perilous position of a great wolfish-looking hound some twenty yards
from the shore, where it was struggling vainly, prisoned as it was,
uttering a faint yelp every now and then, and gazing piteously at the
spectators on the bank.
"The lad's mad," cried the judge, going closer to the ice.
But, mad or no, Dallas had, in his ignorance of the great danger of the
act, run down, boldly leaped on the moving ice, and stepped from block
to block till he reached the dog, which began to whine and bark loudly,
as it made frantic efforts to free its hindquarters. In another minute
it would have been drawn down farther, but for the coming of the young
man, who, heedless of the rocking and gliding motion of the ice, strode
the narrow opening between the two masses which held the dog, stooping
down at the same moment, and seizing the poor brute by the rough hair
about its neck.
For a few moments his effort seemed vain, and a roar of voices reached
him, as the spectators shouted to him to come back.
Then the two pieces swayed slightly, and gradually drew apart, and the
dog was at liberty, but apparently with one leg crushed, for it lay
down, howling dismally after an effort to limp back to the land.
There was a great strap round its neck, and this was joined to another
just behind its shoulders, and, seizing this, Dallas flung the poor
animal on its side and dragged it after him as he began to step
cautiously back from block to block, now sinking down, now rising, and
now narrowly escaping being caught between the moving pieces; but he
kept on, conscious, though, that the bank seemed rising upward; while
the crushing and roar of the breaking ice prevented him from hearing the
words of advice shouted by his friends.
He could not hear, but he could see Bel, who was forcing his way through
the crowd to keep alongside, ready to help him when he came within
reach, if ever he did, and it was from him that he afterwards learned
that the advice shouted was to let the dog take his chance.
Twice over the set of the ice was off the shore, and matters looked bad
for the young adventurer, but he stuck to the dog, and, just when the
chance of reaching the shore seemed most hopeless, a couple of large
flat floes rose up, and, making a dash, Dallas went boldly across them,
reaching others that did not yield so much, and the next minute there
was a cheer which he could hear, for he reached the shore with the dog,
which looked up in his face and whined, and then limped off through the
crowd.
"Life seems cheap your way, my fine fellow," said the judge. "Five
minutes ago I wouldn't have given a grain of gold for yours. We don't
do that sort of thing out here for the sake of a vicious, thieving dog."
"I could not stand by and see the poor brute die," said Dallas quietly.
"So it seems," said the judge. "Well, I congratulate you two young
fellows on your escape last night. Those scoundrels have got away; and
if they turn up again, lawyer though I am, I should advise you both to
shoot on sight. If you are brought before me, I'll promise you I will
bring it in justifiable homicide."
A couple of hours later they had parted from Tregelly and his
companions, with a hearty shake of the hand and a promise to keep to
their agreement about the gold.
"If we discover a good place."
CHAPTER TWENTY.
NORTON'S IDEA OF A GOOD SPOT.
It was a long, weary tramp up by the higher waters of the huge Yukon
River towards its sources in the neighbourhood of the Pelly Lakes, where
sharp rapids and torrents were succeeded by small, shallow lakes; and
wherever they halted, shovel and pan were set to work, and, as their
guide Norton termed it, the granite and sand were tasted, and gold in
exceedingly small quantities was found.
"It's so 'most everywhere," said Norton; "and I don't say but what you
might find a rich spot at any time; but if you take my advice you'll
come straight on with me to where a few of us are settled down. It's
regularly into the wilds. I don't suppose even an Indian has been there
before; but we chaps went up."
"But there are Indians about, I suppose?" said Abel.
"Mebbe, but I haven't seen any."
The end of their journey was reached at last, high up the creek they had
followed, and, save here and there in sheltered rifts, the snow was
gone; the brief summer was at hand, and clothing the stones with flowers
and verdure that were most refreshing after the wintry rigours through
which they had forced their way.
"Nice and free and open, eh?" said Norton, smiling. "I may as well
show you to the comrades up here, and then I'll help you pick out a
decent claim, and you can set to work. There's only about a dozen of us
here yet, and so you won't be mobbed."
"Very well," said Dallas; "but we'll try in that open space where the
trees are so young."
Norton nodded, and, armed with a shovel and pan, the young men stepped
to a spot about fifty feet from the edge of the rushing stream, cleared
away the green growth among the young pines, and Dallas tried to drive
down his shovel through the loose, gravelly soil; but the tool did not
penetrate four inches.
