INTO THE WILDERNESS
Hanky's mare, after being cooped up in a stable for a week without
exercise, stretched its neck to the fresh air, and under the urging heels
of Jim killed space at a remarkable rate. Mounting an almost perpendicular
hill, Jim saw the _Silas P. Young_ beating down-stream, a mile or two
ahead, at a steady ten knots.
He made queer noises with his lips and his mount responded instantly,
leaping with distended nostrils over stone and hummocks, like a piece of
live steel. To be on a horse again was glorious. Instantly his form had
merged with the animal's--they moved as one creature, raising dust and
moss as they thundered down the river.
The boat turned a corner and was lost to view for a few minutes, but a
mile lower down he saw it again, with a creamy wake streaming behind it.
He was nearer now and going strong. He pressed his hand over the glossy
neck of the horse and crooned to it.
"Gee, yore some hoss--you beaut! The man that lays whip on your flanks
oughter be shot. We're gaining, honey. Another league and we'll be putting
it over that 'honking' bunch of machinery. Stead-dee!"
The thundering pace was maintained. Uphill, downhill, on the flat, it was
all the same. Heels were no longer necessary. The horse understood that
the big "horse-man" wanted to get somewhere in quick time, and meant to
see him through.
Twenty minutes later they were abreast of the _Silas P. Young_. Then they
shot into a deep gully and were lost among a thick forest of spruce-trees.
For two miles horse and man evaded low-hanging branches and treacherous
footfalls, until the timber thinned and the straggling Yukon came again to
view. Away up-stream was the steamboat, crawling down by the near bank.
There was no time to be lost if Angela's escape was to be frustrated. He
tethered his foam-flecked mount to a tree and crept down the steep bank.
The muddied water swirled along at a ramping five knots--a vile-looking
cocoa-colored mass that was scarcely inviting to any swimmer. He raised
his hands and dived down.
With a powerful over-arm stroke he made for the line which the steamboat
was following. In that wide welter of water the bobbing head would in all
probability be lost to view, or any kind of shout would be drowned by the
clanking noise of the paddle-wheels. The extreme danger of the exploit was
not lost upon him, but the resolve, once rooted, stuck fast.
He looked up and saw the _Silas P. Young_ bearing down on him, her squat
nose setting her course in dead line with his eyes. Treading water, he
waited for the psychological moment. The chief danger lay in the vicinity
of the paddle-wheel. To be caught up in that meant certain death. He
resolved to fetch the boat as near the bows as possible and on the port
side.
He heard a bell ring twice, and then to his horror the boat changed her
course. It was barely two hundred yards away, and bore straight down on
him. He dived and swam for his life to avoid direct impact.... At that
moment a man saw him and yelled out something to the Captain. The latter
peered over the side, but saw nothing.
"You're drunk!" he retorted.
"Tell you I seen a man right under her nose. Better stop the boat."
The Captain shrugged his shoulders.
"I guess I'll keep straight on," he replied. "What's it got to do with me,
anyway? He ain't a passenger----"
He stopped and gasped as an enormous, saturated spectre climbed over the
side. A crowd of men playing cards nearby stopped their game and stared.
"Who in hell are you?" asked the Captain.
Jim shook the wet from his hair and pushed forward without a word. His
keen eyes ranged all over the packed decks. Then he grunted as he caught
sight of a familiar figure in the stern of the boat. It was Angela, white
of face, and amazed at the appearance of this totally unexpected
apparition. The crowd, struck dumb with wonderment, made way for him. He
strode up to Angela and stopped within a foot of her, gazing fixedly into
her eyes.
"You!"
"Yep--it's me all right. Are you ready?"
"Ready----!"
"Can't wait too long. It's a tidy swim, and the river gits wider every
mile."
She recoiled from him in horror. For the past hour she had been dreaming
of the comforts and joys of civilization. Once in the river, escape had
seemed certain--and here was her pugnacious jailer with determination
written all over his set features.
"I'm waiting," he said calmly.
"Are you mad?" she retorted. "I'm finished with that terrible life. This
time you have come too late. Unless you go ashore now there will not be
another chance."
