The beginning of the end――Deeper into the mountains――The western
slope――On the edge of the snow――The golden valley――It is all
mine――Night thoughts――Last words――I see him no more.
Two days passed away. They had been days of peace and rest. No further
attempt had been made to molest us. Awed by the terrible fate of so
many of their bravest men and leaders, who had lost their lives on
the raft over the cataract, the Sircies had abandoned the valley and
returned to their own country.
When the fact of their departure was fully ascertained by the scout, we
moved out again to the meadow by the lake; but before we quitted the
island Red Cloud had a long conversation with me regarding our future
movements. Seated by his father’s grave on the evening next but one
after the events recorded in the last chapter had taken place, he began
by telling me that the object of his life was now achieved, and that
henceforth he was careless as to what might happen to him, or whither
he would go. He would probably turn his face towards the south again,
and join some scattered remnant of his tribe at the headwaters of the
Platte, or in the country of the Yellowstone.
I told him that it was all the same to me which way he turned his
steps; I was ready to follow him.
But he replied that it must not be. Already his companionship, he
said, had cost me heavy. My faithful friend had lost his life, my own
had often been in hazard. He had still many enemies. The Sircies, the
Bloods, the Blackfeet, and the Peaginoos, would all bear to him in
future an enmity, not the less active because it was based upon wrongs
done to him by them in the first instance. For himself, it mattered
little now what his enemies might do; his father’s spirit could rest
in peace. But for me it was different. I had been a true brother to
him; he could no longer lead me into danger. There was yet one place to
which we would travel on the same road, and when that place was reached
we would part.
Such was the substance of what he said to me.
It is needless to say that I felt terribly cast down by this threatened
ending of our companionship. It seemed impossible to think of life
without Red Cloud. True, only a year had elapsed since he and I had
met, but that year had been equal to five. From him I had learnt all I
knew about the prairie and its wild things. Would it be possible for me
now to face its chances and its trials alone? And where else could I
go? I had literally no home.
This wild life, while it taught the lessons of bravery, hardihood,
endurance, activity, and energy, did not bring worldly wealth to those
who followed it. I had come to the prairie poor. I would leave it even
poorer still. As these thoughts crowded upon me, my face no doubt
betrayed to the Sioux their presence. He spoke in a cheerier tone,――
“Our parting time,” he said, “has not yet come. Wait until it is at
hand, and the path you will have to follow will be clearer to you.”
Next day, as I have said, we quitted the island, and made our camp
again by the lake. On the following day we packed our horses, and moved
off to the upper end of the valley. I had thought that there was no
outlet in that direction, but in this I had been mistaken, for shortly
after mid-day we came to where a steep face of cliff rose before us.
The front of this slanting wall held a zigzag narrow path, just wide
enough for a single horse or man to move along it. Its beginning in
the valley was hidden by a growth of firs and underbush, and was known
only to Red Cloud. We ascended by this trail, and having gained the top
of the cliff, hit upon a well-defined path, winding in and out between
wooded hills. Following this for some hours, we reached before sunset a
wild glen high up in the mountains.
On the next day we followed up this glen until evening, and camped
amid some dwarf fir-trees at a spot where a small spring trickled
from the hill-side and flowed out towards the west. All the other
streams had flowed eastwards, but we were now on the “divide,” and this
westward-flowing spring was one of the parent rills of some mighty
Pacific river.
The snow-line was not very far above our camping-place; we could see
the mountain sheep upon a bare ridge of hills; and the “bleating” cry
of the ptarmigan reached our ears when, next morning, the sunrise was
glistening on the snowy summits around us.
We remained at this camp all that day. The scout and the Iroquois set
out for a long hunt after mountain sheep, and Red Cloud asked me to go
with him in another direction. No one stayed to watch the camp, for we
were now high above the usual haunts of men, where the great hill-tops
dwelt in utter loneliness. We reached, after a toilsome walk, a deep
secluded valley, opening upon the one that held our camp.
A ragged forest of pine-trees fringed its sides, through which we
pushed our way for a considerable distance. At length, the Sioux began
to look around him, as though he was seeking for some landmark, or
spot known to him in other times, and once or twice he looked to the
right or left for some remembered mountain peak by which to mark his
whereabouts.
The valley had now closed in, until it was only a narrow cleft between
steep overhanging cliffs. It looked as though some long ago convulsion
of nature had split open this fissure, over which in time had grown
a sparse old forest. Large stone rocks and _débris_ half-imbedded in
the earth, cumbered the floor of this valley. With a few strokes of
his small axe Red Cloud now cut down a dry pine stick, off which he
knocked the side branches; then he sat down on one of the rocks, and
said, “The valley which holds our camp leads down to the west side of
the mountain. If you follow it down for three days you would come to
a river flowing for a time towards the north, then bending west, and
at last turning south, until it falls into the sea. Far down on that
river, on the sandbanks and bars of its course, there are many white
men at work. They are washing the sand and the gravel for a yellow
dust; that yellow dust is gold. They have killed the Indians, who lived
in that part of the country since the world began, but who thought more
about the salmon in the river than of the yellow dust that lay amongst
its sands. The water that carried that gold to these sand-bars, came
from this mountain range where we now are, the gold came from it too.”