"Why, it's stone underneath."
"Ice," said Norton, smiling. "It hasn't had time to thaw down far yet;
but you skin off some of the gravelly top, and try it."
Dallas filled the pan, and they went together to a shallow place by the
side of the creek, bent down, and, with the pan just beneath the
surface, agitated and stirred it, the water washing away the thick muddy
portion till nothing was left but sand and stones.
These latter were picked out and thrown away; more washing followed,
more little stones were thrown out, and at last there was nothing but a
deposit of sand at the bottom, in which gleamed brightly some specks and
scales of bright yellow gold.
Norton finished his pipe, and then led the way farther up the stream, to
stop at last by a rough pine-wood shed thatched with boughs.
"This is my mansion," he said. "Leave the sledges here, and we'll go
and see the rest."
The stream turned and twisted about here in a wonderful way, doubling
back upon itself, and spreading about over a space of three or four
miles along the winding valley where the tiny mining settlement had been
pitched--only some six or seven huts among the dwarfed pine-trees in
all, the places being marked by fallen trees and stumps protruding from
the ground.
They were all made on the same pattern, of stout young pine-trees with
ridge-pole and rafters to support a dense thatching of boughs, and
mostly with a hole left in the centre of the roof for the smoke of the
fire burned within to escape.
The two strangers were received in a friendly enough way, the rough
settlers chatting freely about the new-comers' prospects, showing
specimens of the gold they had found, and making suggestions about the
likeliest spot for marking out a claim along the bank.
The result was that before the day ended, acting a good deal under
Norton's advice, the young men had marked out a double claim and settled
where their hut should be set up, so as to form a fresh addition to the
camp.
"You ought to do well here," said Norton. "There's gold worth millions
of money in this district for certain; but the question is, can you
strike it rich or only poor? If I thought I could do better somewhere
else I should go, but I'm going to try it fairly here."
"We'll do the same," said Dallas; and, the weather being brilliant and
the air exhilarating to a degree, they set to work cutting pegs for
driving down to make out their claim, Norton reminding them that they
would have certain applications to make afterwards to the government
agency, and then began to cut down small trees for building their
shanty.
To their surprise and delight, four of the neighbours came, axe-armed,
to help, so that the task was made comparatively easy.
At the end of a week a rough, strong, habitable home was made, door,
window, shutter and bars included, two of their helpers having come
provided with a pit-saw for cutting the bigger pine-trunks up into rough
boards, which were to be paid for out of the first gold winnings the
young men made.
Within another week they were out of debt, for, to their intense
delight, the claim promised well, the shaft they had commenced and the
banks of the little river yielding enough gold to set them working every
minute they could see.
But the reality did not come up to the dazzling dream in which they had
indulged, either in their case or that of the men they encountered.
There was the gold, and they won it from the soil; but it was only by
hard labour and in small quantities, which were stored up in a leathern
bag and placed in the bank--this being a hole formed under Abel's bed,
covered first with a few short pieces of plank, and then with dry earth.
The store increased as the time went on, but then it decreased when an
expedition had to be made to the settlement below to fetch more
provisions, the country around supplying them with plenty of fuel and
clear drinking water, but little else. Now and then there was the
rumour of a moose being seen, and a party would turn out and shoot it,
when there was feasting while it lasted; but these days were few.
Occasionally, too, either Dallas or Abel would stroll round with his gun
and get a few ptarmigan or willow grouse. On lucky days, too, a brace
of wild ducks would fall to their shot; but these excursions were rare,
for there was the one great thirst to satisfy--that for the gold; and
for the most part their existence during the brief summer was filled up
by hard toil, digging and cradling the gold-bearing gravel, while they
lived upon coarse bacon, beans, and ill-made cakey bread, tormented
horribly the while by the mosquitoes, which increased by myriads in the
sunny time.
Then came the days when the wretched little insect pests began to grow
rarer.
"We shall not be able to work as late as this much longer," said Dallas.
"No," replied Abel; "the days are getting horribly short, and the nights
terribly long. The dark winter will be upon us directly, and we seem to
get no farther."
"We may turn up trumps at any moment, old fellow," said Dallas cheerily.
"Yes, we may," said Abel gloomily.
"Don't take it like that," cried Dallas. "Here we are in the gold
region, and every day we find nuggets."
"Weighing two or three grains apiece."
"Exactly; but at any moment we might at a turn of the shovel lay them
bare weighing ounces or even pounds."
