THE FORBIDDEN RIVER
"If we are to get back before the winter closes in upon us we must
start to-night."
Spurling looked up from the pan of dirt which he was washing. "You've
said that ten times a day in the last two weeks if you've said it
once," he snapped.
"Yes, but I mean it this time. We've got all the gold that we can
carry. If you won't come with me, I shall take the canoe and start
back by myself."
"Oh, you will, will you? And d'you think that I don't see through your
game?" Then noticing how Granger's hand had gone instinctively to his
hip-pocket, he added, "And if it comes to fighting, I go armed
myself."
In a flash both men had whipped out their revolvers, but Spurling was
the fraction of a second late; Granger had him covered.
"So you're going to murder me, after all," Spurling continued
sneeringly. "You've postponed it a long time; it was at Drunkman's
Shallows that you were going to do it first. Your excuse then was that
you weren't John Granger, but your baser self. You were always a good
hand at excuses. And pray who are you now?"
"Throw away that revolver," shouted Granger, in a voice that was thick
with anger.
Spurling tossed it a couple of yards away.
"No, that won't do. Throw it into the river. Don't rise to your feet;
crawl to it on your hands and knees."
Spurling looked at him surlily to see whether he dared disobey, then
did as he was commanded. There was a flash of silver as the weapon
spun through the air, a commotion of spray, as though a fish had
risen, and a distant and more distant shining as it sank down and
settled on the river-bed.
"That's right. Now let me tell you, Druce Spurling, that you're a fool
for your pains. If either you or I are to be alive this time next
year, however we may feel towards one another at present, we've got to
act as though we were friends. There'll be time enough for quarrelling
when we've seen the last of Murder Point, and have passed out over the
winter trail with our gold, and know that we are safe. Why, you fool,
we've been here nearly four months and we've already got more gold
than we can take with us; it's October, and the river may close up
almost any day."
Spurling began to mutter something about how, if it weren't for
Granger, _he'd_ be able to get out all right.
"What's that you're saying?" Granger interrupted him. "I've heard that
tale ever since we set out and I'm sick of hearing it. You fancy that
the Mounted Police think that you are dead, and have ceased to search
for you, and that I'm the man they're after now. You say that I'm
known in the district, and that you are unknown, except by that
half-breed who caught sight of you as you went by God's Voice;
therefore you argue that I am a danger, a hindrance to you. You'd like
to get rid of me, so that you may get out with the gold, in safety, by
yourself. It's the same old trick that you tried to play me in the
Klondike; you want to reach El Dorado without me. You swine! Do you
know why it is that the Mounted Police are after me? It's because I
took pity on you, remembering old times, and tried to prevent your
being hanged--that's why. And you make it an excuse for deserting me.
I've not told you that before, and I can see that you don't believe me
now. Well, I'm not going to give you the details which would prove
it--I'm not asking for gratitude from such a cur as you've turned out.
All I'm going to say is this: from the first of your coming up here
I've tried to play fair by you; I've done more than that, I've come
near giving you my life--giving, mind you, not letting you take it as
you've been inclined to do many times. And I'm willing to play fair
until the end--until we get outside and are safe; then we can each go
on our separate ways, if we so decide. I know where I'm going--to El
Dorado. I daresay you're going to try to get there too, but that is
none of my concern. I'm concerned with the present. That canoe is
mine, and what's left of the grub is mine. The gold we share between
us. If you don't want to come with me I'll take the canoe and other
things which belong to me, and my share of the dust and nuggets, and
you can stay here. But if you come with me, you've got to be
honourable and behave like a man--not a husky. I give you two minutes
to make your choice."
"There isn't any choice to be made," growled Spurling; "you offer me
your company or starvation. I choose your company, much as I detest
it. And I'd like to know who you are to speak to me like this? And
what there is to lose your temper about? If you'd explained what you'd
wanted, I'd have come quietly; but I'd rather cut my throat at once
and be done with it than be ordered about by a man like you--a fellow
married to a squaw-wife."