"Then we'll go right now."
"We!"
"Yep--you and me."
He moved towards her and caught her firmly by the arm. A group of men,
interested spectators of the drama, thought it was time to interfere. One
of them, a grizzled man of fifty, touched Jim on the arm.
"What's all this, stranger?"
"Don't butt in," growled Jim.
His interrogator disregarded him, and turned to Angela.
"Who is this broiler, missie?"
"He is--he is----. He wants to take me back there, to a place I hate! Oh,
please bring the Captain!"
The captain was already pushing his way through the crowd, annoyed at this
unconventional method of boarding his ship. He put both hands in his
pockets, stuck out his little bearded chin, and glared at Jim.
"What the blazes do you mean by boarding my ship? Where's your ticket, eh?
And leave that lady alone--she's a passenger of mine."
Some of his indignation vanished when the fierce gray eyes of Jim fixed
him in an unflinching stare. He saw trouble looming in the offing. Jim
turned his eyes to Angela.
"We'll be mushing," he said briefly.
Linking her arm in his, he began to push through the crowd. The grizzled
man said something to his comrade, and they spread out and formed a human
barrier to his further progress.
"Don't butt in, boys--'tain't healthy," warned Jim.
"Git him!" whispered the grizzled man, "and yank him back in the river!"
Jim's hand flew to his belt and the big revolver was jerked out in a
trice. He pushed it into the stomach of the foremost man, and caused that
worthy to shiver with terror. The latter backed away, whilst his friends
hunted for firearms.
"Stand aside!" roared Jim.
The lane widened, but at the end of it were two men handling revolvers,
with a dangerous glint in their eyes.
"So yore after stoppin' a man eloping with his own wife, eh?"
"Wife----?"
"Thet's so."
The crowd stared. This put a new complexion on matters. The Captain looked
at Angela.
"Say, is that husky your 'old man'?"
Angela flushed with embarrassment.
"I hate him, and I won't go with him!" she cried hotly.
The Captain spread out his hands.
"Why in hell didn't you say so afore?" he asked Jim.
"Is it any of your darned business?"
"I guess it's your funeral, all right," chuckled the grizzled man.
"Better come on as far as Eagle. I'll put you off there," said the
Captain. "Can't stop just here."
Jim shook his head and moved towards the rail.
"I'm sure in a hurry," he said. "We ain't scared of a drop of water, are
we Angy?"
Angela bestowed upon him a look of mingled contempt and terror. The high
wooded bank seemed miles away, and the river ran like a millrace.
"I won't come--I won't!" she hissed.
But he had already reached the rail. Her heart seemed to freeze with
horror as he lifted her on to the seat and clasped her firmly round the
waist, imprisoning her arms so that resistance became impossible.
"Stop!" yelled the Captain. "You can't go that way----"
A gasp came from the crowd as they saw him take a deep breath and leap
down with his burden. They disappeared beneath the filthy water, to come
to the surface a few seconds later in exactly the same position as they
had entered it--Angela with her arms held from behind, and the amazing
husband swimming on his broad back, with head towards the nearest bank.
The current carried him down-stream, but his inshore progress was swift
and certain. A huge yell came from the admiring spectators as the _Silas
P. Young_ pursued her course and rounded another bend.
Angela, stunned and terrified by this unexpected precipitation into
ice-cold water, lay like a log with eyes closed. She lost all account of
time in the mental paralysis that gripped her.... Only when they touched
bottom and Jim commenced to carry her to the bank did her full sense come
into operation. She stood in her sodden clothing, her pale, beautiful face
quivering as she regarded this monster of a man.
"You brute! You heartless ruffian! Oh, if I could only make you feel what
I think of you!"
"If I could only make you feel just what I think of you!" he said slowly.
"But we're both trying to do just what can't be done. Let's drop it and
find the hoss. Better foller behind, and not try running away. Maybe you
think it amuses me to yank you back like this every time--but it don't."
