covered by a cairn of stones, along with his faithful dog; after which a
discussion arose as to what should be done with the poor fellow's
implements and stores.
"Pity to leave 'em here," said one of the men. "Only spoil. Hadn't we
better share 'em out."
"Perhaps so," said Dallas. "You three can."
"Oh, but there's five on us, sir."
"No, only three."
"What do you say, Bob?" said the first speaker.
"I says bring the poor chap's sled along with us. If we're hard pushed
we can use what's there; if we're not we sha'n't want it; and--well, I
don't kind o' feel as if I should like any one to nobble my things like
that. Same time, I says it is no use to leave 'em to spoil."
The next morning, with the young men little the worse for their
adventure, they started onward, and for a couple of days made pretty
good way, leaving the snow behind in their downward progress, till all
further advance was stopped by the change for which they had been
prepared before starting. The watershed had been crossed, and they had
reached the head waters of one of the tributaries of the vast Yukon
River of the three thousand miles flow.
The spot they had reached was a long, narrow lake, surrounded at the
upper end by fir-woods. The rest of the route was to be by water, and
here a suitable raft had to be made.
"Fine chance for a chap to set up boatbuilding," said Big Bob. "What do
you say? I believe we should make more money over the job than by going
to dig it out."
"Let's try the gold-digging first," said Dallas; and with a cheer the
men set to work at the trees selected, the axes ringing and the
pine-chips flying in the bright sunshine till trunk after trunk fell
with a crash, to be lopped and trimmed and dragged down to the water's
edge ready for rough notching out to form the framework of such a raft
as would easily bear the adventurers, their sledges and stores, down the
lake and through the torrents and rapids of the river in its wild and
turbulent course.
The sledges were drawn up together in a triangle to form a shelter to
the fire they had lit for cooking, for the wind came down sharply from
the mountains. Rifles and pistols lay with the sledges, for the little
party of five had stripped to their work, so that, save for the axes
they used, they were unarmed.
But no thought of danger occurred to any one present; that was postponed
in imagination till they had finished the raft and embarked for a
twenty-mile sail down to where the river, which entered as a shallow
mountain torrent, rushed out, wonderfully augmented, to tear northward
in a series of wild rapids, which would need all the strength and
courage of the travellers to navigate them in safety.
A hearty laugh was ringing out, for the big Cornishman had rather
boastingly announced that he could carry one of the fallen trees easily
to the lake, put it to the proof, slipped, and gone head first into the
water after the tree, when a sharp crack rang out from near at hand.
Abel uttered a loud cry, clapped his hands to his head, and fell
backward.
For a moment or two the men stood as if paralysed, gazing at the fallen
youth. Then Dallas looked sharply round, caught sight of a thin film of
smoke curling up from the edge of the forest, and with a cry of rage ran
toward the sledges, thrusting the handle of his axe through his belt,
caught up his revolver from where it lay, and dashed towards the spot
whence the firing must have come.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
WHOLESALE ROBBERY.
"Keep together--keep together!" shouted the big Cornishman; but no one
heeded, and he followed their example of seizing the first weapon he
could reach and following.
The pursuit was short, for it seemed madness to follow in amongst the
dense pines which formed the forest, placing themselves at the mercy of
an enemy who could bring them down as they struggled through the dense
thicket of fallen trees and tangled branches: so, after a few rallying
cries, they made their way back to the open space by the lake, to find
Abel sitting up and resting his head upon his hand.
"Wounded!" panted Dallas.
"Yes--no! I can't tell! Look!" said the injured man huskily.
A few minutes' examination showed how narrow had been his escape, a
bullet having struck the side of the poor fellow's head, just abrading
the scalp. Half an inch lower must have meant death.
"Injuns," said the Cornishman laconically.
"No, no," cried Dallas, with a fierce look round; "it must be our
enemies."
"Not they, my lad; they're fast asleep under the snow, you may take your
oath. It's Injuns, by the way they hid themselves. Now, then, can you
keep watch--sentry go?" he said, addressing Abel.
"Yes, it was only a graze from the bullet; I am better now."
"Then you take a loaded rifle and keep watch while we go on knocking the
raft together."
"Yes," cried Dallas, "the sooner we get away from here the better."
All set to work with feverish energy at the raft-making. Enough wood
was cut, and by clever notching together, the use of spikes, and a
further strengthening with rope, the framework rapidly progressed, their
intention being to launch, load up, and set off that evening, so as to
get to a safer spot.