Granger's face went white and his lips trembled; his finger closed
upon the trigger, then with an effort he controlled himself. "I think
I've heard enough from you on that point," he said; "suppose we drop
this discussion and get the canoe ready?"
He turned upon his heel and walked into the hut, followed more slowly
by Spurling.
This was by no means their first falling out in the past four months;
from the night that they left Murder Point things had been going from
bad to worse. Given two men who set out into the forest together,
bound by the strongest ties of friendship, who travel in one another's
footsteps and sleep side by side for days and nights at a stretch,
without seeing any other face but one another's and their own
reflected visage, with nothing to break the silence but their own
voices, and the cries of the wilderness, which have become
irritatingly monotonous because of their sameness and frequent
reiteration, and it is a thing to be marvelled at if they do not come
back enemies. But when they set out each with his own hidden secret,
each with his own private suspicion of his companion, with a gnawing
enmity between them which has been changed into a show of friendship
only by force of circumstance, when the object of their journey is a
possession over which they have quarrelled before and parted company,
concerning which they are already secretly jealous, then the final
relationship of those two men can be forecast without any fear of
error.
Before they had reached the Forbidden River they had ceased to
converse. By the time that they had landed at the hut, their nerves
were jangled. Before they had been working there many days they had
thought their way over all their old grievances, and, like petulant
children, were on the lookout for any new cause of offence. The cause
had come when Spurling, tired with rocking the cradle, his face and
hands swollen by the sun and mosquito-bitten, had said, "I don't see
why we should take all this trouble. I'm going to quit work."
Granger was attending to the flume which they had constructed. "You're
going to do no such thing," he had said.
"Yes, I am; you're not my master and I shan't ask your permission.
There's as much gold as we shall require in those two sacks which the
Man with the Dead Soul washed out. If you've got such a scrupulous
conscience, you can dig out your share; but I'm not going to help
you."
"So you've turned thief now, in addition to your other profession,"
was the retort which Granger had thrown back.
Out of such small foolishnesses had arisen quarrel after quarrel, so
that it had become only necessary for Spurling to make a statement for
Granger to contradict him, or for Granger to express a desire for
Spurling to thwart its accomplishment. Day by day they would toil
together, digging out the muck, emptying it into the sluice-boxes or
testing it in the pan, without exchanging a word; then some trifling
difficulty would arise, for which, perhaps, neither of them was
responsible, and they would seize the opportunity to goad one another
on to murder with the evil of what they said. On one point only were
they agreed--the gathering of the most wealth in the shortest time;
for wealth meant to them escape and the preserving of their lives. To
this end they feverishly laboured both day and night, reserving no
special hours for sleep and rest. Yet, even in their escape, as has
been seen, they did not necessarily include one another; so far as
Spurling was concerned, when once the gold had been acquired, it was
"each man for himself." There was no loyalty between them; they were
kept together only by a common avarice, and by fear of the wideness of
the Northland.
Yet there were times when Granger would waken to a sense of something
that was better. By the end of August they had washed out all the dust
and nuggets that they could possibly carry, and it was then that he
had recognised that greed, regardless of consequence, had become the
master-passion of both their lives. The words which the Dead Soul had
spoken to him would come back, "I will make a man more precious than
fine gold; even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir"--and he would
look at Spurling and, bending down above the water, he would regard
himself. Going over to Spurling he would say, laying his hand upon his
shoulder, "Druce, in spite of the harsh things which we have spoken,
we must still be friends, and seek out El Dorado together."
After such a reconciliation they would talk together of their plans
and the various ways in which they would amend their lives; but
gradually they came to know that, while they lived, their hatred never
could be dead, and, defiant of whatsoever resolutions they might make,
would surely reassert itself. It was the spirit of the North which
spoke through them, and not they themselves--the spirit of silence,
striving to utter itself, and of enmity to all the world.
