fine snow dropped, and took down the great wooden bar which, hanging in
two rough mortices, formed its fastening.
As he drew the door inward a little, there was a rush of snow and wind,
and the fire roared as the sparks and ashes were wafted about the place,
threatening to fire the two rough bed-places; and with the drifting fine
snow a great lump forced its way in through the narrow crack, rushing
towards the blaze, uttering a dismal howl.
Dallas thrust the door to and stared at the object before them, one of
the great Eskimo dogs, with its thick coat so matted and covered with
ice and snow that the hairs seemed finished off with icicles, which
rattled as the poor brute moved.
"Hullo, here!" cried Dallas. "Where's your master?"
The dog looked at him intelligently, then opened its mouth and howled.
"Come along, then. Seek, seek."
The young man made for the door as if to open it, but the dog crept
closer to the fire, crouched down, and howled more dismally than before.
"Well, come and find him, then. Your master. Here, here! Come along."
The dog lifted its head, looked at the glowing fire, and then at first
one and then the other, howled again, and made an effort to raise
itself, but fell over.
"What's he mean by that, poor brute? He's as weak as a rat. What is
it, then, old fellow?" cried Dallas, bending down to pat him. "Why, the
poor brute's a mere skeleton."
The dog howled once more, struggled up, and fell over sideways.
"He doesn't act as if any one was with him," said Abel.
The dog howled again, made a fresh effort, and this time managed to sit
up on his hindquarters, and drooped his fore-paws, opening his great
mouth and lolling out the curled-up tongue.
"Starving--poor wretch!" said Dallas. "No, no, Bel, don't. It's the
last piece of the bread."
"I can't eat it," replied Abel. "Let the poor brute have it. I can't
see it suffer like that."
He broke up the cake and threw it piece after piece, each being snapped
up with avidity, till there was no more, when the poor brute whined and
licked Bel's hand, and then turned, crawled nearer to the fire, laid his
great rough head across Dallas's foot, and lay blinking up at him, with
the ice and snow which matted his dense coat melting fast.
"Poor beggar!" said Dallas. "He has been having a rough time."
The dog whined softly, and the unpleasant odour of burning hair began to
fill the place as his bushy tail was swept once into the glowing embers.
"Give him part of the moose bone, Dal," said Abel.
"If this blizzard keeps on we have only that to depend on, old fellow.
I want to help the dog, but I must think of you."
"Give it up," said Abel gloomily, as he laid a hand on his bandaged
foot. "Give him what there is, and then let him lie down and die with
us. The golden dream is all over now. Look! the poor brute just
managed to struggle here. He's dying."
"No, settling down to sleep in the warm glow. Look how the water runs
from his coat."
"Dying," said Abel positively. And the poor brute's actions seemed to
prove that the last speaker was right, for he lay whining more and more
softly, blinking at the fire with his eyes half-closed, and a shiver
kept on running through him, while once when he tried to rise he uttered
a low moan and fell over on to his side.
"Is he dead, Dal?" said Abel hoarsely.
His cousin bent over the dog and laid his hand upon his throat, with the
result that there was a low growling snarl and the eyes opened to look
up, but only to close again, and the bushy tale tapped the floor a few
times.
"Knows he is with friends, poor fellow!" said Dallas. "But he did not
show much sense in coming to Starvation Hall."
"It was the fire that attracted him."
"Perhaps," said Dallas. "But I have a sort of fancy that we have met
before."
"What!" cried Abel, brightening up, "you don't think--"
"Yes, I do. Did you notice that the poor brute limped with one of his
hind-legs?"
"Yes, but--oh, impossible. A dog would not know you again like that.
You mean the one you saved from the ice."
"Yes, I do; but we shall see by daylight, such as it is. I say, though,
if we do get home again, you and I, after our experience of this Arctic
place, ought to volunteer for the next North Pole expedition."
Abel heaved a deep sigh.
"Look here, old fellow; you were brightening up, now you are going back
again. Let's go to bed and have a good long sleep in the warm. What
about the dog?"
"Yes, what about him?"
"I suppose we mustn't turn him out again on a night like this."
"Impossible."
"But you know what these brutes are. He'll be rousing up and eating our
candles and belts--anything he can get hold of; but I suppose we must
risk it."