"Pigs might fly," said Abel.
"Bah! Where's your pluck? Work away."
"Oh, yes, I'll work," said Abel; "but with the dreary winter coming on
one can't help feeling a bit depressed. I say, I'm very glad we never
sent a message to old Tregelly and his mates to come and join us."
"Well, it would have turned out rather crusty," said Dallas, who was
shovelling gravel into the cradle, while Abel stood over his ankle in
the stream, rocking away and stopping from time to time to pick out some
tiny speck of gold.
"We shall never make our fortunes at this," he said.
"Bah! Don't be in a hurry. At all events, we are in safety. No fear
of dangerous visitors, and--Here, quick--the hut--your rifle, man!
Run!"
Abel sprang to the shore, to be seized by the arm, and they ran for
their weapons and shelter.
None too soon, for a big burly figure had come into sight from among the
pines, stopped short, and brought down his rifle, as he stood shading
his eyes and scanning the retreating pair.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
TREGELLY SEEKS HIS SONS.
"Ahoy, there! What cheer, O!" rang out in a big bluff voice familiar to
both.
"Oh, I say, what curs we are!" cried Dallas. "It's old Tregelly."
"Yes; don't let him know we were scared."
Vain advice. The big Cornishman shouldered his rifle, bent forward, and
dragged a sledge into sight, broke into a trot, and they met half-way.
"Hullo, my sons! Did you take me for an Injun?" cried Tregelly.
"We took you for that big, red-bearded ruffian," said Dallas huskily, as
he shook hands.
"Thankye, my son; on'y don't do it again. I don't like the compliment.
But how are you?--how are you?"
"Oh, middling. We were just thinking about you."
"Were you, my sons?" cried the big Cornishman, smiling all over his
broad face. "That's right. Well, I was thinking about you, and
wondering whether I should find you, and here you are first go."
"But how did you find us?" cried Dallas, after shaking hands warmly.
"Went back to Yukon Town a fortni't ago, and the chap there at the hotel
told me you were still up here, for one of you came down now and then to
buy stores."
"Did you see the judge?"
"Oh, yes, he's there still."
"Made his pile?"
"No-o-o! Done pretty tidy, I believe."
"And what about Redbeard and Company? Heard anything of that firm?"
"Yes; heard that they'd been seen by somebody, my son. There'd been a
poor fellow done for up the country, and some gold carried off. They
got the credit of it; but give a dog a bad name and--you know the rest.
I should say they're all dead by now."
"But why didn't you send for us?" said Abel.
"Why didn't you send for me?"
"Well," said Dallas drily, "it was out of good fellowship. We were
afraid it would be more than you could bear to get so rich. But where
are your comrades?"
"Gone home," said Tregelly, in a tone of voice that the two young men
took to mean, "Don't ask questions!"
"But you've found a lot?" said Dallas.
"Well, yes, my sons; we managed to scrape a good deal together, some
here and some there, for we changed about and travelled over a good deal
of ground."
"And you have sent it home?"
"Nay-y-ay! I've got it here on the sledge."
"Oh!" said Abel, looking at the shabby kit their visitor had left close
to the door of the hut.
"I've got a bit in a bag; but, you see, it costs all you can scrape
together to live wherever I've been; so I thought I'd look you two up,
as my mates had gone, so as to be company for a poor little lonely chap.
Will you have me?"
"Of course."
"Any chance of picking up a decent claim here?"
"Plenty, such as we have," replied Dallas. "You'll be able to do as
well as we've done, and the others about here."
"That means the lumps of gold are not too big to lift?"
"That's it," said Dallas. "I've been thinking that if we were here next
summer, we ought to get a lot of ants and train them to carry the grains
for us."
"Ah, I see, my sons. I say, one might almost have made as much by
stopping at home, eh?"
"Here, don't you come here to begin croaking," cried Dallas. "Abel here
can do that enough for a dozen."
"Can he?" cried Tregelly. "Oh, you mustn't do that, my son. There's
plenty of gold if we can only find it. I saw a chap with a gashly lump
as big as a baby's fist. We'll do it yet. So you haven't done much
good, then?"
"If we had we should have sent word for you to come."
"And I should have sent or come for you, my sons. Look here, we'd
better make a change, and explore higher up towards the mountains."
"Too late this year," said Dallas decisively.