They carried out their treasure from the hut and placed it in the
canoe. It was done up in all kinds of packets, in flour-sacks, empty
tobacco-tins, torn strips of blanket which they had sewn together, and
abandoned clothing tied up at the arms and legs. Before they had
placed it all in, together with what remained to them of their outfit,
the little craft sat so low in the water that it was evident that it
would be swamped if there was added to its burden the weight of two
men. They were compelled to sit down and consider how much of their
outfit could be abandoned. Even then, when they had rejected all the
provisions, save those which were necessary for a five days' journey,
and their blankets and their rifles, the canoe was still unsafe.
At Spurling's suggestion they limited themselves to half rations and
took off all their clothing except their trousers and shirts; and
still it was too heavy. Very reluctantly they set to work to take out
some of the gold, commencing with the smaller amounts. When they had
finished, they had thrown out all their last month's work, and still
the canoe was by no means steady.
Spurling, with the foresight and thrift of a man who has a long life
before him, went into the hut and, bringing out a spade, commenced to
dig. When he had made a hole of sufficient width and depth, he buried
the abandoned nuggets and gold dust.
Granger watched him to the end. Then, with a touch of bitterness in
his tones, he asked, "And what's that for?"
"In case I should ever be able to come back," said Spurling, "and so
that no one else may find it."
"Don't you worry yourself, you'll be in El Dorado before that time,
or else hanged. In either case, a trifle like that won't matter."
He scowled; Granger's flippancies on the subject of death, especially
death with a rope about his neck, always made him feel unhappy. He
tried to take his place in the stern, but Granger would not trust him
there; he signed to him to take the forward paddle, where he would
have no opportunity of making a surprise attack. They pushed off and
quickly lost sight of the hut, the discovery of which had meant so
much to them. Now that they had procured their wealth and abandoned
their diggings, all their eagerness was for escape.
The sunset lay behind them, and before, like a black-mailed host,
preparing to dispute their passage, the shadows of night were
gathered. During the past month the forest leaves had turned from
green, and gray, into copper, yellow, and flaming red. The branches of
the tallest of the underbrush were already bare and, clustered
together beneath the tree-trunks, created the effect of scarves of
mist which shifted from silver to lavender. The floor of the forest
was of gold, where the fallen foliage had scattered; but, where the
scrub-oak grew, it was golden splashed with blood. The dominant tone
of the landscape was of gold and blood; through the heart of which ran
the river, changing by infinitesimal, overlapping shadings from yellow
into red, from red into night-colour, from night-colour into
nothingness. Down this roadway passed the trespassers, with the thing
which they had stolen weighing down their canoe to the point of
danger; murder was in their hearts, and grey fear ran before them.
Instinctively they bowed their heads, suspicious of one another,
peering ahead into the distance for an enemy who awaited them, and
from side to side or behind for one who followed.
During their stay at the hut, nothing had come near to disturb
them--nothing in human guise. But from the first they had been aware
of the timber-wolf, which Spurling had seen on his first visit and had
described to Granger. It had not shown itself in the daytime and had
rarely been seen in its entirety at night; but they had known that it
was near them by the rustling of the bushes, and had at times caught a
glimpse of its shadow, or of its eyes looking out at them from under
cover.
Even when they had not heard it, they had come across its footprints.
Towards the dawn, had one of them risen early and strayed far from
camp, he had sometimes seen it cross his path ahead, or had heard it
tracking him. So nervous had they become, that they had never stirred
far from one another; while one had slept, the other had kept watch.
Perhaps this dread of a constant menacer, and the more terrible fear
of being left alone in its presence, had prevented bloodshed when
their more furious quarrels were at their height. Of a mere wolf, no
man who is armed need have terror; their discomfort arose from the
suspicion that this creature, which watched and lay in wait for them,
was more than an animal.
There had been a night when it was Spurling's turn to keep guard, and
he had slept. Granger had wakened with a nervous sense of peril.