As he spoke he began to wedge the pine stick between a fragment of
rock and the bank to which it partly adhered. The stone, loosened from
its place, rolled down to a lower level. Where it had been, there lay
exposed to view a hollow space, in which a number of dull yellow lumps
were seen, mixed with white stones and withered pine-moss.
Red Cloud laid his stick upon this hollow in the darker rock.
“Look,” he said, “there is the yellow dust for which the white man
fights, and robs, and kills. There it is in plenty――not in dust, but
in stones and lumps; take it. A white man without that yellow stone is
like an Indian who has no buffalo. Take it, my friend. You have been a
brother to me; you have fought for me, you have lost much for me: here
is all I have to give you. Around where we stand this gold lies thick
among these rocks. Five years ago an old Shuswap Indian, who had once
been in the mining camps of the lower country, showed me this spot,
which he had long kept secret, dreading lest the white man should find
it out, and come here to kill the Indians as he had done elsewhere.
That old Shuswap is dead, and I alone know of this place. See! all
around you these white veins run through the rocks! Look up overhead,
you will see them glistening in the sun! See below, where the dry
stream-bed is choked with the broken masses, and the golden lumps lie
thickly about! In a few hours you can knock out from these crumbling
pieces gold enough to load a horse with. It is all yours. To me it
would be of no use. I would not track the moose better if I had it; my
aim with my arrow or rifle would not be truer, my eye would not see
clearer, my arm would not be stronger; but you are nothing if you have
it not. All your courage, your friendship, your energy, will count
for little if you have not plenty of these yellow stones. There, fill
this saddle-bag to-day; to-morrow we will come here again, and then
on the next day we will move away. Where the valley divides below our
camp, our paths in life must separate.”
[Illustration: “Look!” said Red Cloud, “there is the yellow dust for
which the white man fights, and robs, and kills.”]
I seemed to be in a dream as I listened to all this. I looked around,
and saw plainly enough the truth of what he said. There, running in
every direction through the rocks, were the white seams of quartz; and
thick amid their snowy surface shone the rich yellow lumps of gold. A
few yards away, where the splintered rocks lay piled together, small
nuggets lay mixed with gravel and broken stones; and in the hollow
beneath the stone which he had at first moved from its position, was
the hoard, long since gathered and hidden there by the old Indian who
had discovered the place. And now all this was mine――mine to do what
I liked with. I who but a day since was a poor wanderer, possessing
only a horse, a gun, and a few items of prairie trappings, was now the
owner of this golden glen, with enough to purchase all Glencar twice
over. And yet I was not elated at the sudden change in my fortunes.
I saw that the end of my wild life had come. I saw the future, with
its smoke of cities, its crowds chained to the great machine called
civilization, pulling slowly along the well-beaten road. No more the
great wilderness; no more those vast and gorgeous sunsets; no more my
companionship with this strange lonely man.
The Sioux read my thoughts. “You think the wild life would be better
than this gold I have given you. You look upon your life as closed. My
friend, you are wrong. Your life is still all before you. You are only
setting out upon its prairies. Many long years from now, when you are
in sight of the Mountains of the Setting Sun, you will know that I, Red
Cloud the Sioux, showed you the right trail, though he could not follow
it himself. We cannot change our colours. The red man cannot give up
the wilderness; he dies amid the city and the fenced field. You cannot
make this wild life your own, even though you may wish to do so. You
have other work to do; you must go back and do it.”
“And you?” I said, rousing myself from the dream into which I had
fallen, “will you not come with me, and share the wealth you have given
me? With the hundredth part of the gold lying around us here, we can
traverse the earth from side to side. There are vast spaces in other
lands as well as in this one. Asia has wilds as lonely as America.
There are sky-bounded plains in Southern Africa, where the wild animals
roam in savage freedom. Come with me, and we will seek these huge
horizons, far away from the bustle of crowds and the smoke of cities.”
He shook his head. “My brother,” he said, “it would not do. The great
prairies are dying; the buffalo are going. The red man must pass away
too. Come, let us to work while there is yet time.”
He began to collect together several pieces of gold in the hollow where
the old Shuswap had made his store. When many pounds’ weight had been
gathered, he filled two saddle-bags; but there was still remaining
enough to fill two more leather wallets. The Shuswap’s store held
pieces of pure gold of every shape and size――some flattened pieces,
others rugged knobs like walnuts, and rounded nuggets as large as eggs.
