Five dead dogs, their stark bodies clearly outlined on the snow by a
sparkling aurora, met Britton's startled gaze when he stumbled sleepily
out of the cramped quarters of the tent. A cry of something like despair
escaped him as he ran to examine them, turning the gaunt carcasses over
and over.
Lessari heard the shout of perturbation and shuffled forth from under
the flaps.
"What wrong have you?" he asked anxiously.
Rex stood aside and showed the corpses of their faithful animals.
"They're killed," he said briefly, "and you know what that means for
us!"
White horror grew in the Corsican's brown face till it was blanched to a
sickly hue. He fully realized that the loss of the dog-team had buried
them alive in a frozen wilderness whose relentless cruelty would slowly
crush their lives. In a dazed way, he fingered the bodies.
"Not any marks-not any marks," was his vacant observation.
"No," agreed Britton, who controlled himself with difficulty, "they have
been neither knifed nor shot, yet some man's hand has done it. Gaucho
and the rest of the huskies appeared as well last night as they ever
did. No, Lessari, it wasn't an epidemic or even the bitter frost."
"How they are killed, then?" the Corsican inquired petulantly.
"That's the mystery," Rex woefully ruminated, aloud. "I wonder if that
snake of a Thron-Diuck followed us and perpetrated this deed! You
remember we heard what we thought was a dog-train coming behind us
through the Klondike Canon?"
"Ah! yes," responded his companion, "that I recall-curse him!"
Lessari's eyes were vindictive and full of a strange wildness as he
stared at Britton.
"Of course that is only a supposition," said Rex, judicially, "but I
know how jealous the Indian tribes are of gold-laden creeks. The
Thron-Diucks know a good many secrets, but they will not divulge them,
and fearing the wrath of his fellows if we located on this deposit, the
red wretch may have repented his bargain and taken steps to prevent our
profiting by it."
"Look for tracks!" exclaimed the Corsican, on sudden inspiration, but
Britton shook his head.
"No use," he lamented, pointing to the pine-banked curve of the river,
shining like glass, "the ice is too clean!"
"Curse him! Curse him!" exploded Lessari, again, growing more violent
of speech.
"There's no use in cursing, either," Britton said seriously. "We're
facing death, Lessari, but we must keep alive as long as possible. We
have a tent and some food, and we'll make a strong fight."
The Corsican studied his dubious expression. "Go back?" he asked.
"It can't be done," said Rex. "Our provisions will not last half the
time required to make the journey on foot, and there is nothing to shoot
over those barren stretches."
"Go on where gold is, then?" Lessari inquired dismally.
"Yes," Britton answered, "our path lies over those five hills. We have
only two chances, Lessari, and they are mighty slim! There is the
chance of stumbling on the encampment of these Thron-Diuck Indians-they
have retired somewhere in these mountains-and the possibility of finding
game in the pine forests. The way lies yonder, and, if we find gold
there, we'll stake it in case a miracle should bring us out of this
trap."
Rex stirred the nose of his dead leader with the toe of his shoepack as
he finished speaking, and Lessari saw him bend quickly.
"See that!" Britton exclaimed in quivering anger. He held out something
between his fingers, and the Corsican recognized a piece of frozen
whitefish covered with reddish powder.
"Poisoned!" he ejaculated with renewed horror.
"Yes, someone has fed them poisoned whitefish," said Rex, vehemently.
"Gaucho had this in his teeth!"
Lessari broke out in a flood of denunciation. Britton quelled his own
indignation and began untying the tent-ropes.
They thawed their canvas shelter from the banked ice and snow by means
of several brush fires and loaded the sled. Any articles which could be
dispensed with and which unnecessarily impeded them were cast away. The
outfit was reduced to a minimum, and Rex packed all the remaining
provisions carefully in one large sack. He preserved, too, the food
intended for the dogs, for he thought they might easily find themselves
in such straits as to be glad of it.
When all was securely lashed on the heavy Yukon sleigh, the two men
harnessed themselves in the traces and started laboriously toward the
circle of hills six miles away. For Lessari, they were six long and
excruciating miles. He was weak and unfit, and though Britton took the
heavier portion of the toil, the tramp told rapidly on his companion.
The river curved with such a sweep that they struck overland to shorten
the distance. They bridged wide gullies full of blistered ice and
swerved erratically with the loaded sled among rugged rocks and slippery
hummocks that barred their path. Lessari continued to mutter and
complain during the whole six miles, his mumblings toward the end
becoming somewhat incoherent.