The door now being rattled loudly by the tremendous wind, was once more
made secure, the blanket replaced, and then, after well making up the
fire with a couple of heavy logs, the weary pair were about to creep
into their skin sleeping-bags when they were startled into full
wakefulness again, for a fierce gust seemed to seize and shake the hut,
and then, as the wind went roaring away, there was a wild moaning cry,
and a sharp report from close at hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
BEGGING YOUR BREAD IN GOLDEN DAYS.
"It is the dog's master, Bel," whispered Dallas, springing to the door
and beginning to unfasten it, just as the dog raised his head and whined
dismally.
The disposition was there to help, and as soon as he could get the door
open, Dallas dashed out into the whirling snow, which rushed in blinding
eddies about the hut, while Abel, awestricken and panting, clung to the
post and tried to pierce the black darkness.
"It is madness. It means death," he groaned to himself.
Even as the thought crossed his mind Dallas staggered back, to stand
panting and wiping the snow from his eyes.
Then he dashed out again, but was beaten back breathless and exhausted.
Again he tried, for Abel had not the heart to stay him, and a good ten
minutes elapsed--minutes of anxiety to the watcher, which seemed like
hours--before his companion was literally driven in again, to fall
completely exhausted upon the floor.
"I can't do it, Bel," he said at last feebly. "I never thought the wind
and snow could be like this. It's death to go out there, and I felt
that I should never get back again."
He struggled to his feet once more and made for the door, but Abel
seized him by the arm and tried to shut out the blinding snow, which had
given the interior of the hut the appearance of winter, and after a hard
struggle the door was closed.
"Bel, that biggest tree at the side is split right down, and half has
fallen this way," said Dallas breathlessly. "It must have been that we
heard. I fell over it as I tried to find the door."
"You shall not go again," said Abel.
"I cannot," replied Dallas sadly; "but I feel sure now that no one is
asking for help."
The hours passed and the fire was made up again and again, while towards
morning the storm lulled.
The dog lay perfectly still; but he was not dead when Dallas roused
himself up to examine him, for he feebly rapped the floor with his tail.
Abel had sunk into the sleep of utter weariness, and Dallas let him lie
as he replenished the fire, opened the door softly, plunged through the
snow, and, as well as the darkness would allow, satisfied himself that
he was right about the riven tree. "It was very horrible to think,
though," he said to himself; "but no one could have been travelling on
such a night."
He returned to the hut, replenished the fire, and the billy was boiling
ready for its pinch of tea, and the newly made cake baking, by the time
Abel opened his eyes and sighed.
"What a useless log I am, Dal," he said.
"Are you?"
"Yes, I lie here doing nothing. How is the dog?"
"Quite dry and fluffy."
"But he is not dead?"
"No; but are we to give him house room?"
"Could we turn him out into the snow?"
Dallas began to whistle softly, and turned the cake on the round iron
pan which answered for many purposes. "It's the same dog, Bel," he said
at last.
"Then the intelligent beast has tracked us out."
"Been a long time about it."
"Dogs are very grateful creatures."
"Rum way of showing his gratitude to come and sponge upon two poor
fellows who are half starving. Meal bag's awfully low."
"You must try for something with the gun. What's the weather like this
morning?"
"Dark and cold, but clear starlight, and a sprinkle of fresh snow on the
ground."
"A sprinkle?"
"Yes; three feet deep outside the door."
"Have you been out?"
"Yes; and found I was right about the tree. There must have been
lightning, I think. I'm glad it was that."
"Yes. I wonder how old Tregelly has got on. It's very lonely where he
is."
"So it is here."
"How snug the fire looks, Dal!" said Abel, after a pause.
"Yes; cheery, isn't it? Cake smells good. How does the foot feel?"
"Not so painful this morning after the rest. But, Dal!"
"Well?"
"I lay thinking last night after you had gone to sleep, and you really
must not go down to the town."
"Must, old chap."
"No, no; don't leave me."
"But you'll have company now--the dog."
"Go round when it's daylight, and try what stores you can get from the
men round us."
"It isn't reasonable, Bel. Every one is as short as we are."
"Starving Englishmen are always ready to share with their brothers in
distress."
"Yes; but their brothers in distress who are strong and well, and who
have enough gold to buy food, have too much conscience to rob them."
"How much longer can we hold out?"
"I don't know," said Dallas, "and I don't want to know. Stores are
getting terribly low, and that's near enough for me. But what do you
say to the dog?"
"Poor brute! We must keep him."
"I meant killing and eating him."