Abel carefully kept his watch, scanning the dark edge of the forest; but
there was no further interruption, and the men worked away, with only a
brief pause for refreshment.
Then the sun dipped below the pines, and as darkness approached Dallas
let his axe rest on the young pine he had been trimming, and turned to
his companions, with a look of despair in his eyes.
"Yes," said the Cornishman good-humouredly, "we cut out more stuff than
we can finish to-night, my son. It's a bigger job than I thought. We
shall have to knock off now. What's to be done about the fire?"
It was risky work, but the watch was well kept while water was boiled
and bacon fried. Then a hasty meal was made, and as the darkness fell
the fire was quenched by throwing over it a bucket or two of water.
It was hard enough to do this, for though the ground was clear about
them, snow lay on every rocky hill, and the night promised to be
bitterly cold. But the exposure to an enemy would have been too great;
so after selecting one of the huge spruces whose boughs hung down to the
ground for a shelter, and dragging the sledges close in, the question
arose of continuing the watch.
"Tchah! It's as dark as pitch," said the Cornishman. "Nobody could
see. Let the enemy think we're watching. They won't come. We must
chance it. Wrap up well, and have a good night's rest."
This advice was taken, and soon after all were sleeping the sleep of
exhaustion, and awoke at daylight without a fresh alarm.
The previous day's tactics were resumed, and the toil over the raft went
on, but there was still so much to do in the way of bracing and
strengthening the rough craft so that it might withstand the fierce
currents and concussions they were to expect at the lower part of the
lake where the rapids began, that the hours glided by till late in the
afternoon, and still the task was not done.
"Who could have thought it would take so long?" said Dallas at last.
"You see, we have everything to cut."
"No one, my son," said their big friend, smiling; "but I bet we
shouldn't have got the job done for us in double the time."
"It would be madness to start to-night."
"Stark. Couldn't get loaded up before dark, and then it'll be like
pitch. Let's cut some poles for punting and a mast to make a bit of
sail if we like, and then I think we may say that we have got our job
well done, ready for loading up and starting in the morning."
"Yes," said Abel, who seemed little the worse for his last mishap; "it
was better to make a good job of the raft."
"And that we've done," said the Cornishman.
The poles were cut, trimmed, and laid upon the deck, which had been
finished after launching; and now, as they examined their work, all were
satisfied that it could not have been done better in the time, for as it
lay in the clear water, swinging by a rope secured to a pine-stump, all
felt that it would easily bear the party, their sledges and stores; and
the pity seemed to be that it could not be used for the whole of their
journey.
"Who knows? Perhaps it may."
There was an hour's daylight yet, and this was utilised down on the
sandy shore of the stream which ran into the lake hard by.
It was the first trial, and no little interest was felt as every man
waded into the icy cold water, pannikin in hand, to scoop the sand aside
and then get a tinful from as deep down as they could.
This was washed and watched beneath the water, the stones thrown out,
and washed again, till only a little sand remained, and this was
carefully examined.
"Gold!" cried Dallas excitedly; and this was eagerly responded to by the
others, for in every pan there was some of the precious metal, but such
tiny grains that it was decided that a halt would be useless there.
"Farther on," said Dallas excitedly; "this is only the edge of the
golden land, but here is proof that we are going right."
"Yes," said the big Cornishman; "but I don't rest till we can shovel it
up like gravel from a pit."
Darkness put an end to their search, and once more the fire was
quenched, and in silence they sought the shelter of the great tree,
placed their arms ready, rolled themselves in their blankets, and were
soon asleep.
It seemed as if they had only just lain down when one of the men
shouted, "Morning!"
"Hooray!" cried the big Cornishman. "Who's going to face the cold, and
have a dip in the lake?"
Every one but Abel, who hung back.
"Don't you feel well enough to come?" said Dallas anxiously.
"Yes, but some one ought to light the fire and set the billy to boil."
"Here! Hi! All of you," yelled the big Cornishman, who had gone on.
"Quick!"
All ran at the alarm, and then stood aghast.
"The rope must have come undone," cried Dallas.
"Don't look like it, my son. It's left part of itself behind."
"Broken--snapped?" cried Abel.
"Sawed through with a knife," said one of the men.
"Injuns. Come in the night; lucky they didn't use their knives to us,"
growled the Cornishman fiercely, as he looked searchingly round.
