UNDER THE BALM-OF-GILEAD TREE.
From noon of the day upon which Ned Corbett and old Roberts strode out
of Lillooet until the night upon which we meet them again was a
fortnight and more, a fortnight of which I might, if I chose, write a
history, but it would only be the history of almost every mining party
and pack-train that ever went up the Frazer. The incidents of those days
are indelibly engraved upon the memories of Steve and of Corbett, but to
Roberts they passed without remark and left no impression behind. The
life was only the ordinary miner's life; and there was nothing new to
the old-timer in buoyant hopes wearing away day by day; nothing new in
the daily routine of camps broken by starlight and pitched again at
dusk; in trails blocked by windfalls or destroyed by landslips; in packs
which would shift, tie them ever so tightly; in stones which cut the
moccasins, and prickly pears which filled the sole with anguish; or in
cruel fire-hardened rampikes, which tore the skin to rags and the
clothes to ribands. Three weeks upon the road had done its work upon the
party, had added much to their knowledge, and taken much away that was
useless from their equipment.
When they left Westminster they were five smart, well-fed, civilized
human beings; when they struggled up out of the valley of the Frazer
towards Cariboo, at Soda Creek, they were five lean, weather-hardened
men, their clothes all rags and patches, their skin all wounded and
blistered, every "indispensable adjunct of a camp," as made by Mr.
Silver, discarded long ago; but every article of camp furniture which
was left, carried where it could be got at, ready when it was wanted,
and thoroughly adapted to the rough and ready uses of those who took the
trouble to "pack it along."
Even to Steve it seemed ages now since his nostrils were used to any
other odour than the pungent scent of the pines; ages since his ears
listened to any other sound than the roar of the yellow river and the
monotonous tinkle of the leader's bell; ages even since washing had been
to him as a sacred rite, and a clean shirt as desirable as a clean
conscience.
And yet Corbett and Chance had seen, on their way up, men who led harder
lives than theirs; blue-shirted, bearded fellows, who carried their all
upon their own shoulders; and others who had put their tools and their
grub in the craziest of crafts, and, climbing one moment and wading the
next, strove to drag it up stream in the teeth of the Frazer.
As Ned saw the frail canoes rear up on end against the angry waters, he
understood why the old river carried so many down stream whose dead
hands grasped no dollars, whose dead lips told no tales. But the river
trail had come to an end at last, and the five were now steering
north-east for the bold mountains and their gold-bearing rivers and
creeks. They had now put many a mile between themselves and Soda Creek,
and were lying smoking round their camp-fire, built under a huge
balm-of-gilead tree, which stood in the driest part of what we call a
swamp, and Canadians a meadow. The pack-saddles were set in orderly
line, with their ropes and cinches neatly coiled alongside them; the
packs were snug under their _manteaux_, and the tent was pitched as men
pitch a tent who are used to their work, not with its sides all bellying
in, strained in one place slack in another, but just loose enough to
allow for a wetting if it should happen to rain in the night. Now and
again the bell of one of the pack animals sounded not unmusically from
some dark corner of the swamp, or the long "ho-ho" of kalula, the
night-owl, broke the silence, which but for these sounds would have been
complete.
Suddenly a voice said:
"Great Scott! do you know what the date is?"
Since the pipes had been lighted no one had spoken, and as Cruickshank
broke the silence, it was almost under protest that Ned rolled round on
his blanket to face the speaker, and dropped a monosyllabic "Well?" The
men were too tired to talk, and night, which in these northern forests
is very still, had thrown its spell upon them. Steve and Phon merely
turned their heads inquiringly to the speaker, who sat upon a log
turning over the leaves of a little diary, and waited.
"To-morrow will be the 27th of May."
"The 27th of May--what then?" asked Ned dreamily. He was hardly awake
to everyday thoughts yet.
"What then! What then! Why, if you are not at Williams Creek by the 1st
of June your claims can be jumped by anyone who comes along."
"But can't we get there by the 1st of June?" asked Ned, sitting up and
taking his pipe out of his mouth.
"Impossible. If you could drive the ponies at a trot you could only just
do it. It is five good days' journey with fresh animals, and we have
only four to do it in, and grizzlies wouldn't make our ponies trot now."
"Well, what are we to do?" broke in Chance. "You calculated the time,
and said that we had enough and to spare."
"I know I did, but I made a mistake."
"Oh to blazes with your _mistakes_, Colonel Cruickshank," cried Chance
angrily; "they seem to me a bit too expensive to occur quite so often."
"Don't lose your temper, my good sir. I couldn't help it, but I am
willing to atone for it. I calculated as if April had thirty-one days in
it, and it hasn't; and, besides, I've dropped a day on the road
somehow."
"Looking for horses," growled Roberts, "or shooting grouse, maybe."
"What do you propose to do, Colonel Cruickshank?" asked Corbett, whose
face alone seemed still perfectly under his own control.
"Well, Mr. Corbett, I've led you into the scrape, so I must get you out
of it. If either you or Roberts will stay with me I'll bring the horses
on for you to Williams Creek, whilst the rest can start away right now
and make the best of their time to the claims. You could do the
distance all right if it wasn't for the pack-ponies."
"But how could _I_ stay?" asked Corbett.
"Well, you needn't, of course, if Roberts doesn't mind staying;
otherwise you could assign your interest in your claim to him, and he
could go on and hold it for you."
"But it will be deuced hard work for two men to manage nine pack-ponies
over such a trail as this."
"It won't be any violets," replied Cruickshank, "you may bet on that;
but it's my fault, so I'll 'foot the bill.'"
