had passed away, weariness, the darkness, and the warmth of the fire had
combined to conquer, and Abel sank sidewise on the rough packing-case
which formed his easy chair, and slept soundly till the short daylight
had passed, and they were well on towards the evening of another day.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.
THE RED GLOW.
Weary month after month passed by, with the indefatigable adventurers
leading the life of labourers working in a terrible climate to win just
a bare existence from the soil.
"I would not care so much if we could feel safe," said Dallas; "but big
as the country is, that scoundrel seems to be always on our track."
"He do, he do, my son," said Tregelly. "He means paying us off."
"Well, we are doing no more now than when we started, while others are
making fortunes. Let's strike right up into the mountains, make a bold
stroke for fortune, and give that scoundrel the slip."
The start was made, the little party striking right away into one or
other of the lonely valleys running northward; but it was always the
same--the gold was no more plentiful, and again and again they had ample
proof that their enemy, who seemed to have a charmed life, was still
following them.
Constant disappointment had been their portion, and a general feeling of
being utterly worn out was dulling their efforts, when toward the close
of a dreary day Tregelly exclaimed:
"Look here, my sons; I think we've seen the end of that red-headed
ruffian at last."
"I wish I could think so," said Dallas.
"No," said Abel; "we shall see him again. I feel that he'll be the
death of us all."
"Bah! you're in the dumps again," said Tregelly. "I feel that we must
have completely given the scoundrel the slip by our last move. I'm not
one of your grumbling sort, am I?"
"No, Bob, no," said Dallas sadly. "I envy you the calm patience and
perseverance you possess."
The Cornishman laughed.
"Did possess, my son. I did have a lot, but it's all used up to the
last scrap, and I'm regularly done."
Abel looked at him in surprise, but Dallas seemed too dejected to notice
anything, and sat forward, haggard and staring, with his eyes fixed upon
their struggling fire.
"Well, don't you believe me?" said Tregelly.
"I always believe what you say, Bob; but I don't understand what you
mean now."
"You don't? Well, then, I'll soon make you, my son. It's like this: I
feel just like a squirrel in a cage, galloping on over miles of wire and
never getting a bit farther, or like one of those chaps on the
old-fashioned treadmill, who were always going upstairs, but never got
to the top."
"Look here," said Dallas, springing up suddenly from his seat in the
rough shelter made with pine-boughs, where they had been now for some
days, while they tried the banks of a tiny creek, one of many which they
had followed to their sources in their daring quest. "This is no time
for idle talk; which is it to be? Shall we retreat at once, and try to
get back to the main river, where we may find help, and perhaps save our
lives, or go on?"
There was a dead silence, and then a gust of wind swept down the narrow
valley, laden with fine, dusty snow, evidently a forerunner of a wintry
storm.
"If we start back now," said Abel at last, "we are not sure of reaching
the settlement before the winter sets in."
"And if we do we've nothing left to live upon, my sons. You see, those
last supplies emptied the bag, and we've never settled down since. You
both said, `Let it be a man or a mouse.'"
"And you said `All right,'" cried Dallas angrily.
"So I did, my son; but I hoped we should turn out men instead of mice."
"Well," said Dallas bitterly, "we must not find fault with one another.
We did our best."
"That's true," said Tregelly. "Hear, hear. Go on. What were you going
to say?"
"That I have had it my own way for long enough, but now I'll give up to
you two. There's no gold worth getting here, so if you both say, `Let's
make a dash back for life before we are shut in by the winter that seems
to be coming on early,' I'm ready, and we'll make a brave fight for it."
"And if we say, `No! Let's go on and fight for the stuff to the last'--
what then?"
"We will not look back," cried Dallas, stepping outside, to stand
gazing, with a far-off look in his eyes, straight along the narrow
ravine running up into the savage-looking snow-covered mountains.
"Go on," said Abel, who seemed to catch his cousin's enthusiasm as he
stood there, gradually growing whitened by the fine drifting snow.
"Go on?" said Dallas, without turning his head; "well, let's go on. The
gold must be up yonder, where it crumbles or is ground out of the rocky
mountains, to be washed, in the course of ages, down the streams into
the gravel and sand."
"Ay, there must be plenty of it up yonder, my son," said Tregelly,
stepping out to shade his eyes and gaze upward towards the wilderness of
mountains to the north, probably never yet trodden by the foot of man.
