SPURLING'S TALE
Granger from his place beside the red-hot stove said nothing, but
bowed his head. Spurling saw his action through the darkness and took
courage.
"There is not much to tell," he said. "After you left us, my luck
seemed to vanish. My great bonanza pinched out, as Mordaunt's had
done. I spent the spring and summer in washing out the gold from my
winter's dump, and in sinking shafts to locate another streak which I
might follow in the winter to come. I found none, but at first I did
not lose confidence. I had plenty of capital and could well afford to
spend some of it in exploration. I was quite sure that my two claims
contained a hundred times as much gold as I had taken out--all I had
to do was to find its location.
"What Mordaunt said to you about me was true--my sudden good fortune
had turned my head; I flung my earnings right and left, spending them
on the most foolish extravagances, and still remained avaricious. I
developed a mania for asserting my power and getting myself talked
about. You know that in those days a new 'millionaire' in the Klondike
was expected to do some of that; if, when he came to Dawson, he was
sparing, and refused to treat the town to half-dollar drinks till
everyone was drunk, they'd take him by his legs and arms and batter
him against a wall until he gave in and cried, 'Yes.' Why, I've seen
men set to and pan out from the sawdust on the floor of a saloon the
gold which I had scattered. I performed such follies as made
Swiftwater Bill famous when, after he had squabbled with his
'lady-friend,' and he saw her ordering eggs, of which she happened to
be fond, he bought up every egg in town at a dollar a piece, nine
hundred in all, and smashed them, to spite her, against the side of
her house. I was a confounded fool; if I hadn't been, I shouldn't have
quarrelled with you, and we shouldn't have been here now--we might
have been in El Dorado, perhaps.
"Well, when I'd blown a good part of my money over stupidities for
which I scarcely received even pleasure in return, I awoke to the fact
that my workings had ceased to bear. Already the Sleeping River had
got a bad name and was deserted; it was a commonplace that 'Drunkman's
Shallows was played out.' I wouldn't acknowledge it. I took pride in
the Shallows because I had discovered them; I wasted the remainder of
my money in buying up other men's useless claims, and in engaging men
to work them. Towards the end, even I had to own to myself that the
streaks had pinched out and the Shallows were barren; but out of
desperate bravado I kept on until my money was at an end. Then, when I
was clean broke, I chose out a partner and went prospecting once
again.
"At first we found nothing, for, as I say, when you left me my luck
departed. For months we wandered, finding only pay and colours, till
we entered the Squaw River and discovered what we wanted at Gold Bug
Bend. We stayed there working and testing the dirt till well into
January; then one day we drifted into a streak which panned out
twenty dollars to the pan, and so we knew at last that we had struck
it. We eyed one another suspiciously, for we each of us remembered how
you had been treated, and we began to talk about the necessity of
recording our claims and discovery. Neither of us would trust the
other to go alone, for we both wanted the claim on which we had been
working, where the rich streak had been located, so we set out
together. At first we travelled leisurely, speaking to one another;
but soon we grew silent, and began to race. My partner was a lighter
built man than I, and had the better team of dogs, and carried no gun.
Very soon he began to draw away from me; but I relied on my superior
strength to catch him up, for the journey was long. Then, somehow, as
he ran farther and farther ahead, the belief grew up within me, that,
whatever I might do, God meant him to get there first as a punishment
to me for what I had done to you. At that thought all my lust after
power, and the memory of the mastery which I had lost, came back, and
I said, 'I will outwit God this time, however.'
"Mechanically, almost without thinking, I levelled my gun and
fired--and saw my partner drop. When I came up with him, he was lying
face-downwards, with his arms stretched out before him along the
ground. I turned him over and called on him to rouse. I kicked him
with the toe of my snowshoe, and tried to get angry, pretending to
myself that he was shamming. Then I knelt down beside him and covered
him with a robe, deceiving myself that he had fainted and would
presently awake. After I had waited for what seemed to be ages, I
called him by name, and, when he did not stir, I laid my finger on his
eyeballs--and so I knew that he was dead. When I knew that, fear got
hold upon me; at every crack of the ice I persuaded myself that
someone was coming up or down the frozen river, or had already seen
me, and lay hidden behind a snow-ridge, watching all my doings. So I
took up my comrade, and thrust him upright into a hole in the ice,
trusting that because he had been my friend he would understand, and
never tell. But his arms, which he had extended in falling, stuck out
above the surface, as if signing my secret to all the world. They had
grown stiff and frozen, and I could not bend them, so I knocked off,
and piled up around and above them, blocks of ice.
"Then, because I was fearful lest my coming alone without my partner
into Dawson to record a claim might arouse suspicion, I turned back to
the Gold Bug Bend. There I stayed and drifted with the streak for
three months, and thawed out at least sixty thousand dollars' worth of
muck. I had time to think things over. I came to the conclusion that I
could not record my claim, since that might bring the miners up who
would notice that my partner was missing; neither could I take down my
dust to Dawson to express it to the outside, since that also would
lead to questions being asked as to where I'd got it, seeing that it
was so great in amount. So I determined to lie quiet until the summer
time, and then to wash out only so much gold as I could carry about
myself.
