THE TRAVELER FROM ALASKA.
Although the cries for help had now ceased, and were not repeated, our
search was crowned with success in a brief time. Pushing up the valley
for about five hundred yards, amid trees and thickets, we came suddenly
upon a little camp. A lean-to of spruce boughs was rudely built against
the base of the steep hill on the right, which towered upward above it
to a dizzy and remote height, its alternate patches of timber and snow
traced out by the moonlight.
The front of the lean-to was open, and inside, by the glow from a
handful of smouldering embers, we saw a strange sight. In the far
corner, apparently sleeping, lay an old man. On a small sledge near him
were a powder horn, and bullet pouch, a musket and a few pelts.
There was no reply to our sharp greeting, and we ventured closer.
Carteret found some bits of dry wood and threw them on the fire. He
knelt down and blew them quickly into a blaze, which enabled us to see
more distinctly. The old man was breathing heavily, and it needed but a
glance to tell us that he was near to death from starvation or some
illness. His head rested on a pillow of skins, and he was rolled partly
in blankets, which were pushed off enough to show his tattered and
travel-worn clothing. His cheeks were deeply sunken, his gray hair was
long and matted, and his tangled beard reached nearly to his waist.
"There is not a sign of food," said I.
"It's a clear case of starvation," replied Captain Rudstone. "Poor old
chap!"
Just then, roused from his stupor by our voices, or by the warmth of the
fire, the stranger opened his eyes and looked about him wildly. He
clawed at the air with skinny fingers, and tried to speak. I had a
little rum with me, and I poured it between his lips. This brought a
tinge of color to his cheeks and a brightness to his glazing eyes, but
he was too weak to lift his head.
"Who are you?" he muttered faintly. "Friends? Ay, thank God! White faces
once more--after all these months! I heard the shot, and judged that
Indians or trappers were near. I called as loudly as I could, but--but
--"
"The exertion was too much for you and you fainted," said I. "But we
heard your cries, and found you. How long have you been here?"
"Three days," he answered--"three days and nights without food. I ate
the last bite when I reached this spot, and a fortnight before I had
fired my last charge of powder and ball. I was too ill to go further. I
built this shelter to die in, and from time to time I crawled out for
fuel to keep up the fire. But the end is close now. Don't leave me--let
me die with white faces round me."
"Cheer up, my friend," said Captain Rudstone. "You are going to live."
"We have a deer yonder," I added. "We will make you a venison broth, and
then take you to the fort, where the rest of our party await us."
But Carteret, who had the keener eye, shook his head gravely.
"It is no use," he whispered.
The old man heard him.
"Ay, you are right," he said. "I am past help. I feel death stealing
over me. Months of privation have worn out my rugged frame--this
frightful wilderness has drained my life blood. Comrades, I have
journeyed on foot from the far province of Alaska."
Carteret shrugged his shoulders, and the captain and I exchanged
incredulous glances. Doubtless the stranger's mind was wandering.
"You think me mad," he said hoarsely. "But no; I will prove otherwise.
Listen to my story. It is the last service you can do me, and you will
find it well worth hearing."
His manner was so earnest that we began to believe a little in spite of
ourselves. We crouched on the blanket alongside of him, and in a voice
that was barely audible--he was failing fast--the old man proceeded. The
earlier part of his narrative, which was the least interesting, I will
set down briefly in my own words.
His name was Hiram Buckhorn, and he was now sixty odd years of age. Half
of his life had been passed in New York State and the Lower Canadas, and
then he had gone across the continent to San Francisco. From that port
he sailed with a dozen adventurous companions two years previously to
explore the almost unknown territory of Alaska and prospect for gold.
They sailed hundreds of miles up the mighty Yukon, and when their vessel
was wrecked they journeyed some days inland on foot.
"And we found what we sought," he continued, with sparkling
eyes--"riches such as were never dreamed of! Gold? Why, men, it was as
plentiful as the sand and gravel! The streams were paved with nuggets;
it was everywhere under the soil! Our camp was near a tributary of the
Yukon, and within a square mile was gold enough to purchase a dozen
empires; but many a year will pass before men lay hands on the treasure.
It is a terrible country--almost impossible to reach, and there is
scarcely any summer season. And then the savage Indians! They fell upon
us suddenly and treacherously, and butchered every one of my comrades.
For some reason they spared my life and held me a prisoner."
The old man paused a moment, breathing heavily. "After a month of
captivity, during which my sufferings were terrible, I managed to
escape," he went on, in a weaker voice. "I could not return through
Alaska, so I headed to the southeast through the Hudson Bay Company's
territory. I had musket and powder and ball--which I recovered from the
Indians--and I built myself a rude sledge. This was thirteen months ago
and since then I have been on the way. Ay, I have plodded more than
fifteen hundred miles, through all seasons, over rivers, mountains, and
plains. And to what end? To fill a grave in the wilderness! I had hoped
to reach civilization, but the task was too great."