"Then I say, as we have come so far, let's go on and find it," cried
Dallas; "and if we fail--well, it is only lying down at last to sleep!
No one will know, for our bones will never be found. I feel as if I
can't go back--and you, Bel?"
For answer Abel laid his hand upon his cousin's shoulder, and stood
gazing with him into the dimly seen, mysterious land, just as, high up,
one of the snowy summits suddenly grew bright and flashed in the feeble
sunshine which played upon it for a few minutes before the snow-clouds
closed in again.
And as if the one bright gleam had inspired him, Tregelly began to
whistle softly.
"Look here!" he cried, "never say pitch a thing up when there's a bit of
hope left. `To win or to die' is my motto!"
"And mine," cried Dallas, enthusiastically.
"And mine," said Abel, in a soft, low, dreamy voice.
"Then look here," said Tregelly; "we've got enough to give us all a
small ration for seven days, so let's load up one sledge and leave the
others. Then we can take it in turns and push right on up into the
mountains with nothing to hinder us. Snow don't make a bad shelter when
you've plenty of blankets, and there's nothing to fear now. Old
Redbeard never could have come up here; he must have gone off by one of
the side gulches, and got round and back to where he can rob some one
else."
"Yes; we must have passed him days ago," said Dallas.
"Very well, then, we can all sleep o' nights without keeping watch."
"And we can push on and on, just trying the rocks with the hammer here
and there wherever we find a place clear of ice."
"That's the way, my son, and who knows but what we may shoot a bear or
something else to keep us going for another week, eh?"
Abel nodded--he could not trust himself to speak; and then, with
determination plainly marked in their haggard faces, they set to work in
the shelter of the dwarfed pines around them, and packed one sledge with
all they felt to be necessary to take on this forlorn hope expedition,
and with it the last of their dwindling store of food.
"There," cried Dallas, pointing up the narrow gully, as they finished
their preparations, "how could we despair with such a sign as that
before us?"
His companions stood and looked up in the direction indicated, where the
transformation that had taken place was wonderful.
An hour before they had gazed through drifting, dusty snow at forbidding
crags and wintry desolation. For a few minutes that one peak had
flashed out hopefully, but only to fade away again, while now their eyes
literally ached with the dazzling splendour of what seemed to be a
grotto-like palace of precious stones, set in frosted silver and
burnished gold; for the mountains blazed in the last rays of the setting
sun with the hues of the iris magnified into one gorgeous sheen.
"Yes, that looks as if we'd got to the golden land at last, my sons,"
said Tregelly. "It's something like what one has dreamed of after
reading the `Arabian Nights'; only you see they aren't fast colours, and
they won't wash."
"Never mind," said Dallas; "we know that the gold must be there, and
we'll find it yet. Ready?"
For answer Tregelly picked up the trace, and was about to pass it over
his head, but he paused and looked round.
"Here," he cried; "where's that there dog?"
Abel went into the rough shelter they had made, to find Scruff curled-up
fast asleep beneath one of the skins they were going to leave behind;
but he sprang up at a touch, and trotted out to take his place by
Tregelly, who slipped his slight harness over the sturdy animal's head.
"No shuffling now, my son," he said merrily. "You're stores, you know,
and we shall want you to eat when the rest of the prog is done.
Forward! we're going to do it now."
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.
THE LAST BIVOUAC.
Shortening days and shortening distances in and out of the wild ravine,
where the water ran trickling merrily along in the brief sunny hours,
but froze hard again at night. Every halting-place was more difficult
to reach than the last, and climbing up the slippery sides of the stream
bed was as often the means of progression as the simple tramp.
The sledge grew more difficult to draw, though its weight was really
less and less: but in a mechanical way all joined hands in getting it
over masses of rock, or through cracks where at times it became wedged
in fast. For it could not be left behind, loaded as it was with the
links which held them to life.
And at last the brief day came to an end, when the shortest journey of
all had been made, little more than a mile along the narrow rift with
its often perpendicular sides, where the greater part of the way had
been one constant climb over the rock-burdened bed of the stream, whose
sources were somewhere in the icy region, apparently as far away as when
they started on their journey.
