ROLY IS HURT
The camp was early astir. Mr. Bradford examined the thermometer which
he had left outside the tent, and found that it registered twenty-seven
degrees above zero.
"I expected much colder weather here," he remarked, as they were eating
their breakfast of oatmeal, ham, biscuits, and coffee. "We must hurry,
or the snow will melt under our sleds."
"Oh, there's no fear of that yet," said Uncle Will, reassuringly. "You
see, we still get the influence of the Japanese current of the Pacific,
which warms this whole coast. We shall find it colder in the interior.
At the same time, we have a long distance to go, and the warm weather
will be upon us all too soon. Let me see, this is the sixteenth of
March. To-day I must take a sail-boat, and go over to Skagway for a
sled. It's hardly possible that I can return until late to-morrow, with
the best of luck."
"Can we do anything to hasten matters in the mean time?" asked Mr.
Bradford.
"Yes," replied his brother. "To-day you and the boys might take the
axes and hatchets to the cannery and have them ground. It's a great
saving of time and labor to have the edged tools sharp. Long Peter will
look after the camp while you are gone. And to-morrow I advise you to
hire that Indian's canoe again, and take everything but the tents to
the cave about three miles above here. Peter knows where it is. If
the Mysterious Thirty-six are camped there, you can leave the goods a
little this side and cover them with oiled canvas."
Immediately after breakfast, in pursuance of these plans, the whole
party except the Indian, made their way along the beach to the cannery,
where Uncle Will was fortunate enough to secure the services of a
boatman just arrived in his sloop from Chilkat across the harbor. The
breeze was favorable, and the little vessel was presently speeding
along the south shore, soon passing out of sight around the point.
The grinding of the axes occupied an hour or more, after which the
three walked over to the Indian village, where they were given a noisy
welcome by a score of dogs. The houses were rude affairs, built of hewn
boards and logs, but affording much better shelter than the wigwams
which the boys had always associated with Indian life. They had seen
a few wigwams near the railroad in the State of Washington, but here
there were none. In attire, too, these Indians seemed to have copied
the white people. Two or three women who were cooking fish outside
of one of the larger houses, wore neat hoods, dresses and shoes, but
others had greasy red handkerchiefs tied over their heads, and wore
torn moccasins and dilapidated skirts.
"I wonder," said David, "if it is true that the Indian women do all the
work. I have heard so."
"No," answered Mr. Bradford, "the men hunt and fish, and work for the
whites on the trails, but the women do all the domestic drudgery, even
to the cutting of the firewood. The men have rather the best of it,
for they enjoy a variety and are idle about half the time, while the
work of the women never ceases. It's a good deal the same, however,
the world over. I have been in parts of Europe where the wives worked
in the fields, and even dug cellars for new buildings, while their
husbands, I presume, were engaged in the sterner but less wearing
duties of army life. Here comes a poor old drudge now."
The boys looked in the direction indicated, and saw an old squaw
staggering along toward the village, with a heavy spruce log on her
shoulder. She had brought it a quarter of a mile from the hillside back
of the cannery. While they watched her, they saw her slip on a bit of
icy ground and fall, the log fortunately rolling to one side. With one
quick impulse David and Roly ran to help her.
She had risen to her feet as they approached, and was making
ineffectual efforts to raise the log. The boys picked it up in a
twinkling,--it was not much of a load for them,--and having settled it
firmly on their shoulders, they looked inquiringly at the woman, who
appeared much surprised at their action, and indeed seemed to fear that
they were going to make off with their prize. David, however, motioned
to her to go ahead, and gave her to understand that they would follow.
In this manner they reached a small cabin a few rods distant, where the
log was dropped on a pile of chips near the door.
An old Indian sat on a stump beside the house, smoking his pipe
complacently. He had witnessed the whole proceeding, but had not
offered to lift a finger to help his poor old wife, much to the
indignation of the brothers.
Mr. Bradford warmly commended his sons when they returned, adding, "I'm
glad to see you differed from the old native yonder, who was ashamed to
do a woman's work."
"We didn't stop to think much about it," said Roly, "but I guess we
should have helped her just the same if we had."
They returned to camp about noon, and Mr. Bradford prepared the dinner,
as Long Peter was not a competent cook. In the preparation of fish and
game the Chilkat was an expert, but such dainties as hot biscuits,
baked in Uncle Will's Yukon stove, were beyond his powers, and an
omelet of crystallized eggs caused him to open his mouth, not only in
expectation, but in astonishment.
After dinner David and Roly were intending to visit the railroad
excavation, a quarter of a mile beyond the camp, on the northwest shore
of the harbor. A dozen men were cutting through a strip of high land
which crossed the line of the proposed road. The work had been going on
but a few days, during which the trees had been cleared away, and the
snow and earth removed from the underlying rock. It was the intention
of the capitalists, so the cannery watchman had informed the boys, to
extend the railroad clear to Dawson along the line of the Dalton trail,
but he doubted if they would ever complete it, for a rival road was
being constructed from Skagway. The excavation was plainly visible from
the Bradfords' camp.
"Hurry up, Roly," shouted David, who was eager to start. "The workmen
are all in a bunch up there in the hole."
Roly hastily swallowed the remnants of a biscuit, and finished a cup
of tea which he had set in a snowbank to cool. Then he ran down to the
beach where David stood. The workmen were now seen to leave the spot
where they had been collected. They walked rapidly to their shanty,
which stood not far from the hole, and one man who had not started with
the others came running after them.
"I believe they are going to fire a blast," said David, and called his
father and Long Peter to come and see the explosion.
All the workmen had now taken shelter behind their shanty, and they
were none too soon. A great cloud of earth and smoke, mingled with
fragments of rock and timbers, puffed suddenly out from the bank,
followed by a mighty detonation that echoed from peak to peak of the
neighboring mountains. A moment later the Bradfords heard two or three
stones strike around them.
Mr. Bradford instantly realized that, great as the distance was, they
were not out of danger. As he turned to warn the boys, there was a thud
and a cry, and Roly sank to the beach, pressing his hand to his chest.
In a twinkling his father and David were at his side. The poor boy
could not speak, but moaned faintly once or twice. His face was white,
and he hardly seemed to breathe, but retained his consciousness. They
lifted him tenderly and laid him in the large tent, where Mr. Bradford
gave him brandy, felt his pulse, and then unbuttoned the heavy Mackinaw
overcoat, the inner coat, and the underclothing. As he bared the boy's
breast, he could not restrain an exclamation of surprise and pity.
Through all that thick clothing the stone had left its mark,--a great
red bruise on the fair skin, and so great was the swelling that he
feared a rib had been broken. Such happily was not the case, and Mr.
Bradford heaved a sigh of relief as soon as he had satisfied himself
on that point.
"It--it knocked the wind out of me," said Roly, faintly, when at last
he could speak.
"I should think it would have," said Mr. Bradford, with emphasis. "It
would have killed you if it had struck you on the other side or in the
head. Thank God it was no worse!"
Long Peter, who had been poking around on the beach where Roly had
stood, came up to the tent with a fragment of rock, which he handed
to Mr. Bradford. It was the mischief-maker without a doubt. One side
was smoothly rounded, but the other was rough and jagged, showing that
it had been violently broken from the parent rock. It was but half as
large as a man's fist, and Roly found great difficulty in believing
that so small a stone could have dealt such a blow.