"There was little chance of my being discovered on the Squaw River,
for it is seldom travelled, and I calculated that in four months' time
when the spring had come, the river would float the body far away to
where it never would be found, or if found, then at a time when it
would be unrecognisable. But in my first calculation I had not
reckoned with my loneliness, and the horror which comes of knowledge
of hidden crime. By the end of March I could stand it no longer and
set out for Dawson, where there were men in whose company I could
forget.
"Soon after I got there the winter broke up and, by the first of May,
though the Klondike itself was still frozen solid to its river-bed,
the snow and ice from the country and rivers to the south, which had
been exposed to the rays of the sun, had thawed and, draining into it,
had created a shallow torrent which, running between the banks above
the ground-ice, gave an appearance of the Klondike in full flood. Very
soon the water over-flowed, so that houses were deluged and men had to
take to boats and the roofs of their cabins for safety; it looked as
though Dawson would be washed away. The drifting ice commenced to pack
and pile against the bridge above the town; unless the jam could be
broken before the ground-ice loosened, the bridge must collapse. Some
men volunteered to blow it up with dynamite. In so doing they caused
the ground-ice to tear itself free from the bottom so that, the water
getting underneath, it floated up and pressed the pack against the
floor of the bridge, forming, for a half-minute, an impassable barrier
against the torrent rushing down. The flood rose behind it like a
tidal wave, tossing on its crest a gigantic floe, standing waist-deep
in which I saw, for the second during which it flashed in the sun, a
frozen man, whom I recognised, who gazed upright towards me with his
arms upstretched--only for a second, then the bridge went down and the
water leapt over it, driving timbers, and floe, and man below the
surface, carrying them northwards passed the city, out of sight.
"The thing had been so sudden that only a few of those who were
watching had realised what had happened; of these still fewer had seen
the man; and of these only one had known and recognised my partner, as
I had done. None of them could say for certain whether the man they
had seen upon the floe had been alive or dead. In the confusion which
followed the catastrophe this rumour was at first regarded as an idle
tale to which no one paid much attention. But, when that one man who
had seen and recognised came to me and inquired as to my partner's
whereabouts, and I could give him no satisfactory answers, curiosity
was aroused.
"The Mounted Police instituted a search for the body, but as yet it
was not found.
"I was half-minded to leave the country and go outside. Would to God I
had! But I was afraid that such conduct, following immediately upon
this occurrence, would attract attention. I returned to the Squaw
River and spent the half of another year up there. Then one day in
November an Indian, who was passing up-river, stepped into my cabin
and told me that the Mounted Police were searching for me. When I
asked him why, he said that the English friends of my partner had been
inquiring for him, and that I was known to have been the last man to
be seen in his company. When that had been said, I knew the meaning of
the sight I had witnessed when the bridge gave--my partner had sent
his body down river on the first of the flood to warn me of my danger,
as if he would say, '_Escape while you can; it will soon be
discovered_.'
"I gathered together what gold I could carry and, travelling by night
only that I might not be noticed (and you know how long November
nights can be in the Yukon), I struck the trail for Skaguay--the route
by which two and a half years before you had fled. I got out
undetected, as I thought, and arrived at Vancouver. There I read in a
paper that at Forty-Mile the body had been found. I was seized with
panic and hurried on to Winnipeg; on the way I was alarmed to find
that I was being shadowed. I escaped my follower on my arrival there
and sought out Wrath, the only man I knew in town. I was sure that I
could trust him if he were sufficiently heavily bribed; so I gave him
all the gold I had, and told him the truth, and offered to furnish him
with such information as would enable him to go up and stake the rich
bonanza which I had left behind on the Squaw River--all this if he
would only help me to escape. He agreed to accept my terms, despite
the risks he was taking in helping to conceal a criminal. He told me
that you were up here, and said that it was no good going East, or
striking down to the States, since all the railroads would be watched,
and that my only chance lay in making a dash due north for Keewatin.
He gave me a guide for the first three hundred miles of the journey,
and the swiftest team of huskies he had. He smuggled me out to
Selkirk, and gave me introductions to such men as could be trusted on
the way. Before I left, I heard that they had made me an outlaw by
placing a thousand dollars on my head.
"I've travelled day and night since then, only halting when my
strength gave out, or when I had to hide till darkness came that I
might pass unobserved by a Company's outpost.
"And I'm followed; I know that. I have not seen him, but I can feel
that he is drawing nearer, and now is not far behind. I knew that if
I could reach you, in spite of what has happened between us, you would
save me. Granger, you must save me, if not for the sake of what I am,
then because of what I once was to you in our London days. I know that
I've deteriorated and have become bad; but it was more the fault of
the country than of the man. You know what happens to a fellow who
lives up there, how greedy and gloomy he gets, always feeling that the
gold is underground and that he must get to it even at the expense of
his honour and his life. You've felt it, you came near doing what I
have done. If Mordaunt hadn't stopped you, you would have stood where
I now stand."