It was indeed a wonderful sight, all this treasure lying hidden away
in this remote and desolate valley, thousands of feet above the sea
level! “Curious!” I thought. “Man struggles and strives for this metal,
lives for it, dies for it, forgets every other pursuit, gives up health
for it; and here it lies a stone amid other stones. The winds blow
heedlessly upon it; the sun looks down in summer; the snow covers it in
winter, and the pine-tree rustles in the evening breeze unmindful of
its presence.”
The sun was getting down behind the western ridges as we started on
our way back to camp laden with our golden loads. When we reached the
camp the two Indians had returned, both bringing loads of mountain
mutton, the result of their hunt. Red Cloud said nothing to them about
our day’s work. The fewer persons who knew the secret of the Golden
Valley, the better would it be, he thought, for mankind in general,
and for Indians in particular. So we ate our supper of wild mutton that
night, and lay down under the stars, wrapped in our robes; but all the
golden wealth that lay beside me could not reconcile me to accept with
contentment the prospect of abandoning this wild roving life for the
smoother roads and softer beds of civilized existence.
For a long while I tried in vain to sleep; my mind was dwelling too
strongly upon the events of the preceding day to allow my eyes to
close in rest. Our camp lay facing towards the east; right opposite,
a great tooth-shaped mountain top lifted itself high into the starlit
heavens. The stars, wondrously clear in the transparent atmosphere of
our lofty position, rose from behind the triple peaks of this giant.
I lay watching them as the night wore on; at last there came one
lustrous star; right between the forked peaks it rose, throbbing in
many-coloured rays of light, until it looked like a gigantic diamond
glistening in the icy crown of the mountain king. Then I fell asleep,
and dreamt that I had scaled the summits of the Rocky Mountains, and
was looking down upon the great prairies of eternity.
The following day was a repetition of the one that preceded it. Again
we sought the golden valley, and again we returned to camp with loads
of the precious metal. The whole treasure when packed in wallets made a
load just sufficient for one horse to carry. Red Cloud did the work of
packing the loads himself.
All was completed early on the morning of the second day, and quitting
our high camp, we began to descend the valley in a western direction.
We soon came in sight of the low country upon that side. It was
different in every aspect to the prairie region of the east. There the
green meadows had spread out into measureless distance, here ridge
after ridge of pine-trees stretched away into the west. Many a rugged
range of mountain rose amid the wilderness of pines, and bold summits
of naked rock, or snow patch glistened, above the sombre world of
endless forest.
Winding along a descending trail we often lost sight of this panorama,
as some projecting ridge of our mountain closed the outward view.
By sunset we had reached a spot where the trail forked――one branch
descending still westward towards the mining camp on the Fraser river,
the other bearing away in a northern direction.
Here we camped. We had come down many hundreds of feet during the day.
The forest growth was large and lofty, and the pine grouse and the
partridges were again around us. Far down in the plain a light haze of
smoke hung above the tree tops.
On the next morning we were to separate. The Iroquois and the scout
would accompany me to the first mining camp, from whence they would
recross the mountains to their own peoples. Red Cloud would take the
northern trail to the Athabasca valley. The preparations were soon
ready, but we delayed the moment of parting to the last. At length Red
Cloud rose, and began to unfasten his horse from the tree to which it
had been tied. It was the signal of separation.
We shook hands in silence.
“See,” he said, “the smoke of your people’s fires far below; there is
your road, and here is mine”――he pointed to the mountain trail. “I
could not go with you, I would have to begin life again;――I am too old
to change now. There is no one to come after me. The Sioux are nearly
all gone, the Buffalo are fast going; but the wilderness will last long
enough for me.”
“And is there nothing then that I can do for you?” I said. “You have
done everything for me: let me do something in return.”
“Well, my friend,” he replied, “sometimes think of me. When I am camped
at night far out on the great prairie, I would like to say to myself,
my white brother remembers me. That is all.”
Then he turned off to the north, leading his horse by the bridle up
the mountain path. I stood watching him as step by step the void of
space grew wider between us. How lonely it all seemed, this solitary
man turning off into the mountains to go back from the shore of
civilization into the great prairie sea! As thus I watched his slowly
receding figure, memory was travelling back over the long trail of
our companionship――back through all the varied scenes of strife, and
chase, and travel, to that distant day when first on the shore of the
wilderness our lives came together. “Think of you!” I said, speaking
half aloud my thoughts. “Yes, that I will. Whenever the wind stirs the
tree-branch, or rustles the reeds and meadows――wherever the sun goes
down over distance of sea or land――in the moonlight of nights, in the
snow of long winters, you will be near me still.”
At a bend in the trail he turned to look back: it was but a moment, and
then the mountain path was vacant, and I saw him no more.
THE END.
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
――Illustrations have been moved to follow the text that they
illustrate.
――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.