"No, you didn't. Dal, I'm better this morning; the coming of that poor
dog like a fellow-creature in distress seems to have cheered me up."
"That's right. Then, as a reward, I will wait a few days and go round
cadging."
"No--buying."
"The fellows won't sell. They will only let us have some as a loan."
"Very well, then; get what you can as a loan, Dal."
"All right; but I know what it will be wherever I go: `We can let you
have some tobacco, old man; we've scarcely anything else.'"
"Never mind; try."
Dallas threw a few small pieces of wood on the fire to make a blaze and
light up the rough place, and then the breakfast was partaken of. Not a
very substantial meal: milkless tea, with very stodgy hot cake, made
with musty meal; but to the great delight of Dallas, his companion in
misfortune partook thereof with some show of appetite, and then sat
looking on without a word while Dallas took one of their gold-washing
pans, poured in some meal, took a piece of split firewood, and stirred
with one hand while he poured hot water in from the billy with the
other.
Neither spoke, but their thoughts were in common, and as soon as the hot
mash had cooled a little, the cook turned to the dog.
"Now then, rough un," he cried, "as you have invited yourself to bed and
breakfast, here is your mess, and you'd better eat it and go."
The dog opened his eyes, looked at him wistfully, and beat the floor
again, but he made no effort to rise.
"Poor brute! He is weak, Bel. Here, let's help you."
Passing his arm under the dog's neck, he raised him a little so that he
could place the shallow tin of steaming food beneath his muzzle; but the
only result was a low whine, and a repetition of the movement of the
tail.
At last, though, the eyes opened, and the poor brute sniffed, and began
to eat very slowly, pausing now and then to whine before beginning
again, till at last the effect of the hot mess seemed magical, and the
latter half was eaten with avidity, the tin being carefully licked
clean.
A few minutes later the dog was asleep again, but in a different
attitude, for he had, after a few efforts, curled himself up as close to
the fire as he could get without burning, his muzzle covered over by his
bushy tail.
"Dallas Adams, Esquire, gold medal from the Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals. Bow from Dallas Adams, Esquire, and loud cheers
from the audience at the annual meeting."
"And well deserved," said Abel, smiling. "Oh, I wish I had your
spirits."
"Get your frozen foot well, and then you will," was the reply. "Look
here, I'll take a sack and go begging at once, and then come back and
get in some wood, for there will not be time to work in the shaft, only
get out the snow."
"Go on, then, and you will succeed."
"Doubtful," was the reply.
Soon after, Dallas, with a sack fastened across one shoulder like a
scarf, and his gun over his shoulder, opened the door. "Cheer up, old
chap!" he cried. "I shan't be long," and forcing his way out, he closed
the door, plunged forward, and struggled waist deep through the snow
which had drifted up against the hut.
Farther on it lay less heavy, and pausing for a few moments to take a
look round beneath the starlit sky, he made his way along the border of
the creek--carefully on the look-out for pine-stumps, the remains of the
dense scrub which had been cut down by the gold-seekers--in the
direction of one of the lights dotting the creek here and there, those
nearest being lanterns, but farther on a couple of fires were burning.
"Morning, mate," said a cheery voice, as he came upon two men busily
shovelling snow from a pit beneath a rough shelter of poles, while a hut
was close by. "You've got plenty of this, I s'pose?"
"Nearly buried. I say, we're awfully short of meal and bacon. Can you
sell us some?"
The two men leaned on their shovels.
"We're so desp'rate low ourselves, mate," said the one who had not
spoken. "We don't like to say no. But look here, go and try round the
camp and see what you can do. Some of them's a deal better off than we
are. Get it of them. If you can't, come back here and we'll do what we
can. Eh, mate?"
"Of course," came in a growl; "but no humbug, Mr Adams."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, this. When it comes to eating we, as it says in the song, you
must play fair and draw lots with the rest of us."
"Never fear," said Dallas merrily, joining in the laugh; "but we've got
the dogs to eat first if we can't get any moose. There ought to be some
tracks seen after this."
"So plaguy dark, mate, for hunting and shooting; but talk about dogs,
did you hear that brute howling during the storm?"
"Oh, yes, I heard him," said Dallas.
"He soon gave in, though. I believe some of the others hunted him down
and didn't stop to draw lots. What hungry beggars they are!"
Dallas trudged on slowly, calling at claim after claim on his way down
the creek, but always with the same result--friendly willingness, but
want of means.