"Look," cried Dallas, excited; "these are not Indian traces;" and he
pointed down at the sandy shore.
"Indian? No," cried Abel, going down on his knees; "the marks of
navigators' boots, with nails;" and he looked wildly across and down the
lake.
But the raft, their two days' hard work, had gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
MAKING THE BEST OF IT.
"You're quite right, my son," said the Cornishman coolly, after lighting
his pipe and carefully examining the ground. "I'm not much of a hand at
this kind of thing, but it looks plain enough. Here's all our footmarks
quite fresh, and here's a lot more that look as if they were made last
night."
"Last night?" cried Dallas.
"Ay, that they do."
"But those may be ours."
"Nay; not one of us has got a hoof like that," cried the Cornishman,
pointing with the stem of his pipe. "I've got a tidy one of my own, but
I aren't pigeon-toed. Look at that one, too, and that. Yonder's our
marks, and, hullo! what's that lying in the water?"
The others gazed in the indicated direction, and Dallas leaped into the
shallow water, to stoop down and pick out a knife.
"Some one must have dropped this," he cried.
"Unless one of us has lost his," said the big fellow. "Any one own it?"
There was a chorus of negatives.
"Well, I'm sorry," cried the Cornishman. "Poor chap! How savage he'll
be to find he has lost his toothpick. Look here," he continued grimly,
"if you all don't mind, I'll take care o' this bit of steel. We may
meet the chap as lost it, and I should like to give it him back."
"Oh," cried Dallas passionately, "how can you laugh and make a joke of
such a misfortune as this?"
"What's the good o' crying about it, my son?" said the man, smiling.
"There's worse disasters at sea. Who says light a fire and have a good
breakfast?"
"Breakfast!" cried Abel; "nonsense! We must go in pursuit at once."
"And leave our traps for some one else to grab? Why, dear boy, we
couldn't get through the forest empty-handed."
"No," said Abel, gazing along the bank of the lake disconsolately.
"He's right, Bel," said Dallas, after shading his eyes and looking down
the lake. "They've got right away."
"Hang 'em, yes," said the Cornishman, smiling merrily. "I say, I wish
we hadn't taken quite so much pains with that there raft. If we'd known
we'd ha' saved all those six-inch spikes we put in it."
"The scoundrels, whoever they are!" cried Dallas. "It's beyond
bearing."
"Nay, not quite, my son," said their new friend good-humouredly,
"because we've got to bear it. Cheer up. Might have been worse. You
see, it was a fresh lot come along while we were asleep and out of
sight. `Hullo!' says one of 'em, `now I do call this kind; some un's
made us a raft all ready for taking to the water. Come along, mates,'
and they all comed."
"I wish I'd heard them," cried Dallas.
"Well, if you come to that, so do I, my sons. But there, we've got our
tackle, and they haven't taken all the wood, so we must make another."
"Yes, and waste two more days," cried Abel angrily.
"Well, we're none of us old yet," said the Cornishman good-humouredly;
"and I don't suppose those who have gone before will have got all the
gold."
"But it is so annoying to think that we lay snoring yonder and let
whoever they were steal the raft," said one of the men.
"So it is, my son," cried his companion; "and I can see that you two are
chock full o' swear words. Tell you what: you two go in yonder among
the trees and let 'em off, while we three light the fire and cook the
rashers. It'll ease your minds, and you'll feel better. I say, what's
about the value of that there raft?"
"I wouldn't have taken twenty pounds for my share of it," cried Abel.
"Humph! Twenty," said the Cornishman musingly. "Well, seeing it's
here, we'll say twenty pound. There's five of us, and that makes a
hundred. All right, my sons; we shall come upon those chaps one of
these days, and they'll have to pay us about a pound and a harf o' gold
for our work; and if they don't there's going to be a fight. Now then,
gentlemen, fire--breakfast--and then work. We shall be a bit more handy
in making another. Wish we'd had a bit o' paint."
"Paint! What for?" cried Dallas and Abel in a breath.
"Only to have touched it up, and made it look pretty for 'em."
"Never mind!" said Dallas, through his teeth. "We'll make it to look
pretty for them when we find them."
"So we will, my son," cried the Cornishman, and as he gathered chips and
branches together he kept on indulging in a hearty laugh at the prospect
of the encounter; and as the two young adventurers glanced at the man's
tremendous arms, they had sundry thoughts about what would happen to the
thieves.