When they slipped down a long ravine which opened on the river right in
the middle of the circling hills, the Corsican was staggering along with
protruding tongue.
"You're fagged!" Rex exclaimed, noticing his plight. "Better rest here
a minute!"
Lessari's answer was a vicious pull on the sleigh rope that nearly took
Britton off his feet. They moved on because the Corsican would accept no
delay, and Rex saw that the other's motive power was a sort of delirium
which instilled unlimited feverish energy.
The pair of toilers emerged at last from the black rift and climbed an
ice-capped ridge which fell like a sloping watershed in a southward
direction. Around them the five beaver-house mountains rose strangely
dome-like, the great river apparently losing itself in the bowels of the
thousand ice chasms which furrowed the base of the valley-beds.
"This is the Klondike's source," Rex murmured as he contemplated the
scene, "and it looks cold enough to kill you."
"Yes," sighed Lessari, "you have it right. But the gold-the gold is
warm. Here I feel it!" He put his hand to his breast, and smiled
contentedly.
"It's all that's keeping you warm," Rex gruffly commented. The
observation quickly altered Lessari's expression, and he glared with a
wild impenetrable look as they proceeded to skirt the fringing line of
gravelled granite which was the shore of the now glacier-like stream.
Here the detached ice lay scattered about in huge blocks, an impediment
to their feet, where it had glided with the shining rubble from the
farther plateaus. In the shallow cup that the five hills formed, they
met with a long, treacherous crevasse whose yawning depth of three
hundred feet effectually cut off any further progress in a direct line.
The great abyss seemed to possess a fascination for Lessari, and he trod
dangerously near the edge to peer over.
"Don't do that!" Britton sharply cautioned, pulling him back. "A slip
of your moccasin would put you at the bottom. We'll have to leave the
sled here and see if there is any way round!"
The immense crevasse dipped from an overhanging glacier on one of the
five mountains and slanted across the granite ridge they had been
skirting. The two men left the Yukon sleigh standing, blocked, above
the deep split and followed along the edge, searching for a place to
cross. The slant of the ravine became more, acute, and, where the sides
were jagged and shelved, they clambered down lower and lower till the
whole formation suddenly broke upon a vast cavern that nosed into the
river-bed and opened on the other side where the way was passable though
extremely hard.
"It's rough going, but we must get across," Rex said, turning round to
Lessari.
The latter was handling some rusty-looking pebbles which he had kicked
out of the black cavern floorway.
"Ironstone!" he grunted scornfully, gazing at the cave side where
similar fragments with glacier-worn edges stuck out.
"Let me see," cried Britton, hastily jumping forward. Lessari dropped
the stones in his hand, and Britton's heart leaped at the weight of
them.
"Ironstone!" he exclaimed, his voice all trembling. "My God, Lessari,
it's gold!"
"Santa Virgin!" the Corsican screamed-"Gold!" He snatched frantically
at the precious pebbles, chattering madly.
"I'm positive it is," Rex said excitedly, "but the flame-test will soon
tell."
He produced a bit of candle from his coat and lit it with unsteady
fingers. While Lessari held the specimens, he applied the flame to
them. The heat singed the Corsican's hands, but he did not seem to feel
any pain. Presently the rusty red covering of the pebbles disappeared
as fine dust in the blaze, and Lessari gripped pure alluvial gold.
"Santa Virgin!" he screamed again. "We're rich! We're rich!"
Rex was off immediately, running about the cavern walls, making a hasty
survey with his candle end. The walls, like the floor, were studded
here and there with peeping corners of the precious ore for which he had
endured two thousand miles of pitiless Yukon trails. Unbounded wealth
lay within his grasp, and, with the triumph of the moment, he forgot
that he was a millionaire in a death-trap.
"Go up for a spade, Lessari," he cried. "It is a mighty deposit-'big
gold,' as the Thron-Diuck said."
The Corsican started up as a faint, rushing noise sounded above, like
ice sliding upon ice.
"What's that?" asked Britton anxiously.
They listened, but heard no further echo. Rex appeared ill at ease.
"We're among glaciers, Lessari," he said, "and we must be careful. An
avalanche might easily bury us in a hole like this. Get that shovel
quickly!"
Lessari climbed up the lip of the ravine and disappeared, while Britton
pottered about, speculating, as well as exulting, over the magnificent
find. It was a showing that gave promise of surpassing such far-famed
creeks as the Eldorado and Bonanza, and Rex gloated over his prospects.