Then he reached the spot where one of the fires had been burning, but
which had died out, nothing being left but wood, smoke, and steam, while
two men were scraping away the snow from a heap while they waited till a
shaft about six feet deep beneath a roofed shed was cool enough to
descend.
"Morning, mate," was his salutation. "Nearly got our roof on fire.
Were you coming to help?"
"No, to ask for help," said Dallas, and he made his request.
One of the men went to the edge of the pit and descended a roughly made
ladder, prior to beginning to fill a bucket with the gravelly bottom
which had been thawed by the fire, ready for his companion to haul up
and empty on the heap ready for washing when the spring time came.
"Tell him," he said gruffly. "Well, mate," said the man at the top,
"it's like this. We've got about a couple of pound of strong shag and a
few ounces o' gold we can loan you. If that's any good, you're welcome;
but grub's awful short. Try further down, and if you can't get what you
want, come back."
"All right, and thank you, mates," said Dallas. "Morning."
"I say, we'll show you the flour-tub and the bare bone if you like."
"No, no," cried Dallas; "I believe you." And then to himself, "I must
fall back on Tregelly."
He had the burning wood fire for guide to where the big miner was
thawing the shaft in his claim, to make the frozen gravel workable, and
in addition there were faint signs coming of the short-lived day.
"Morning, Tregelly."
"What, you, Mr Adams! Glad to see you, my son. Come inside and have a
mouthful of something and a pipe."
"I don't want to hinder you," said Dallas to his cheery friend.
"You won't hinder me, my son. I like letting the fire have a good burn
out, and then for it to cool down before I begin. Come along; but how's
your cousin?"
"Better this morning, but very low-spirited last night, with his
frost-bitten foot."
"Poor lad! It is hard on him."
"The fact is, we are terribly short of provisions."
"You are? Same here, my son; but why didn't you come down and tell me?
I haven't got much, but you're welcome to what I can spare. There you
are; sit down by the fire and I'll see what we can do. Bacon's horribly
close, and I've only two of those mahogany salt solids they call
'Merican hams; but I can let you have a tin or two of meal and some
flour."
"If you can," cried Dallas, "it will be a blessing to us now, and as
soon as ever--"
"Yes, yes, all right, my son: I know. But how's the gold turning out?"
"The gravel seems fairly rich, but somehow I'm afraid we shall do no
good."
"That's how it seems with me," said the miner. "One just gets enough to
live upon and pay one's way; and one could do that anywhere, without
leading such a life as this."
Dallas thought of his friend's words as he tramped back through the snow
with his sack of provender on his back, for the life they were leading
was that of the lowest type of labourer, the accommodation miserable,
and the climate vile.
"It will not do--it will not do," he said sadly; but he returned, all
the same, in better spirits with the results of his foraging, to find
Abel waiting for him anxiously, and the dog curled-up by the fire
sleeping heavily.
The stores obtained were carefully husbanded, and during the next few
days, in spite of intense frost, Dallas worked hard in the shaft on
their claim, heating it with the abundant wood till a certain amount of
gravel was thawed, and then throwing it out ready for washing when the
next summer came.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
ABEL'S NIGHT ALARM.
"It's no good, Bel," said Dallas one day; "I can't go begging round
again. It's not fair to the men. I must go down to the town and bring
back as much as I can."
"Very well," said Abel. "When do you start?"
"To-morrow morning."
"So soon? Well, if it has to be done, the sooner the better."
"I can get back within four or five days, I believe, and I'll ask
Tregelly to come in once or twice to see you, so that you will not be so
lonely."
"You need not do that, because I shall not be here," said Abel quietly.
"Not be here?"
"Of course not. I shall be with you."
"Impossible."
"No, I shall manage to limp along somehow."
"Impossible, I tell you!" cried Dallas. "You must stay to take care of
the claim; and then there is the gold--and the dog."
Abel was silenced; and the next morning, taking his empty sledge, and
trusting to obtain enough food at the shanties which he would pass on
the track, Dallas started.
Abel watched him pass away into the gloom of the dark morning, and then
turned and limped back sadly to where the dog lay dozing by the fire,
apparently still too weak to stir.
Abel's bed had been drawn aside, and there was a hole in the ground,
while upon the upturned barrel which formed their table stood a little
leather bag half full of scales, scraps, and nuggets of gold--that which
remained after Dallas had taken out a sufficiency to purchase stores at
the town on the Yukon.