They had halted in a narrow amphitheatre of rocks, on one side of which
lay a shelf dotted with dwarf pines, thick, sturdy, and old, many having
shed their last needles years before, and displaying nothing now but
thin bare trunks and a few jagged, weather-worn boughs. Snow had fallen
heavily in the mountains during the previous night, and the side of the
amphitheatre at the back of the shelf to which they had dragged the
sledge was glazed with ice, where the snow above had melted in the warm
mid-day rays, and _frozen_ again and again.
It was bitter winter all around as the short day began to close in; but
there was plenty of wood, and they felt if they climbed higher next day
it would be into the region of wiry heaths and moss.
Quite instinctively, axe in hand, each of the weary three made for the
dead wood and began to cut and break down the brittle boughs.
"Ay, that's right, my sons," said Tregelly, with the ghost of a smile;
"let's have a good fire if it is to be the last."
The smile was reflected in Dallas's face, and he nodded; but he did not
speak--only went on hacking away in a mechanical fashion, and the small
wood was heaped-up against the icy wall at the back of the broad shelf.
Then a match was struck and sheltered till the smallest twigs caught;
these communicated with the larger, and in a very short time there was a
roaring fire, whose heat was reflected from the glazed surface of the
rock, making the snow melt all around and run off till there was dry
bare rock, on one piece of which, full in the warm glow, Scruff
curled-up and went to sleep.
Outside the snow lay deep and high, as it had been drifted in the heavy
fall, forming a good shelter from the wind; and by a liberal use of
their axes the dwarf firs that they cut down proved a good shelter when
laid in a curve on the other side, while when no longer wanted for that
purpose they would be free from the clinging snow and more fit to burn.
Roof there was none save the frosty sky, spangled with myriads of stars;
but the weary party paid no heed to that want. There was the fire, and
in due time the tin of hot tea to pass round, and the roughly made
bread. They seemed to want no more, only to lie down and rest in the
warmth shed by the crackling wood--to take a long, long rest, and wake--
where?
The question was silently asked by each of his inner self again and
again, but never answered, for no answer seemed to be needed. The
weary, weary day two years long was at an end. They had worked well and
failed; they could do no more; all they wanted was rest and
forgetfulness--peace, the true gold after all.
Sleep was long coming to Dallas, weary though he was; and he lay there
with his head slightly raised, gazing at the weird scene, distorted and
full of strange shadows, as the fire rose and fell.
There lay, big and heavy, the sturdy friend and companion in so many
adventures, just as he had lain down; and close by, poor Abel, the most
unfortunate of the party, so near that he could rest his hand upon the
rough coat of the dog.
"Poor Bel!" mused Dallas; "how unfortunate he has been!"
But the next minute he was thinking of how trivial the troubles of the
past seemed to be in comparison with this--the greatest trouble of them
all. For though they had all lain down to sleep so calmly, and with the
simple friendly good-night, they had all felt that it was for the last
time, and that their weary labours were at an end.
"All a mistake--a vain empty dream of a golden fortune," Dallas said to
himself. "The idea was brave and strong, but it was the romance of a
boy. Fortunes are not to be made by one stroke, but by patient, hard
work, long thought as to how that work shall bring forth fruit, and then
by constant application. Ah, well, we are not the first to make such
mistakes--not the first to turn our backs upon the simple substance to
grasp at the great shadow."
He lay gazing sadly at the crackling fire, whose flames danced, and
whose sparks eddied into spirals and flew upwards on the heated air; and
then with eyes half-closed he watched the glowing embers as the great
pieces of wood became incandescent. He was still gazing into the fire
with a dull feeling of pitying contempt for himself, seeing imaginary
caverns and ravines of burnished gold, when with a sigh upon his lip as
he thought of the simple-hearted, loving mother watching and waiting at
home for those who would never cross the threshold again, sleep came to
press heavily upon the half-closed eyelids, and all was blank.
CHAPTER FORTY.
THE SOLID REALITY.
A strange feeling of stiffness and cold so painful that for some moments
Dallas could not move, but lay gazing straight before him at the heap of
ashes, which gave forth a dull glow, just sufficient at times to show
the curled-up form of the great dog, and beyond him, rolled up like a
mummy and perfectly still, Abel, just as he had last seen him before he
closed his eyes. It was so dark that he could not see Tregelly, and he
lay trying in vain to make him out.
His head was dull and confused, as if he had slept for a great length of
time, and his thoughts would not run straight; but every train of
thought he started darted off into some side track which he could not
follow, and he always had to come back to where he had made his start.