Standing in that deep cavern under the Klondike's bed, his thoughts went
back to the green Sussex lands, Hyde Park in the London season, and the
foaming Channel swells under the _Mottisfont's_ bows. He thought of the
estates this buried gold would buy, the power it would bring, the
restoration to public favor it would effect, and he laughed mirthlessly
at the idea of purchasing his way into quarters of society and diplomacy
which had closed their doors to him after his Algerian escapade.
A shrill cry from Lessari above interrupted his cogitations. He
scrambled out of the cavern and clawed his way up the slippery side of
the rift.
The Corsican was staring down into the abyss where they had left the
sled. On his face there rested a look of terrified bewilderment, and he
pointed into the gloomy depths.
"Gone!" he wailed-"gone down!"
Britton looked around for the sleigh, but it had vanished. A sharp fear
assailed him as he dashed to Lessari's side and saw the mark of the
runners on the powdered edge of the ravine where the laden sled had
taken the leap.
"That's what we heard slide," Rex groaned, "and it has all our food!"
He went mechanically to the exact spot where the Yukon sleigh had stood.
There lay the piece of granite which had blocked the runners, with the
print of a husky's foot-pad in a minute snow-pocket at its side. Rex
showed it to the Corsican, a swift, ominous wrath mantling his
countenance.
"By heaven, Lessari, this is too much!" he cried. "It has been done
purposely like-like the poison! There's a hand in the dark somewhere,
and it means murder!"
The Corsican's harrowed senses appeared incapable of comprehending the
statement.
"Starving-and rich!" he muttered wildly. "Rich-and starving!" He walked
without fear to the brink of the chasm and began to lower himself over
the rock with his hands.
"Here!" Rex roared in terror, rushing up. "What do you mean?"
"Stay back!" snarled the Corsican. "I go down to eat."
"The gold has turned your head!" Britton exclaimed. "You couldn't get
down there for all the food on earth. Why, man, it's three hundred
feet!" He sprang with a lithe movement and dragged the Corsican from
his perilous position.
Lessari gave an inhuman cry and closed with Britton. Rex saw his eyes
as they struggled and knew, with a feeling of chill horror, that they
were the eyes of a madman.
"Ha!" gasped the demented fellow. "This time you go!"
He strove to throw Britton into the gulf, for resistance had resulted in
giving his mania a different trend. The delirium gave him the strength
of six men, and Rex found himself being gradually pushed into the
crevasse. He strained and tugged with all the mighty power of his
shoulders and corded arms, but it was of no avail against the frenzied
Lessari. He tried another tack!
"Cool yourself, Lessari," he said soothingly, "and we'll get this sled."
They could never get it, but he hoped the artifice might serve! Even
that attempt at reason proved useless, for the Corsican redoubled his
efforts. The eternal cold, his illness, the death of the dogs, the
fever of the gold-finding, and the loss of their provisions had all
combined to drive him mad.
"Devil!" he screamed, "you threw the food down!" And Rex knew he was
indeed demented.
Fighting every inch of the way, Britton was forced toward the abyss.
Three feet from it, he felt the necessity for desperate action. Watching
his opportunity, he tripped Lessari on the iced rock, and they both fell
heavily. Rex wound his arms about the Corsican, putting forth the last
ounce of strength; that grip of steel would have held a giant, but it
could not hold a madman. Lessari tore himself free and gained the
uppermost position, with hands on Britton's throat.
Rex gazed into the rolling eyes, the wild, distorted visage of the
Corsican, and felt himself shoved to the very brink of the crevasse. He
wrenched violently at Lessari's wrists and arms, but they were as iron
rods, and the movement brought his head out over the rim of the rock.
In one fleeting vision he saw the white, rising ice-fields cutting into
the blue sky, with glacier-capped peaks banking up behind; he saw three
of the five circling hills, their frozen gorges shining emerald in the
sun; then, as Lessari's wolfish face came closer to his own and his arms
were pressed down, the fingers felt the revolver butt in his belt.
In sheer despair he grasped it as a drowning man snatches at an oar.
Its report cracked out and rattled in a hundred blatant echoes down the
gorge. Lessari uttered a gasping groan and lurched to one side, his
fingers lax and weak.
Britton wormed his shoulders back from the edge of the abyss, shifting
the Corsican's weight with his legs, and arose in safety. His lungs
were heaving with the tremendous strain like those of a spent
Channel-swimmer, and the cords of his throat were taut.
When he turned over the limp form at his feet, he looked into Lessari's
dead face.