The Cornishman was right; they were much more handy over making the
second raft, and worked so hard that by the end of the following day a
new and stronger one was made and loaded ready for the next morning's
start.
But this time a watch was kept, one of the party sitting on board until
half the night had passed, when he was relieved by another; and as the
sun rose, breakfast was over, and they cast off the rope from the
pine-stump which had formed the mooring-post.
The morning was glorious, and the sun lit up the snow-covered mountains,
making the scene that of a veritable land of gold. A light breeze, too,
was blowing in their favour, so that their clumsy craft was wafted down
the lake, which here and there assumed the aspect of a wide river of the
bluest and purest water, the keen, elastic air sending a thrill of
health and strength through them, and it seemed as if the tales they had
heard of the perils they were to encounter were merely bugbears, for
nothing could have been pleasanter than their passage.
"Let's see," said Dallas, who was well provided with map and plan; "when
we get to the bottom of this lake there are some narrows and rapids to
pass along."
"So we heard," said the Cornishman. "Well, so much the better. We
shall go the faster. I suppose they're not Falls of Ni-agger-ray.--I
say, can you gents swim?"
"Pretty well," was the reply. "Can you?"
The big fellow scratched his head and screwed up his face into a queer
smile.
"You ask my two mates," he said.
"No, I asked you," said Dallas.
"Not a stroke, my son. If we get capsized I shall trust to being six
foot three and a half and walk out. I don't s'pose it'll be deeper than
that. If it is, I dessay my mates'll lend me a hand."
"Then we mustn't capsize," said Abel.
"Well, it would be as well not," said one of the other party drily, "on
account of the flour and sugar and tea. I always said you ought to
swim, Bob, old man."
"So you did, mate," said the big fellow, with a chuckle. "And as soon
as it gets warm enough I'm going to learn."
That night they reached the foot of the lake where the rocky walls
closed in, forming a narrow ravine, through which the great body of
water seemed to be emptying itself with a roar, the aspect of the place
being dangerous enough to make the party pole to the shore at the first
likely landing-place and camp for the night.
The evening was well upon them by the time they had their fire alight,
and after a hearty meal their couch of pine-boughs proved very welcome.
"Sounds ominous, Dal," said Abel. "I hope we shall get safely through
in the morning."
"We must," was the reply. "Don't think about it; we ought to be
hardened enough to do anything now. How's your head?"
"A bit achey sometimes. And your shoulder?"
There was no reply, for, utterly wearied out with poling the raft,
Dallas was asleep, leaving only one of the party to watch the expiring
embers of the fire, and listen to the rapids' deep humming roar.
Abel did not keep awake, though, long. For after getting up to satisfy
himself that the raft was safe, he lay down again, meaning to watch till
the fire was quite out, though there was not the slightest danger of
their being attacked. The only way an enemy could have approached was
by water, and it was with a calm, restful sense of satisfaction that the
young man stretched himself out on the soft boughs as he said to
himself, "There isn't a boat on the lake, and it would take any party
two days to make a raft."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
FROM THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE WET FIRE.
"We could not have better weather, Bel," said Dallas, as they finished
the next morning's breakfast. "Summer is coming."
"Rather a snowy summer," was the reply; "but never mind the cold: let's
try wherever we halt to see if there is any gold; those fellows are
getting out their tins."
A few minutes later all were gold-washing on the shore, their Cornish
friend having cast loose a shovel, and given every person a charge of
sand and stones from one of the shallows, taking his shovelfuls from
places a dozen yards or so apart.
Then the washing began in the bright sunshine, with the same results--a
few tiny specks of colour, as the men termed their glittering scales of
gold-dust.
"That's your sort, gentlemen," cried the Cornishman, washing out his
pan, after tossing the contents away; "plenty of gold, and if you worked
hard you might get about half enough to starve on. Why, we could ha'
done better at home, down in Wales. You can get a hundred pounds' worth
of gold there if you spend a hundred and fifty in labour."
"Yes; but even this dust shows that we are getting into the gold
region," said Dallas.
"That's right, my son, so come along and let's get there. I s'pose
we're going right?"
"We must be," said Dallas. "I have studied the maps well, and we passed
the watershed--"
"Eh? We haven't passed no watershed. Not so much as a tent."
Dallas had to explain that they had crossed the mountains which shed the
water in different directions.
"Oh, that's it, is it, my son? I thought you meant something built up."