"Oh, yes; too late this season, my sons. We mustn't get too far from
the supplies. Means--you know what! famine and that sort o' thing."
"Yes, we know," said Abel bitterly.
"We'll do it when the days begin to lengthen again," continued Tregelly.
"What we've got to do is to make as big a heap here as we can during
the winter, wash it out in the spring, and if it's good enough, then
stop here. If it aren't, go and find a better place."
"Yes, that's right," said Dallas. "But about rations. There's nothing
to be got here. Have you brought plenty?"
"Much as ever I could pull, my sons, and I'll take it kindly if you'll
let me camp with you to-night, so that I can leave my swag with you
while I hunt out a claim."
"Of course," cried Dallas; "we'll help you all we can."
"There's that pitch down yonder, Dal," said Abel--"the one we said
looked likely."
"Of course; the place we tried, and which seemed fairly rich."
"That sounds well," said Tregelly. What was more, it looked so well
that the big fellow decided to stay there at once, and put in his pegs,
the only drawback seeming to be its remoteness from the scattered claims
of the others up the creek.
But this did not trouble the big Cornishman in the least. With the help
freely given by his two friends, pines were cut down, a hut knocked
together, and many days had not elapsed before he was working away, and
looking as much at home as if he had been there all the season,
declaring when they met after working hours that it was much better than
anything he and his companions had come across during their travels.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
A NIGHT ALARM.
"There's a deal in make-believe, Bel, old chap," said Dallas one day, as
they sat together in their rough hut of fir-trunks, brooding over the
fire lit in the centre of the floor, the blinding smoke from which
escaped slowly out of an opening in the roof, when the fierce wind did
not drive it back in company with the fine sharp snow, which was coming
down in a regular blizzard.
"Oh, yes, a deal, if you have any faith," said Abel bitterly; "but
mine's all dead."
"Gammon!" cried Dallas. "You're out of sorts, and that makes you
disposed to find fault. But I must confess that during this blizzardly
storm the Castle hall is a little draughty. These antique structures
generally are."
"Months and months of wandering, slavery and misery, and to come to
this!"
"Yes, you are not at your best, old man. How's the foot?"
"Rotting off as a frozen member will."
"My dear Bel, you want a tonic!" said Dallas cheerily.
"Think you will be able to live through this awful winter, Dal?"
"Live! I should think we will," said the young man, carefully picking
up and laying some of the half-burned brands on the centre of the
crackling fire. "So will you."
"No, I shall never see home again."
"Bel, you're a lazy beggar, with a natural dislike to cold," said
Dallas. "It always was so, and you always used to have the worst
chilblains, and turn grumpy when they itched and burned. You don't make
the best of things, old chap."
"No, Dal, I haven't got your spirit. How many days longer will that
meal last?"
"That depends, dear boy, on whether we are frugal, or go on banqueting
and gorging."
"It is dreadfully low, isn't it?"
"Well, the supply is not great, but there is a morsel of bacon and a
frozen leg-bone of our share of the moose, whose roasted marrow will be
delicious. No; the larder is not well stocked, but the supply of fuel
is unlimited, and we have our gigantic bag of gold in the bank cellar."
"Curse the gold!"
"No, I will not do that, my dear boy, because, you see, I can take out a
handful, tramp down to the store, and come back laden with corn and wine
and delicacies in the shape of bacon and tinned meat."
"Dal, it's of no use; we must give up and go back."
"No, we must not, old chap; and even if I said the same, we couldn't get
away this winter time."
"You could. I'm doomed--I'm doomed!"
"Here, I say," cried Dallas, "don't begin making quotations."
"Quotations?"
"Yes; that's what the despairing old chap says in Byron's comedy, `I'm
doomed--I'm doomed!' and the other fellow says, `Don't go on like that;
it sounds like swearing when it ain't.'"
"Dal," cried Abel passionately, "how can you be so full of folly when we
are in such a desperate state?"
"Because I believe in `Never say die!'" cried the young man cheerily.
"You are cold, man. Allow me, my lord, to spread this purple robe
gracefully over your noble shoulders to keep off the draught. I say,
Bel, these blankets are getting jolly black."
"Thanks, Dal."
"And with your lordship's permission I will hang this piece of tapestry
over the doorway to enhance the warmth of the glow within. Haven't got
a couple of tenpenny nails in your pocket, have you? Never mind; these
pegs'll hold it up. Whoo! it does blow. We shall be quite buried in
the snow by morning."
