THE SILVER LODE
A half-breed stood on the river bank beside his dog-team while Andrew
handed Carnally the packs from the sled. It was late in the afternoon,
the valley was swept by driving snow, and the men's hands were so
numbed that they found it difficult to strap on their heavy loads. The
ice was several feet in thickness on the deeper pools, but the stream
ran strong along the opposite shore, and its frozen surface was rough,
and broken in places by pools of inky water.
"It would save some trouble if we made our caches among these
boulders," Graham suggested.
"That's so," agreed Carnally. "Still I guess it would be safer on the
other side, where we'll strike it sooner coming back. It's wise to
take no chances in this country."
They were loaded at last, and the gorge looked very desolate when the
half-breed vanished with his dogs beyond the summit of the bank. He
was not a man of much conversational powers, but they had found his
company pleasant in the grim solitudes. Andrew had hired him at an
outlying Hudson Bay factory, where he had had no trouble in obtaining
food. The fur trade was languishing thereabout, and prospectors for
timber and minerals were made welcome. The Scot in charge of the
lonely post had, however, no dogs for sale, though he engaged to
transport a limited quantity of provisions to a point which one of the
company's half-breeds, despatched on another errand, would pass with
his team.
Andrew considered Carnally's caution well justified. Their supply of
food was scanty, and the journey attended by risks enough; but he
could sympathize with Graham. It was snowing hard, the wind was
rising, and there was no sign of a camping-place in all the
desolation. They had gone a long way since sunrise, and were too tired
to think of lengthening the journey by looking for a better place to
cross the river. They went forward, carefully avoiding the hummocks,
and winding around the larger cracks. Andrew was too occupied in
picking his way to notice that Graham had fallen some distance behind;
but when he had skirted a tall hummock, a sharp cry reached him, and
he stopped in alarm. He could see nothing except a stretch of rugged
ice and a high white bank fading into the driving snow. Their
companion had disappeared.
"Guess he was straight behind us!" cried Carnally, as they turned
back, running.
Andrew fell over a block of ice, but he was up in a moment, for the
cry came again, and when they had passed a black pool he saw what
seemed to be the head and shoulders of a man projecting from a
fissure. He sprang across a dangerous crack and as he ran he saw
Graham's face turned toward him, with a strained, tense look. Carnally
was a pace or two in front and had seized Graham's arm when Andrew
came up and grasped his collar. They dragged him out of the crevice
and set him, gasping breathlessly, on the ice, with the water running
from one of his moccasins.
"You were only just in time," he said after a moment or two. "There
was snow across the crack and it broke under me. Couldn't crawl out,
with my pack dragging me down."
"It's blamed unfortunate you got your moccasin wet," Carnally
remarked. "It ought to come off right away, but we haven't another.
Think the water has got through?"
"I'm afraid it has; the back seam opened up a bit yesterday. But my
feet are so cold I can hardly feel."
"If Mappin hadn't played that trick on us, you'd have a sound dry pair
to put on. But you want to keep moving, and it's getting dark."
They crossed the ice without further misadventure, toiled up a steep
bank where short brush that impeded them badly rose out of the snow,
and an hour afterward found a hollow among the rocks sheltered by a
few junipers and tottering firs. Carnally loosed the load from his
aching shoulders and threw it down with relief.
"It's that hog Mappin's fault we're packing a pile of unnecessary
weight along," he said. "I'm looking forward to a talk with him when I
get back."
He set to work, hacking rotten branches from a leaning fir, while
Andrew scraped away the snow and built a wall of it between them and
the wind. Graham lighted a fire, filled the kettle with snow, and
spread branches and twigs to lay their blankets on. It took time, and
Andrew knew of no labor so irksome as making camp after an exhausting
march; but no pains could be spared if they wished to sleep without
freezing. At last they gathered about a crackling fire which threw an
uncertain light upon their faces, and Carnally cooked a frugal supper.
"I guess we could eat more, but it wouldn't be prudent," he said as he
shared out the food. "Your lode's about a hundred miles off yet, isn't
it, Graham?"
"Yes, as near as I can calculate."
"Call it six days; a fortnight anyhow before we get back here, and
that won't allow much time for thawing out and shot-firing. Then we'll
have to reach our first cache before the grub runs out. It's going to
be a blamed tight fit."
Andrew consumed his portion and glanced regretfully at the empty
frying-pan. Then, for fatigue had soured his temper, he broke out:
"I'd like to have the brute who cut our rations short up here
to-night! Blast his greed! It's an infamous thing that a man should
make money by starving his fellow creatures!"