Through the open door of the hut he had seen the silver of the
moonlight in the tree-tops across the river and had seen the outline
of his companion stretched along the ground. As he watched, he had
seen a shadow fall across the threshold, followed by a head. It was
grey in colour, the ears were laid back, and the fangs were bared as
if with hunger. But it was the eyes which had absorbed his attention.
They were angry and reproachful; he had seen them before--they were
the eyes of a man whose soul is dead. They recalled to him that night
when Beorn had declared himself. That he recognised them, as he
admitted to himself when daylight was come, may have been only fancy;
but the impression which he had while he gazed on them was very real.
Moreover, he saw distinctly the scar of the wound which Spurling had
inflicted in his fight at the cache. Then the head had been withdrawn,
and the hut had been darkened by a huge form which stood across the
doorway. He had heard Spurling turn over on his side, rouse up and cry
out.
The form had crouched and sprung, and the light shone in again. There
was a sound of scuffling outside, followed by a thud. Leaping to his
feet, dazed and bewildered, he had run out in time to see a
timber-wolf of monstrous size, with Spurling's arm in its mouth,
dragging him away into the forest. Careless of his own safety, he had
gone after the animal, belabouring its head with the stock of his
rifle, for he was afraid to shoot, lest he should wound his companion.
It had dropped its prey and fled, bounding off into the dusk between
the tree-trunks, leaving Spurling a little mauled but not much
injured. This experience had served to prove to them that, however
much they hated, they were still indispensable to each other's safety,
and must hold together.
Granger, for his own peace of mind, had sought to find an explanation
for this happening. If the beast was indeed Beorn's soul, then why
was it exiled there, on the Forbidden River? Had Beorn killed the
miners, in his underground fights on the Comstock, not out of
righteous indignation, as he had stated, but only for the pleasure of
destroying life and out of envious, disappointed avarice? Had he
mocked God consciously in making Him responsible for those crimes, and
in attributing to Him their inspiration? If these things were so, then
this might have been his fitting punishment, that, when by his own
wickedness he had made himself an outcast from the company of mankind,
and had been compelled to banish himself, for the sake of his own
preservation, to a land where nothing was of much value, money least
of all, there he had discovered the gold in the profitless search of
which he had made himself vile. The power over gladness, which it
would have represented to another man, had been of no use to him now,
for he had not dared to take it out of the district to where it would
acquire its artificial worth; yet he had not dared to remain on the
Forbidden River: for there was no food there. So his body and soul had
parted company; his body going south to God's Voice, while his soul
stayed near to the thing after which it had lusted, for which it had
exchanged its happiness, to guard it, that it might not become the
possession of a freer man and bring him the gladness which to a
murderer is denied.
This had seemed to Granger to be the only explanation which fitted in
with all the facts. In accepting it, he had found room for the
suspicion that he also had laid waste his life not for the sake of
romance, not for his dream's sake, but for the sake of greed alone.
Having made gold his hope, having said to the fine gold, "Thou art my
confidence," he had committed an iniquity to be punished by the judge.
Had he suffered all that punishment as yet, or was there worse to
follow? Would the worst that he could expect be death? Once, when he
was poor, he had only feared life; but now, with his treasure beneath
his feet, with the canoe gliding southward on the journey out, there
was added this new terror--the fear of death. He desired most
passionately to live now.
Darkness had fallen and the air was growing colder. Presently, flake
by flake, the first snow of winter drifted down. The two men said
nothing, but they paddled faster, for the chill struck into their
chests through their shirts, making them repent the folly which had
led them to abandon their clothing that more gold might be carried.
Every now and again, Spurling broke out into a fit of coughing and, as
he shivered, the canoe trembled. As for Granger his hands were heavy,
his arms ached, and his fingers were numb; he dimly wondered at his
own perseverance that he still continued to ply his paddle. As the
cold spread through him, his senses took to sleeping. He was aroused
by a sudden jerk and a shout from Spurling, "Curse you. Back water.
Turn her head out into the river."
Looking up, he saw that they had struck the bank and come near
capsizing. And he saw more than that; scarcely two yards away a pair
of glowing eyes shone out at him.