There it was--some time ago, when they had piled up the fire to a great
height so that it might burn long and well while they all sank
painlessly and without more trouble into the sleep of death.
And now by slow degrees he began to grasp what seemed to be the fact,
that while his companions, even the dog, had passed away, he was once
more unfortunate, and had come back, as it were, to life, to go alone
through more misery, weariness, and despair.
He shivered, and strangely inconsistent worldly thoughts began to crawl
in upon him. He felt he must thrust the unburned pieces of pine-wood
closer together, so that they might catch fire and burn and radiate some
more heat. It was so dark, too, that he shuddered, and then lay staring
at the perpendicular wall beyond the fire--the wall that looked so icy
and cruel over-night, but now dim, black, and heavy, as if about to lean
over and crush them all out of sight.
Yes, he ought, he knew, to thrust the unburned embers together and put
on more wood, so as to make a cheerful blaze; but he had not the energy
to stir. He wanted another rug over him; but to get it he would have
had to crawl to the sledge, and he was too much numbed to move.
Besides, he shuddered at the idea of casting a bright light upon his
surroundings, for he felt that it would only reveal the features of his
poor comrades hardened into death.
And so it was that he lay for long enough in the darkness, till the numb
sensation began to give way to acute pain, which made him moan with
anguish and mentally ask what he had done that he should have been
chosen to remain there and go through all that horror and despair again.
The natural self is stronger than the educated man in times of crisis.
A despairing wretch tells himself that all is over, and plunges into a
river or pool to end his weary life; but the next moment the nature
within him begins to struggle hard to preserve the life the trained
being has tried to throw away.
It was so here. Dallas made a quick movement at last, turned over, and
picked up a half-burned, still smouldering piece of pine, painfully
raked others together with it, and threw it on the top, glad to cower
over the warm embers, for the heat thrown out was pleasant.
As he sat there after raking the ashes more together, and getting
closer, it was to feel the warmth strike up into his chilled limbs, and
fill the rug he had drawn round his shoulders with a gentle glow.
Soon after, the collected embers began to burn, and a faint tongue of
flame flickered, danced, went out, and flickered up again, illuminating
the darkness sufficiently to let him make out that the banked up snow
had largely melted, and that Tregelly had crawled away from where he had
lain, and come over to his, Dallas's, side, apparently to place his
heavy bulk as a shelter to keep off the bitter wind from his young
companion.
There was something else, too, which he did not recognise as having seen
before he lay down--something dark where the bank of snow had been,
which had wonderfully melted away in the fierce glow of the fire; for
that sheltering bank had been so big before.
What did it matter to one who was suffering now the agonising pangs of
hunger to augment those of cold?
But the sight of the big motionless figure dimly seen by the bluish
flickering light appealed strongly to the sufferer, and something like a
sob rose to his throat as he thought of Tregelly's brave, patient ways,
and the honest truth of his nature.
These feelings were sufficient to urge him forward from where he
crouched, to go and lean over the recumbent figure and lay a hand upon
the big clenched fist drawn across the breast of the dead.
It was a hand of ice, and with a piteous sigh Dallas drew back and crept
to where Abel lay rolled in his rugs. Just then the dancing flame died
out, and it was in the pitchy darkness that Dallas felt for his cousin's
face.
The next moment he uttered a cry, and there was a quick rustling sound
as of something leaping to its feet. Then the dog's cold nose touched
his cheek, and there was a low whine of satisfaction, followed by a
panting and scuffling as the dog transferred his attentions to Abel.
"And we're both left alive," half groaned Dallas; but the dog uttered a
joyous bark, and he sprang painfully to his feet, for a familiar gruff
voice growled:
"Now, then, what's the matter with you, my son?" And then: "Fire out?
How gashly dark!"
"Bob!" faltered Dallas.
"You, Master Dallas? Wait a bit, my son, and I'll get the fire going.
How's Mr Wray?"
There was a weary groan, and Abel said dreamily: "Don't--don't wake me.
How cold! How cold!"
Tregelly sighed, but said nothing for the moment, exerting himself the
while in trying to fan the flickering flame into a stronger glow, and
with such success that the horrible feeling of unreality began to pass
away, with its accompanying confusion, and Dallas began to realise the
truth.
"I--I thought you were lying there dead," he said at last.