"I don't know about its being your fault either," broke in Corbett, "I
was just as big an ass as a man could be. I ought to have calculated the
time for myself. Can't we all stop and chance it?"
"What, and lose a good many thousand dollars paid, and every chance of
making a good many thousand more, for which we have been tramping over a
month--that would be lunacy!" broke in Chance.
"Well, if you don't mean to lose the claims, I know no other way of
getting to Williams Creek in time," said Cruickshank; and, looking up at
the sky, he added, "you might have two or three hours' sleep, and then
be off bright and early by moonlight. The moon rises late to-night."
It was a weird scene there by that camp-fire; and there were things
written on the faces of those sitting round it, which a mere outsider
could have read at a glance.
The moon might be coming up later on, but just at that moment there was
neither moon nor star, only a black darkness, broken by the occasional
sputtering flames of the wood fire. Out of the darkness the men's faces
showed from time to time as the red gleams flickered over them; the
faces of Corbett, Steve, and Roberts full of perplexity and doubt; the
eyes of Phon fixed in a frightened fascinated stare upon the colonel;
and Cruickshank's face white with suppressed excitement, the coarse,
cruel mouth drawn and twitching, and the eyes glaring like the eyes of a
tiger crouching for its prey.
"Well, what had we better do?" asked Corbett at last from somewhere
amongst the shadows, and Cruickshank's eyes shifted swiftly to where
Steve and Roberts lay, as if anxious to forestall their answer.
"I'll stay, Ned Corbett. It's safer for me than it would be for you,"
said Roberts. "I can only lose a little time, not much worth to anyone,
and you have a good deal to lose."
After all it was only a small question. They had driven the pack animals
now for a month, and, whoever stayed, would only at the worst have to
drive them for another week. The work, of course, would be rather heavy
with only two to divide it among; but on the other hand those who went
ahead would have to make forced marches and live upon very short
rations.
Ned was rather surprised then that Roberts answered as if it was a
matter of grave import, and that his voice seemed to have lost the jolly
ring which was natural to it.
"Don't stop if you don't like to, old chap. Phon can assign his
interests to you and stay behind instead."
"No, no, me halò stay. Halò! halò!" and the little Chinaman almost
shrieked the last word, so emphatic was his refusal.
"It's no good leaving Phon," replied Roberts, casting a pitying look
towards that frightened heathen; "he would see devils all the time, and
be of no use after it got dark. I tell you, I'll stay and take care of
the ponies; and now you had better all turn in and get some sleep. You
will have to travel pretty lively when you once start. I'll see to your
packs."
Probably Ned had been mistaken from the first, but if any feeling had
shaken his friend's voice for a moment, it had quite passed away now,
and Roberts was again his own genial, helpful self.
After all, he was the very best person to leave behind. Except
Cruickshank, he was the only really good packer amongst them. He was as
strong as a horse, and besides, he had no particular reason for wanting
to be at Williams Creek by the 1st of June.
"You really don't mind stopping, Rob?" asked Corbett.
"Not a bit. Why should I? I'd do a good deal more than that for you, if
it was only for the sake of the dear old country, my lad."
Again, just for a moment, there seemed to be a sad ring in his voice,
and he stretched out his hand and gripped Ned's in the darkness.
Ned was surprised.
"The old man is a bit sentimental to-night," he thought. "It's not like
him, but, I suppose, these dismal woods have put him a little off his
balance. They _are_ lonesome."
With which sage reflection Ned turned his eyes away from the dark vista
down which he had been gazing, and rolling round in his blankets forgot
both the gloom and the gold.
For two or three hours the sleepers lay there undisturbed by the calls
of the owls, or the stealthy tread of a passing bear, which chose the
trail as affording the best road from point to point. At night, when
there is no chance of running up against a man, no one appreciates a
well-made road better than a bear. He will crash through the thickest
brush if necessary, but if you leave him to choose, he will avoid rough
and stony places as carefully as a Christian.
Towards midnight Cruickshank, who had been tossing restlessly in his
blankets, sat up and crouched broodingly over the dying embers,
unconscious that a pair of bright, beady eyes were watching him
suspiciously all the time.
But Phon made no sign. He was only a bundle of blankets upon the ground,
a thing of no account.
By and by, when Cruickshank had settled himself again to sleep, this
bundle of blankets sat up and put fresh logs on the camp-fire. The
warmth from them soothed the slumberers, and after a while even
Cruickshank lay still. Phon watched him for some time, until convinced
that his regular breathing was not feigned, but real slumber, and then
he too crept away from the fire-side, not to his own place, but into the
shadow where Roberts lay.
After a while an owl, which had been murdering squirrels in their sleep,
came gliding on still wings, and lit without a sound on the limb of a
tall pine near the camp. The light from the camp-fire dazzled its big
red-brown eyes, but after a little time it could see that two of the
strange bundles, which lay like mummies round the smouldering logs, were
sitting up and talking together. But the owl could not catch what they
said, except once, when it saw a bright, white gleam flash from the
little bundle like moonlight showing through a storm-cloud, and then as
the bigger bundle snatched the white thing away, the listening owl
heard a voice say:
"No, my God, no! That may do very well for a Chinee; it won't do for a
Britisher, Phon!"
And another voice answered angrily:
"Why not? You white men all fool. You savey what _he_ did. S'pose you no
kill him, by'm bye he--"
But the rest was lost to the owl, and a few minutes later, just as it
raised its wings to go, it saw the smaller bundle wriggle across the
ground again to its old place by the embers.