Granger broke in upon the frenzy of his appeal, asking abruptly,
"Where is Mordaunt now?"
If his face had not been in the shadow, Granger would have seen how
Spurling's lips tightened as to withstand sudden pain, and his body
shuddered at that question. "Oh, Mordaunt is all right," he said. "He
left the Yukon soon after you left--he said that the fun was spoilt
without you. I daresay he's seeking for El Dorado or else is married."
"You are sure of that?" asked Granger.
"Sure of what? All I know is that he quarrelled with me over your
affair because he thought that I had not used you justly; shortly
afterwards we broke up our partnership, and I was told that he had
gone out through Alaska, via Michael to Seattle."
When the man at the back of the room said nothing, Spurling asked in a
tone of horror, "Why, you don't think that I killed him too, do
you,--just because I have owned to shooting one man?"
"I don't know what to think," replied Granger, speaking slowly; "no,
certainly I do not think that you killed him, _too_."
"Then, what?"
"Never mind, since the matter's in doubt I will help you. What do you
propose to do?"
"Go on till I come to the Forbidden River, and hide there till the
hunt for me is over, and they think that I am dead."
"And then, if you survive?"
"Creep back into the world and begin life all afresh."
"And how can I help you?"
"By lending me a fresh team, for mine is all tired out, and giving me
provisions for my journey, and delaying my pursuer when he arrives."
"How shall I delay him!"
"Oh, you will know when you see him--there are many ways, some of
which are very effectual." Spurling played with the butt of his
revolver as he said these words, and looked at Granger tentatively,
then looked aside. "For instance, the winter is breaking up and he
might fall through the ice; or while he is staying here several of his
dogs might die; or, at the least, you can tell him that you have not
seen me and persuade him that he has passed me by. If he refuses to
believe that, you can suggest that I have left the river and gone into
the forest, and so put him off my track--anything to give me time."
"He would scarcely believe the last," said Granger, "for on the Last
Chance there is only one trail--by the river up and down. And I want
you to understand Spurling, that if I do help you it will be by clean
means; I intend to play fair all round."
"Play fair! Do you call it fair play when a nation sets out to hunt
one man? I have only done what thousands have thought and intended.
What better is the man who effects my capture, and gets the thousand
dollars which they have set upon my head, and sends me to the
scaffold, than I myself who without premeditation shot a man. You're a
nice one to talk about playing fair to the fellow who gave you your
chance, and was your friend, and whom you tried to murder! Which of
us, do you suppose, is the cleaner man?"
Granger did not answer; through the last few hours he had been asking
himself that same question. Spurling, thinking he had offended, began
to plead afresh. "Oh, John, if you knew all that I have suffered you
would pity me. God knows I've repented for what I did with drops of
blood. If I'd only thought before I acted, I might have known that I
stood to gain nothing by it. What good was the gold to me when I got
it? I could only hide it, and wealth is not wealth when you have to
keep it secret to yourself."
He paused exhausted, and fell back drooping in his chair. Granger's
pity had been aroused. "Druce," he said, "I have promised that I will
help you; you must be content with that."
Spurting clutched at his hand and pressed it to his lips. "And there
are things which you need not tell him?" he questioned. "Say that
there are things that you will not tell."
"There are things that I will not tell," Granger repeated. "I will not
tell him that I have seen you, and will refuse to give him help."
Spurling's eyes had again sought out the west and the intervening
stretch of sky, where from the east the reflected light of dawn had
already begun to spread.
"I don't like the look of it," he muttered; "I can feel that he is not
far behind. Every time I look up-river I expect to see him, a dull
brown shadow, hurrying down between the banks of white. I must be
going; while I stay I cannot rest."
So, when all had been got ready and Granger had supplied him with a
new outfit and an untired team of dogs, he accompanied him out on to
the Point where the dawn was breaking. Then he told him of a cache
which Beorn had made at the mouth of the Forbidden River, which he
might open, and from which he could get supplies if his own ran short.
He went with him a mile down the ice, that he might guide him round a
part of the trail which was rotten and unsafe to travel. At parting,
Spurling grasped his hand; pointing back to the danger spot he
whispered, "That is one of the things which you need not tell." Before
he could answer him, he had lashed up his dogs and was on his way
northwards. It was then that the thought of a final test flashed
through Granger's mind. "Spurling, Spurling," he called, "did you know
that Mordaunt was a woman and not a man?"
Whether he had heard Granger could not tell, for he did not halt or
turn his head; driving yet more furiously, urging his huskies forward
with the whip and shouting them on, he vanished round the bend.
Granger stood gazing after him, listening to the last faint echo of
his cries; then he turned slowly and walked through the half-light
back to his lonely store. Over to his right, above the horizon the red
sun leapt. He did not raise his eyes; but, as he walked, he whispered
over and over to himself words which seemed incredible, "And, if it
had not been for her, _I_ should have been like that."