"They seem to consider it legitimate in the cities," said Graham
dryly. "We have mergers controlling almost everything we eat and
drink, and men get rich by bull deals in the wheat pits. However, your
sentiments are not exactly new. What do you think, Jake? I haven't
heard you on politics."
Carnally grinned.
"As it looks as if I'm going to be hungry, I'm a hard-shelled
grit--something like your Radicals," he explained to Andrew. "But if I
thought we could get a good one, I'd prefer being governed by an
emperor. So far as my experience goes, one live man can run things
much better than a crowd, and it's a poor mine or railroad boss who
can't beat a board of directors."
"That's so," Graham assented. "They're most capable when they let one
of them drive the lot. But there's the trouble that you might get the
wrong kind of emperor. It's hard to tell a good man until he gets to
work."
"Sure!" agreed Carnally. "If you're not pleased with the Laurier gang,
you can fire them out, and then you might not find the other crowd
much better. But if a bad emperor meant to stay with it, you'd have to
use dynamite."
The others laughed, but Andrew, awkwardly filling his pipe with numbed
fingers, looked serious. There was a truth in his companion's remarks
that touched him personally. It was undoubtedly difficult to get rid
of an able man entrusted with power which he abused. To attack him
might imply the break-up of the organization which had appointed him;
one might have to use destructive methods, and Andrew wished to build
up the Rain Bluff Company, not pull it down. For all that, Leonard
must be stripped of the authority he had wrongly used, though the task
would be extremely troublesome. With one or two unimportant
exceptions, he enjoyed the confidence of the Allinson family, as well
as the support of the directors; and Andrew knew what his relatives
thought of him. In the first place, however, he must find the lode,
and he was glad to think it lay within a week's march from camp.
"Have you got that wet moccasin off yet?" Carnally asked Graham.
Graham confessed that he had been too tired and hungry to remember it,
and after drawing it off with some trouble he spent a while in chafing
his foot, which he afterward wrapped in a blanket. Then while the men
sat silent a long howl came faintly down the bitter breeze.
"A timber wolf," said Carnally. "I saw some tracks this morning and
the half-breed told me they'd had a number of the big gray fellows
near the factory. They get pretty bold when there's no caribou about,
and it's unlucky we haven't struck any caribou. It would help out the
grub."
"Three men with a camp-fire going are safe enough," said Graham.
"Oh, yes," Carnally assented. "Still, a timber wolf is a beast I've no
kind of use for in winter."
They lay down soon afterward, but Andrew heard the wolves again before
he went to sleep. He was very cold when he awakened the next morning
and found Carnally busy about the fire. There was no wind, the smoke
went straight up, and the snow stretched back from the camp,
glistening a faint silvery gray. The firs were very black but
indistinct in the growing light.
"Get a move on; we should have been off long ago," Carnally said; and
Andrew, rising with cramped limbs and sore shoulders, awkwardly set
about rolling up his pack.
He shivered as he did so. The cold bit through him, his mittened hands
would hardly bend, but he strapped up his bundle and helped Graham to
put on his frozen moccasin. They were careful to hang up their
footwear in a warm place at night, but the fire had sunk while they
slept. Then they ate a hurried meal and struck out into the white
wilderness as the light grew stronger. They made, by estimation,
eighteen miles by nightfall, finding a creek and one or two small
lakes over which traveling was easy, but most of the way led across
hillocks of rounded rock and through tangles of tottering pines, where
snow-shoes could not be used. Some of the trees had been partly
burned, and others were slanted and distorted by the savage winds.
Toward the end of the march Graham dragged behind, and when they made
camp he spent some time rubbing his foot.
"It feels dead," he told them. "I'm afraid I got it nipped a bit, but
I don't think it's bad."
"See that you get your moccasin properly dry to-night," Carnally
warned him.
The next morning he felt lame and the country was rougher, but they
made thirty miles in two days, and set out again on the third dawn
with thick snow driving into their faces. Fortunately, the ground was
smoother, and they plodded on stubbornly with a short halt at noon,
Carnally breaking the trail for the two behind. Graham had trouble in
keeping up with his companions; but they had no thought to spare for
him during the laborious march. It needed all their resolution to
press forward against the searching wind. At nightfall they camped in
a sheltered ravine and when supper was over Graham got Carnally to
help him off with his moccasin. While they pulled at it he made an
abrupt movement, and Carnally, stopping, glanced at a dark stain on
the leather.
"That looks like blood!"