"For the sake of God, make haste," cried Spurling; "the brute's about
to pounce."
With a twist of the paddle he swung the canoe's head round, and with
the help of Spurling drove her out. They were none too early, for,
just behind them, where a moment since the canoe had been hanging,
they heard a splash.
For the rest of the night they kept watch over themselves lest they
slept. Till the dawn broke, whenever they turned their eyes toward the
bank, they could discern the grey streak of the timber-wolf, dodging
in and out between the tree-trunks, keeping pace with them. So long as
they were on the Forbidden River they journeyed both day and night,
allowing themselves scant time for rest. If they had been eager to get
there, they were still more anxious to get away. When in the middle of
the third night they swung out into the Last Chance, they stopped and
looked back. The moon was shining; sitting squarely on its haunches
they could see the timber-wolf, which had run out on the spit of land
to the water's edge, gazing after them malignantly.
Breaking the long silence, Spurling said, "Thank God, he can come no
further."
"But his body awaits us at Murder Point," Granger replied.
"I can deal with men's bodies," Spurling said. Then they moved onward,
pressing up against the current.
At the first hint of daylight they landed and hid themselves, lest, in
that deserted land, their presence should be detected. The precaution
proved wise, for about noon a party of belated voyageurs passed
northward en route for the Crooked Creek. They were singing, keeping
time with their paddles; their careless gladness made the hunted men,
for all their gold, feel envious.
They dared not kindle a fire, and at last, that they might save the
little warmth they had, were compelled to lie down together, breast to
breast, clasping one another closely as though they were friends. At
sunset they again set out. All night long to Granger the sky seemed
filled with uncouth legendary animals, which trooped across the
horizon file on file. Sometimes they were Beorn's camels, sometimes
they were timber-wolves or brindled huskies with yellow faces, but
more often they were creatures of evil passions, for which there are
no names. To avoid looking at them, he would keep his eyes in the
canoe or would stare at Spurling's back. But the sight of his
companion's monotonous movements, compelling him to go on working when
his arms ached and his body seemed broken, caused such mad fury to
arise within him that he feared for his own actions, and was glad to
return his eyes to the clouds. At dawn, as though a golden door had
been opened, the creatures passed in and disappeared, and he saw them
no more till sunset.
For himself, he would gladly have lain down, and died, had not
Spurling with the same indomitable courage which he had displayed on
the Dawson trail, roused him up and compelled him with his brutal
jibes to play the man. By the end of the first day on the Last Chance
their food gave out, and since leaving the hut all their meals had
been scanty; then they would willingly have given a third of the gold
which they carried in exchange for a hatful of the flour which, in
their greed for nuggets, they had left behind on the Forbidden River's
banks. If a bird flew over their heads, they dared not fire a gun lest
its report should be heard, so great was their fear of possible
arrest.
As their weakness increased, the downward rush of the current seemed
to gather strength; there were times when their progress was almost
imperceptible. Sufficient snow had already fallen to cloak the land in
whiteness, and they were very conscious that every day the
temperature, was sinking lower. In the middle of the seventh night of
their journey they felt something grate against their prow, and they
knew that the river was freezing over. They had only five more miles
to traverse; they were too exhausted and stiff with cold to attempt to
reach their destination by walking along the bank, even if they had
been willing to abandon their treasure; so there was nothing for it
but to make one last effort. So nerveless were they with fatigue that,
when they went by the bend, Spurling forgot to be afraid of the thing
which he had seen there; he had not the strength to remember. They
reached the pier when the dawn was breaking, so faint that they could
not rise and crawl out. They would have drifted back over the way
which they had travelled, had not the ice closed in and held them.
Two hours after their arrival, Eyelids looked out from the window at
Murder Point and, seeing them, came to their rescue and lifted them
into the shack.
They had arrived none too early, for that day the river froze over,
the snow fell in earnest, and the Keewatin winter settled down.