He began to tramp along a beaten path that wound up over the hill. Angela
followed, with swift steps, for a cold wind blew down the valley and set
her teeth chattering. Overhead thick gray clouds obliterated the sun. A
mile farther on Jim stopped and, slipping off his coat, went to her.
"You're cold. Put it on."
"No--thanks."
"Put it on!"
"Why this sudden regard for my welfare?"
It was like a stab to him. She saw it and was pleased. But later on she
was a little ashamed of that throb of transient joy. She would have liked
to express her regrets, but her pride prevented such a descent.
They found the horse, pawing impatiently at the ground. He whinnied
plaintively as he heard Jim's footfall and the call that the latter's lips
gave utterance to. Without a word Jim lifted Angela into the saddle and
mounted behind her. A "cluck" from his lips, and the mare went galloping
across the uneven country towards Red Ruin. They arrived there just as the
first flakes of snow began to fall.
For a whole week no single word passed between them. The first snow had
come, and every day found the thermometer registering a lower temperature.
In a week or two the whole land would be in the grip of the pitiless
winter. What were Jim's intentions? She saw him pondering over a map and
marking routes. After a trip into Dawson he came back with a team of dogs
and a new sled, plus dog-feed, snow-shoes, and sundry other gear. One
evening he broke the silence.
"Angela!"
She lifted her head from the book that she was reading.
"We're hitting the trail to-morrow."
"To where?"
"North--the Chandalar River district. There's nothing left worth staking
down here. But there's gold up there, and we can't afford to waste time."
"Very well," she said icily, and turned to the book again.
He put his arm across and closed the book.
"Better git this thing clear."
"Isn't it clear?"
"Nope. Listen here--we got enough grub to carry us over the winter, that
and no more. My last wad of dollars went to buy them dawgs. I guess you
think I'm trash, and perhaps I am, but up here in the North men stick by
their pardners till they strike gold or leave their bones on the trail.
You're my pard now--won't you act on that and make the best of it?"
Her eyes shone defiantly in the glare of the paraffin lamp. Appealing to
her sense of justice was useless in the face of circumstances.
"You call it partnership when the one is forced against her will, and the
other uses every kind of diabolical means to assist his mastery? I am
coming with you because there is no way out of it. You understand.
Nothing but force can save me--I see that. Your code of life is based on
brute strength devoid of any kind of moral sense."
His lips moved in a way that evidenced his resentment.
"What you call 'moral sense' is a pretty queer thing, I allow. It lets a
man sell his daughter for hard cash, and it lets that daughter play with a
man's feelings. If that's moral sense I ain't takin' none."
"Will you never forget that? Do you think I would have gone on with that
had I believed you misinterpreted the whole thing?"
"Misinterpreted! Say, do your kisses allow of misinterpretation?"
She was amazed at this quick and telling thrust. She had yet much to learn
about Colorado Jim. Education is a matter of mind, independent of
environment. She made the mistake of believing it to be the special
monopoly of high-schools and gentle breeding. She was unable to recognize
the diamond in its crude unpolished state.
"When I kissed you, did you think that was a kind o' habit with me?" he
queried.
She shrugged her shoulders, not wishing to remember the incident.
"It was the first time anything like that had happened to me," he resumed,
"and it was like touching heaven while it lasted. But I see now there was
nothing in it--no more than kissing one of them saloon women---- Ugh!"
She felt like striking him, in her anger, at the insulting comparison, but
she was not unconscious of the truth of it.... She opened the book again,
and strove to forget his presence and the approaching horror of Arctic
wanderings. She saw him pull the fur cap down over his ears, and disappear
through the tent opening to feed the howling malemutes.
On the morrow they packed their tent, loaded the sled with everything they
possessed, and set their head for the North. She sat on the sled, clad in
thick mackinaw coat, fur cap, and mittens, whilst Jim stood behind with a
twenty-foot whip clasped in his hand. The mixed team of twelve dogs
snarled and snapped at each other as they waited for the word of command.
"Mush--you malemutes!" cried Jim.
The long curling whip came down with a whistling crack, and the team went
trotting across the dazzling white plain.