"So he did," said Abel, smiling, "by nature. When we were on the other
side of the mountains the streams ran towards the south."
"That's right, master."
"Now you see the direction in which the water runs is towards the north.
Here in the map is the great Yukon River, running right across from
east to west, and these lakes form the little rivers which must run into
the Yukon."
"And that's the great gold river, my sons."
"Yes; but we shall find what we want in the rivers and creeks that run
down from the mountains to form the Yukon."
"That's all right, my son; so if we keep to these waters we must come to
the right place at last."
"I hope so."
"So do I, my son; so, as they said at the 'Merican railway stations,
`All aboard, and let's get as far down to-day as we can.'"
They stepped on to the raft, cast off the rope, and each man picked up
one of the twelve-foot pine-sapling poles they had provided for their
navigation down the rapids, of which they had been warned at starting;
and the big Cornishman planted himself in front.
"Anybody else like to come here?" he said.
There was a chorus of "No's," and he nodded and smiled.
"Thought I was best here to fend the raft off the rocks when she begins
to race. I say, we're going to have it lower down. Hear it?"
All nodded assent.
"If we are capsized, my sons," continued the big fellow drily, "one of
you had better swim up to me and take me on his back. What do you say,
little un?" he added to Abel. "It'll be your turn to help me."
"I'll stand by you," cried Abel; "never fear."
"I know that, my lad. I say, the stream begins to show now as the place
gets narrower. Looks as if it'll be nearly closed in. Well, we must
risk it. There's no walking as I see on either side."
"Ahoy!" came from the right bank, where the lake was fast becoming a
river.
"Ahoy to you, and good morning, whoever you are," cried the Cornishman.
Some unintelligible words followed, he who uttered them being plainly to
be seen now on a ledge some fifty feet above the surface of the water.
But his signs were easy to be understood.
"Wants us to give him a lift," said Dallas. "Can we stop?"
"Oh, yes, and it would only be civil," said the Cornishman. "Just room
for one first-class passenger. All right; lend a hand here. I can
touch bottom. 'Bout seven foot."
Poles were thrust down, and the raft was urged across the flowing water
till the eddy on the far side was reached, and then, with the fierce
roar coming out of a narrow gap in the rocks a few hundred yards lower,
the raft was easily thrust into a little cove below the man on the
shelf.
"Going down the rapids?" he shouted.
"We are, my lad," cried their captain. "Why?"
"Will you give a poor fellow a lift down? I can't get any farther for
the rocks."
"Far as the gold country?"
"Oh, no: I don't ask that. Only to where I can tramp again."
"Well, we've just room for a little un," said the Cornishman. "Much
luggage?"
"Only this pack," was the reply.
"Jump in, then," said the leader, with a grim smile. "P'r'aps, though,
you'd better come lower."
The man nodded, slung his pack over his shoulder, and then, turning,
began to descend the almost perpendicular face of the rocks, twice over
narrowly escaping a bad fall. But at last he reached the foot, waded
out a little, and then stepped on board.
"Thankye," he said; "you are good Christians. I've been here a
fortnight, and couldn't get any farther. I shouldn't have been alive
now if I hadn't got a fish or two."
"You are tramping to the gold region all alone, then?"
"Yes, and I've nearly tramped all the way from Chicago."
The Cornishman turned and stared.
"I got a lift sometimes on the cattle and freight trains, though, when I
could creep on unseen."
"The gold has a magnetic attraction for you, then?" said Abel.
"I suppose so, but it's my last chance. This is a solitary way, though,
isn't it? I've hardly seen a soul. I saw your fire, though, last
night, across yonder."
"Did you see anybody go by on a raft three or four days ago?" cried
Dallas eagerly.
"I did. Party of three, and hailed them."
"What were they like?" cried Abel.
"Roughs; shacks; loafers. One of them had a big red beard."
Dallas started, and glanced at Abel.
"A brute!" cried the stranger fiercely. "I asked them to give me a
lift, as I was going to starve here if they didn't, and I warned them
that I had heard it wanted a strong party to take a craft through the
rapids. `All right, stranger,' he said, pushing the craft a little
nearer. `Mind lending me your knife to trim this rough pole with? I've
lost mine.'"
It was Abel now who glanced at Dallas.
"`Catch,' I said, pitching mine, in its sheath."
"Well?" said the Cornishman, fumbling in his belt.