"I think it is," said Graham. "I slept with the thing on last night.
To tell the truth, I was afraid to take it off."
"It will have to come off now."
Carnally's face turned grave when Graham removed his stocking. Part of
his foot felt cold and lifeless; the rest was inflamed, and there was
a red patch, rubbed raw by the frozen moccasin.
"Looks bad," Carnally said. "Have you got an old handkerchief or
anything to wrap round it?"
"I couldn't walk with a bandage under my stocking."
"You're not going to walk; you ought to know what trouble that might
make." Carnally turned to Andrew. "He can't go on. It's a dangerous
thing to gall a frostnipped foot. I don't see how it got so bad in
four days' time."
Graham broke into a wry smile.
"It began to hurt soon after I left the factory, and getting it wet
didn't improve things; but I thought I could hold out until we made
the lode."
There was silence for a few moments. Graham's foot was throbbing
painfully, and having gone on until compelled to stop, he knew his
helplessness. His comrades realized that they were burdened with a
crippled man, far from shelter and assistance in an icy waste.
Dejection seized them; and Andrew, glancing at the darkness round
about, felt a sudden horror of the desolation. This, however, was a
dangerous feeling to yield to, and he strove to overcome it.
"We're two days' march from the lode," he said. "It's unthinkable that
we should turn back without trying to locate it. Graham may be better
after a rest. It might be possible, Carnally, that by forcing the pace
we could knock a day off the double journey."
"I'll give you six days," Graham said. "I can stay here; but if you
don't start the first thing to-morrow, I'll crawl on myself."
"No," Andrew declared; "whether we strike the lode or not, we'll be
back before the fourth morning. The next thing is to consider what to
do then. Provisions aren't plentiful."
They discussed the matter at length, for even the finding of the lode
was, by comparison unimportant. It would be some time before Graham
could walk far, and, with each day's journey seriously curtailed there
was grave danger of their food running out. At first, Carnally was in
favor of trying to reach the factory, where they would find shelter,
but yielded to the objection that it was farther off than the nearer
of the caches which Mappin had been engaged to make. He agreed that
they would save several days by cutting the back trail between the
mine and the spot where they had diverged to reach the factory, and
they would then pick up a hand sled they had used for a time and
abandoned when the country grew very rough and their load lighter. If
Graham's foot was still troublesome, they could haul him on the sled
and still make a good day's march. The plan was agreed on, and after
carefully arranging their packs for the expedition and getting the
clearest instructions that Graham could give them, they went to sleep.
The next morning long before daylight Andrew and Carnally were getting
together a supply of branches and logs so that Graham might keep a
fire going night and day until their return: for the double purpose of
warmth and of protection against the timber wolves. When they had made
Graham comfortable, they set off. They had heard no wolves of late,
which was reassuring, but they had grave misgivings about leaving the
crippled man, and meant to save every possible minute on the march. It
was comparatively open country, they could use their snow-shoes, and
they pressed on until dusk without stopping, though the last league
taxed Andrew's strength. He was badly tired when at noon the next day
they reached a hillside commanding a rocky basin filled with stunted
pines. A shallow ravine ran at their feet.
Carnally stopped suddenly.
"I believe we've struck it!" he cried. "That must be the creek Graham
talks about!"
Forgetting their weariness, they ran down the hill and stopped beside
a frozen stream hemmed in by ice-glazed rocks.
"I guess we're somewhere about the spot, and we'll fire a dump shot
on yonder ridge where there's not much snow," Carnally said. "That's
all we can do."
"Can't we stake three claims?" Andrew suggested. "The recorder might
allow Graham one if things were explained."
"It can't be done. You get the frontage you apply for on the reef, but
its extent is limited and full particulars must be supplied, while a
man can hold only one claim on the same vein. Then a record isn't
secret. If you don't stake off the best of the lode, you give the
thing away, and send off every prospector who hears of it to locate
what you have missed."
The situation was clear to Andrew, and it was daunting. After all the
fatigue and dangers of the journey, he must go back without
accomplishing anything useful; but there was no help for it.
"I suppose if we had a week we might form some idea of what is worth
staking off, even with the snow on the ground," he said. "However, as
it is, we have got about two hours. We had better make the most of
them."