"Yes, once more," said Abel gloomily.
"So much the warmer for it, Bel, and save the wood. I say, old chap, we
ought to be thankful that we have such a snug den. It would be death to
any one to be out to-night."
"Yes; and they would have ceased hunting for that golden myth, and be at
rest."
"Well, you are a cheerful chap to-night! I say, I wonder what has
become of old `My son,'--Tregelly, the Cornishman?"
"Dead or broken-hearted over this weary search."
"Dead? Why, that fellow wouldn't die a bit. Broken-hearted? His
heart's made of stuff much too tough. He'll turn up some day to tell us
he has made a big find."
"Never. He's dead by now."
"Don't you prophesy until after the event."
"Dal," said Abel, as he sat, gaunt of visage, darkened by exposure, and
totally different from the bright, eager fellow of a few months earlier.
"Yes?"
"You will not go away and leave me?"
"I must, old fellow. The coals for the human grate are nearly out, and
I must fetch some more."
"If you go you will find me dead when you come back. To die alone!
Horrible!"
"Nonsense! Old Norton will come in every day and have a look at you if
I ask him. He's a good old chap, Bel; I wish he had had better luck. I
say, though, this is a rum game. You and I are now living in this rough
dog-kennel, and bad as our luck has been, we have been turning out gold
at the rate of, say, five hundred a year. Not bad that for beginners."
"And it takes all we get to barter for the wretched food," groaned Abel.
"The prices are horrible."
"Well, things are dear, and bad at that, as our American friends say.
But we only have to double our turn-in and we shall grow rich."
The wind was whistling and shrieking about the lonely cabin, the
tattered blanket over the rough wood doorway was blown in, and the smoke
eddied about the corners of the tent as a quantity of snow came through
the opening, and made the fire hiss angrily.
"It won't take me long, old fellow," said Dallas; "and, by the way, I
had better buy a tin of powder and some cartridges. Think you'll be
well enough to-morrow to clean and oil the guns while I'm down the
shaft?"
"I'll try; but the shaft will be full of drifted snow."
"If it is, I'll drift it out."
"What's that?" cried Abel, as a faintly heard howl came from the
distance.
"Sounds like wolves. No dog would be out in a night like this."
"Think they will come here and attack us?"
"Don't know. I hope so."
"What!" cried Abel, with a horrified look.
"Give me a chance to do a little shooting if they come in at the chimney
hole. Glad of a bit of sport. Supply us with some fresh meat, too."
"What, eat wolf?"
"My dear Bel, I get so hungry that I would eat anything now. But they
may taste good. Wolf's a kind of dog; they eat dog in China, and I've
heard that the bargees do so on the Thames."
"What?"
"Don't you remember the chaff at Oxford--the fellows asking the bargees,
`Who ate puppy pie under Marlow Bridge?'"
"There it is again."
"Then I'll take the guns out of the cases if they come nearer. They'll
be able to walk up the snow slope right on to the roof."
But the sounds died away, and Dallas opened a tin and took out a couple
of pieces of roughly made damper, whose crust was plentifully marked
with wood ashes.
"I can't eat," said Abel.
"I can, and I'll set you an example. Sorry there is no Strasburg pie or
other delicacy to tempt you; and the cook is out, or she should grill
you some grouse."
Abel sat nursing his piece of unappetising bread, while Dallas rapidly
disposed of his, the smaller piece.
They had been sitting in silence for some time, with Dallas gazing
wistfully at his companion.
"Try and eat the damper, old fellow," he said. "You must have food."
"I can't, Dal. I say, how much gold is there in the hole?"
"I daresay there's five-and-twenty ounces."
"You must take it, and contrive to get away from here, Dal," said Abel
suddenly.
"And you?"
"Get back home again. She'll break her heart if she loses us both."
_Thud_!
There was a heavy blow at the rough door, and then another.
"Norton come to look us up," whispered Dallas.
"No; he would not knock like that," whispered back Abel--needlessly, for
the roar of the storm would have made the voices inaudible outside.
There was another blow on the door as if something had butted against
it, and then a scratching on the rough wood.
"A bear?" whispered Dallas, rising softly. "Be quiet. Bear's meat is
good, but a bear would not be out on a night like this."
There was another blow, and then a piteous, whining howl.
"A dog, by Jove!" cried Dallas. "Then his master must be in trouble in
the snow."
"Dal, it would be madness to go out in this storm. It means death."