Abel's first act was to stoop down, mend the fire, and pat the dog,
which responded by rapping the earth with his tail. Then the leather
bag was tied up, replaced in the bank hole, which was then filled up,
the earth beaten down flat, and the sacks and skins which formed the bed
drawn back into their places.
He stooped down and patted the dog.
"Pah! Why don't you lie farther from the fire? You make the hut smell
horribly with your burnt hair."
The dog only whined, opened one eye, blinked at him, and went off to
sleep again.
"Poor old chap!" mused Abel. "I didn't think I could care so much for
such a great, rough, ugly brute as you are; but adversity makes strange
friends."
Abel finished that day wondering how Dallas was getting on, and trying
to picture his journey through the snow by the side of the ice-bound
stream; grew more melancholy from his lonely position, and then tried to
rouse himself by being practical and planning.
He made up his mind to content himself with one good, hearty meal a day,
so as to make the provisions last out well, in case Dallas should not be
back to time, and only to be extravagant with the fuel.
Lastly, he went to the door and looked out, to find that it was a clear,
frosty night, with the brilliant stars peering down.
He knew it was night, for no fires were to be seen in any direction,
and, after making all as snug as he could, he rolled himself in his
blankets, drew the skin bag up about him, and followed his dumb
companion's example, sleeping till morning, when the logs were just
smouldering and had to be coaxed into a good warm blaze again.
And so the days and nights glided by. He would awake again to find the
fire burning low, the dog still sleeping, and the horror of another
dreary day to pass. For his foot seemed no better, his spirits were
lower than ever, and at last it was long past the time when Dallas
should have returned.
How the days passed then he never afterwards could quite recall, for it
was like a continuous nightmare. But in a mechanical way he kept up the
fire, with the wood piled in one corner by the door getting so low that
he knew he must bestir himself soon, and get to the stack by the shaft,
knock and brush off the snow, and bring in more to thaw in the warmth of
the hut.
All in a strange, dreamy way he sat and watched, cooked a large pot of
skilly, and shared it with the still drowsy dog, which took its portion
and curled-up again, after whining softly and licking his hand.
One night all seemed over. No one had been near, and he had felt too
weak and weary to limp to the nearest hut in search of human
companionship. He was alone in his misery and despair. Dallas must be
dead, he felt sure, and there was nothing for him to do now but make
another good meal for himself and the dog, and then sleep.
"Sleep," he said aloud, "and perhaps wake no more."
He ate his hot meal once more and watched the dog take his portion
before going to the door, to look out feebly and find all black,
depressing darkness; not even a star to be seen.
"Night, night, black night!" he muttered as he carefully fastened up
again, pegged the blankets across to keep out the cruel wind, carefully
piled up the pieces of wood about the fire, as an afterthought carried
out with a smile, with a big log that would smoulder far on into the
next day for the sake of the dog.
"For I shall not want it," he said sadly. "Poor brute! What will he do
when I'm dead?"
The thought startled him, and he sat down and fixed his eyes upon the
shaggy, hairy animal curled-up close to the fire, whose flames flickered
and danced and played about, making the hair glisten and throwing the
dog's shadow back in a curious grotesque way.
Something like energy ran in a thrill through the watcher, and he
shuddered and felt that he must do something to prevent _that_--it would
be too horrible.
It was in a nightmare-like state he seemed to see people coming to the
door at last. He could even hear them knocking and shouting, and at
last using hatchets to crash a way in. For what? To find the dog there
alive and stronger, ready to resent their coming, even to fighting and
driving them away; but only to return, rifle or pistol armed, to destroy
the brute for what it had done according to its nature, to keep itself
alive.
And then, it seemed to Abel, in his waking dream, they shudderingly
gathered together what they saw to cast into the ready-dug grave--the
shaft in which he and Dallas had so laboriously but hopefully delved, in
search of the magnet which had drawn them there--the gold.
He made a wild effort to drive away the horrible fancy, and at last with
a weary sigh sank upon his bed, his last thought being:
"Would those at home ever know the whole truth?"
"How long have I been awake?"
It must have been one long stupor of many, many hours, for the fire was
very low, shedding merely a soft warm glow through the place.
He was stupefied, and felt unable to move, but the fancy upon which he
had fallen asleep was there still in a strange confused way, and he felt
that the dog was not in the spot where he had left it.