They lighted a fire and sat beside it, thawing two sticks of dynamite,
a proceeding attended by some risk, which Carnally seriously increased
when he crimped the powerful detonating caps on the fuses with numbed
and clumsy fingers. Both men were moody and dejected, but they did not
express their feelings, for they were capable of meeting reverses with
silent fortitude. Carnally stood to lose more money than he had ever
had a prospect of earning until his companion took him north; Andrew
knew at what a disadvantage his failure would place him in the
struggle with Leonard. He was sincere in his purpose to see justice
done, but he had no romantic ideas about it. His task was based on
common honesty: Allinson's had guaranteed the undertaking and
Allinson's must make good. Andrew was, however, troubled by two
conflicting claims. He had a duty to the shareholders which could best
be discharged by remaining near the lode until he proved its value;
and a duty to Graham, whom he had promised to bring home safe and
sound. Graham, most unfortunately, was crippled, and the scarcity of
provisions made it doubtful whether he could be taken back to the
Landing, unless they started without delay. The shareholders must
wait.
Carnally kneaded the softening dynamite round the detonators.
"Try to scrape down to the rock on the spot I marked," he said. "I'll
come when you're ready and we'll fire the shot."
Andrew had some trouble in carrying out his instructions, but when he
had done so Carnally laid the cartridges on the stone and covered them
with snow carefully pressed down. Then they dragged up a small fallen
spruce and, laying it on the spot, lighted the fuses and hastily
retired. In a minute there was a flash, a sharp report; and a shower
of flying fragments plunged into the snow, while a cloud of vapor
curled up. Andrew sprang from his shelter, but Carnally seized his
arm.
"Hold on!" he cried. "You don't want the fumes to knock you over. I
guess we'll get dinner while we wait. You can't expect any startling
results from one shot."
Eager as he was, Andrew ate his share of the scanty meal; he could
practise self-control and he had marched a long way on short rations
in bitter frost.
When they had examined the cavity made by the explosion, Carnally
covered it with snow, and picked up the broken bits of rock. They had
gathered a small heap, and Carnally, carefully selecting a few,
looked at Andrew with a smile.
"I suppose you feel that you'd like to take the whole lot?"
"I thought we might carry half of them," Andrew admitted.
"Unless you're willing to dump your blankets, these will be enough.
It's a long way to the Landing and we have to make the first food
cache quick."
"You're right," said Andrew. "Besides, we must reach Graham's camp by
to-morrow night."
"Rough on you!" Carnally sympathized; "I haven't as big a stake."
Nothing more was said while they rolled up their packs and set off
grimly on the return trail.
It had been dark for several hours the next night when Andrew wearily
toiled up a long rise dotted with ragged spruces. He was hungry and
very cold, though he panted with the exertion he was forced to make.
There was no feeling in his feet, which were bound to big snow-shoes;
his hands were powerless in his thick mittens, and he carried a light
ax under his arm. Fortunately, the trail they had broken when coming
out led straight up the rise, and Carnally pressed on in front, a gray
shape outlined against the glitter of the snow. A half-moon hung above
them in a cloudless sky, the frost was intense, and the white
desolation lay wrapped in an impressive silence. Not a breath of wind
stirred the tops of the spruces.
Andrew's knees were giving way, and it seemed to him that the ascent
they were laboriously mounting ran on for ever. He felt as if they had
spent hours on it, though the frozen river at its foot was not far
behind them. It was discouraging to fix his eyes on the black shape
of a spruce ahead and see how slowly it grew nearer, but he felt
unequal to contemplating the long trail to the summit, and he divided
the distance into stages between tree and tree.
At last they crossed the ridge and it was a relief to go downhill,
though the spruces grew in thicker belts and there was half a mile of
timber that they were forced to traverse in their moccasins. Fallen
logs obstructed their passage, they plunged into tangles of blown-down
branches, the snow was loose among the slender trunks and here and
there they sank deep in it. Andrew was, however, consumed by an
anxiety which would brook no delay, and when he had with difficulty
replaced his snow-shoes he looked up at his companion.
"We can't be far from camp?" he queried.
"About three miles. We ought to see it when we're through the timber
on the lower bench. Graham had wood enough to keep a good fire going."
They pressed on, slipping down the steeper slopes, stumbling now and
then, for both had regretted the necessity for leaving Graham alone,
and at sunset they had seen the tracks of wolves. At last they plunged
into a thick belt of spruce, where the trees were fairly large and
there was not much fallen wood. Here and there a broad patch of
moonlight glittered on the snow, confusing after the deep gloom, but
the men could get through on their snow-shoes and avoid the trunks.
They made good speed and when they broke out into the open Andrew
stopped. Where a bright blaze should have marked Graham's fire there
were only a few dying embers. The old man was nowhere to be seen.