spot but the young men would venture no nearer, for the fear of the
_kultus tamahnawus_ was heavy upon them. I persuaded them to
accompany me to the hill, and point out the spot so that I and the
old men who were not afraid might visit the place. The hill was but
a short rifle shot from the river and as we reached the top there
came to our ears the sound of a splash. All looked toward the river,
but nothing was to be seen save the sunlight glistening upon the
surface of the swift-flowing water."
Again the old man paused and glanced nervously about: "I, Sam Spotted
Raven, believe only what I see with the eyes of my head. In my heart
was no fear of the _kultus tamahnawus_. And my words are true. Even
as we looked, the surface of the water was broken and the head of a
woman appeared with the long hair floating out upon the water and she
started to swim to the shore toward the base of the hill whereon we
stood. With my eyes I saw it. For I looked after the others had
fled. There is no mistake. The woman came up from the water at the
spot where she went down the day before. She drew near the bank and
I waited no longer. No woman of flesh and blood could remain under
the water for a day and a night. She, herself, was a _tamahnawus_,
and she was drawing nearer!
"When I arrived at the village I found that my people had waited not
upon my orders, for the lodges were already struck. And so we came
to Tilton Lake, and will return no more to the Red Tail Lake country
until the white-man police has come and chased the _tamahnawus_ far
from there."