Such was Hiram Buckhorn's narrative, and when it was finished we looked
silently at him with awe and amazement, with the deepest pity. His
exploit had far surpassed anything in the annals of the pioneers of the
Northwest. Fifteen hundred miles, on foot and alone, through an
untrodden wilderness that even the Hudson Bay Company had never dreamed
of tapping! It bore the stamp of truth, and yet it was so incredible a
thing that we wavered between doubt and belief.
He noted this, and a grim smile flitted across his face.
"You shall see!" he whispered. "Reach under my head! Be quick!"
I gently thrust a hand beneath the pillow of skins, and drew out a small
but heavy bag fashioned of rawhide. At his bidding I placed it beside
the old man. With a hard effort, he loosed the mouth and turned the big
upside down. Out fell on the fold of a blanket a mass of golden nuggets
of the purest quality. There were not less than fifty, of large size,
and they gleamed dull yellow in the rays of the fire. The sight almost
took our breath, and we gazed with greedy, wondering eyes.
"Look! I spoke the truth," said Hiram Buckhorn. "There is the evidence!
Millions like them are to be dug in the region of the Klondike! But put
them back--their glitter is no longer for me!"
I hurriedly gathered the nuggets into the bag and thrust it deep under
the skins again. The old man watched every movement and heaved a faint
sigh.
"The gold is yours, my friend," he muttered. "Take it and divide it when
you have put me beneath the snow. And one other favor I crave. Send word
at the first opportunity to San Francisco, of the fate of those who
sailed with me. They were trusty comrades! As for myself, I have no kith
or kin--"
His voice suddenly dwindled to a whisper, and a spasm shook him from
head to foot. His glassy eyes closed, he lifted one hand and dropped it,
and then his heaving chest was still.
"Is he dead?" I exclaimed.
"Ay, that was his last breath," replied Carteret. "He went quickly."
"The excitement finished him," said Captain Rudstone. "But listen! What
is that?"
We looked at one another with startled faces. Far, far above us we heard
a roaring, grinding noise, increasing each second. And we knew only too
well what it meant!
"A snowslide--an avalanche!" cried Captain Rudstone. "It has started at
the top, and will carry everything before it down the hill."
"Ran for your lives!" shouted Carteret. "We're in the track, and will
hardly escape as it is!"
In a trice we were out of the lean-to, panic-stricken and alarmed,
thinking of nothing but our lives; for of all perils of the Great Lone
Land, the snow slide, with its speed and destructive power, was the most
to be dreaded. We forgot the dead man--the gold under his pillow. We
sped down the valley as though on wings, not daring to look up the
hillside, where the avalanche was cleaving its way with a deafening
noise, with the crash of falling trees, the grind of dislodged bowlders,
and the roar of tons and tons of loosened snow. And the monster seemed
to be reaching for us!
Flora's dear face took shape before me in the frosty air, and I fancied
I could hear her voice pleading with me to remain at the fort. Should I
ever return to her arms again? The thought lent me speed, and I out
distanced my companions. The next instant I tripped in a clump of bushes
and fell headlong, and plump on top of me came Carteret and Captain
Rudstone.
We were all three so tangled together that our efforts to extricate
ourselves only led to worse confusion. We broke through the crust and
floundered in soft and powdery snow. As we struggled hard--we had fled
but a short distance--the avalanche struck the valley close behind us.
There was first a mighty crash that made the ground tremble, next a
long, deafening grind like a hundred thunderpeals in one, and then the
hissing rush of a few belated rocks.
Silence followed, and we knew that we were saved. With grateful hearts
and trembling limbs we scrambled out of our pit and regained the firm
crust.
"Thank God!" I exclaimed.
"We had a close shave of it, comrades," Carteret said huskily, as he
wiped the perspiration from his brow.
We turned back and were pulled up short within twenty feet. For in front
of us, stretching two-thirds of the way across the valley, was a lofty
barrier of snow, trees and bowlders; its track down the hillside was
marked by a clean, wide swath, the beginning of which we could not see.
And deep under the fallen mass, covered by tons and tons of compact
debris, was the crushed body of Hiram Buckhorn.
"He could not have a better grave," said Captain Rudstone. "No men or
beasts will ever despoil it."
"Peace to his bones!" replied Carteret, reverently taking off his cap.
"He deserved to live, after what he did."
"But the gold!" I cried. "It is buried with him!"
"And there it will stay," Captain Rudstone said coolly. "Even when the
snow melts in the spring, it will be covered deep by rocks and trees
that no man could drag away."
The old voyageur appeared equally unconcerned. Money meant little to
him, and I could understand the captain taking as easy a view of the
loss. But with myself it way different, I confess. I looked forward to
marriage, and for Flora's sake I longed for my share of the precious
nuggets. But there was nothing to be done--nothing further to be said.
With a heavy heart I turned and followed my companions down the valley.
We quickly cut the deer apart, burdening ourselves with the choicest
haunches, and then set off on our return to the fort.