"Oh, no, my son; I'm 'live enough," said Tregelly, who still bent over
the fire; "but I never thought to open my eyes again. Shall I melt some
snow over the fire? There is a scrap or two more to eat, and when it's
light we might p'r'aps shoot something. But I say, we must have slept
for an awful long time, for we made a tremendous fire, and the snow's
melted all about wonderful."
"Yes, wonderfully," said Dallas, who crouched there gazing at the figure
where the bank of snow had been.
"It's my belief that we've slept a good four-and-twenty hours, and that
it's night again."
"Think so?"
"I do, my son, and it's to-morrow night, I believe. I say, how the snow
has melted away. Why, hullo!" he shouted, as the flames leapt up
merrily now, "who's that?"
"I don't know," faltered Dallas; "I thought at first it was you."
"Not a dead 'un?" whispered Tregelly in an awestruck tone.
"Yes; and whoever it was must have been buried in that bank of snow, so
that we did not see him last night."
Tregelly drew a burning brand from the fire, gave it a wave in the air
to make it blaze fiercely, and stepped towards the recumbent figure
lying there.
"Hi! Look here, my son," he cried. "No wonder we didn't see him come
back."
Dallas grasped the fact now, and the next moment he too was gazing down
at the fierce face, icily sealed in death, the light playing upon the
huge red beard, while the eyes were fixed in a wild stare.
"Hah!" ejaculated Tregelly. "He'll do no more mischief now, my son.
But what was he doing here? Rather a chilly place for a man to choose
for his lair. Thought he was safe, I suppose. Only look."
For a few moments Dallas could not drag his eyes from the horrible
features of their enemy, about which the dog was sniffing in a puzzled
way. But at last he turned to where Tregelly was waving the great
firebrand, which shed a bright light around.
"It was his den, Master Dallas," growled Tregelly. "Look here, this was
all covered with snow last night when we lit the fire, and it's all
melted away. Why, only look, my son; he spent all his time trying to do
for us, and what's he done?--he's saved all our lives. Flour, bacon,
coffee. What's in that bag? Sugar. Why, this is all his plunder as
he's robbed from fellows' huts. There's his gun, too, and his pistol.
But what a place to choose to live in all alone! You'd ha' thought he'd
have had a shelter. Here, I'm not _going_ to die just yet."
A wave of energy seemed to inspire the great fellow, who picked up the
rug that had sheltered him during the night, and gave Dallas a nod.
"When a man dies," he said solemnly, "he wipes out all his debts. We
don't owe him nothing neither now."
As Tregelly spoke he drew the rug carefully over the figure lying there,
and the next minute set to work to make the fire blaze higher, while
Dallas, with half-numbed hands, tried to help him by filling the billy
with pieces of ice, setting it in the glowing embers, and refilling it
as the solid pieces rapidly melted down.
They were both too busy and eager to prepare a meal from the life-saving
provender they had so strangely found, to pay any heed to Abel.
"Let him rest, my son, till breakfast's ready; he's terribly weak, poor
lad. Mind, too, when we do rouse him up, not to say a word about what's
lying under that rug. I'll pitch some wood across it so as he shan't
notice before we wake him up."
Dallas nodded, and with a strange feeling of renewed hope for which he
could not account, he worked away; for it seemed the while that the
store of provisions they had found would do no more for them than
prolong their weary existence in the wild for two or three weeks.
Tregelly brought forward more wood from the shelter they had formed; the
fire burned more brightly; bacon was frying, and the fragrance of coffee
and hot cake was being diffused, when, just as Dallas was thinking of
awakening his cousin to the change in their state of affairs, a hoarse
cry aroused him and made him look sharply at where, unnoticed, Abel had
risen to his knees; and there, in the full light of the fire, he could
be seen pointing.
"We're too late, my son," growled Tregelly; "he has seen it. Meant to
have covered it before he woke."
"No, no; he is not pointing there."
"Look! Look!" cried Abel.
"Poor lad, he's off his head," whispered Tregelly.
"Do you hear me, you two?" cried Abel hoarsely. "Look! Can't you see?"
"What is it, Bel?" said Dallas soothingly, as he stepped round to the
other side of the fire; and then, following the direction of his
cousin's pointing finger, he too uttered a wild cry, which brought
Tregelly to their side, to gaze in speechless astonishment at the sight
before them.