ON THE TRAIL OF GOLD
“Well, how is old Potlatch this nice, bright, beautiful morning,” Jack
jocularly inquired of his partner after they had started and their
grouches had somewhat subsided.
“No more o’ them things for me,” replied Bill almost amiably. “We’ve
wasted a whole day and we haven’t even got a blanket between us to show
for it. What I was thinkin’ about, though, was the sacks Bull Moose Joe
has made pertainin’ to an’ anticipatin’ the findin’ of the gold. My one
best bet is that we gets the gold first off and the sacks arterward.”
“Now you’re talking sense, Bill. It just goes to show how all-fired over
confident a fellow can be. Confidence is a good thing but some people
have so much of it they fool themselves. Of course I’ll admit that it
would take a long time to kill enough moose to make twenty or thirty
sacks but a few months more or less wouldn’t make much difference after
we’ve got the metal. Of course if we accidentally stumbled onto a
moose-yard that would be different.”
The boys had hunted the caribou for their fresh meat supplies, in fact
caribou were so plentiful in some districts of the country through which
they passed they seldom had to use their stock provisions, such as bacon
and Alaska strawberries, and as for the dogs, they waxed fat on the
excess of meat they were given and grew sluggish. There was no need for
them to die to get to the happy hunting grounds--they had attained all
that their canine souls could wish for under these youngsters of great
hearts and high courage who were their masters.
It is no trick at all to shoot a caribou and it is no sport either for
if it is wounded it will not put up a fight. Sport in hunting big game
comes in only when the hunter is exposed to danger and takes a chance of
fighting for his life along with the beast he is trying to kill. And
Bill was right when he said that any man who calls himself a sportsman
and goes after caribou for the mere sake of killing them ought to be
given a spanking and sent back home to his mother.
While Jack was something of a naturalist and knew all about caribou and
their habits Bill was the expert when it came to dressing them. Bill
shot the first caribou and when he brought it into camp he examined it
closely for it was the first one he had ever seen at close range.
“It looks like a reindeer to me, pard,” he said after eyeing it closely.
“It is a reindeer, for caribou and reindeer are one and the same animal;
the only difference is that reindeer are domesticated and caribou are
wild. Then again there are two kinds of caribou; the one you’ve brought
in is the kind that lives north of sixty-four and this is called _barren
ground_ caribou, while the kind that lives farther south is called
_woodland_ caribou.
“You see the winter coat of this caribou is thick and almost white, but
in summer it takes on a reddish-brown color except underneath and that
stays white. As summer comes on the caribou goes north and in winter he
comes down here to the woodlands. While he is quite shy yet his
curiosity is so great it often gets the best of him and he will stand
and give a fellow the once over until it is sometimes too late for him
to retreat.
“As to speed, why he can beat a dog or a horse all hollow and so when he
is running nothing but a target shot will bring him down.”
“We must get some moose afore we start back for little ole Noo York. I
want to take back the head and antlers of a big un to me goil, see,”
reflected Bill, who was evidently beginning to think of home.
Jack allowed that it might not be a bad scheme to bring down a moose or
two, not merely for trophies of their prowess as big game hunters, but
for the purpose of using their flesh for food, as well as their hides,
in the possible event of their having need for them. Now, know you, that
while in summer the moose usually travels alone, in winter a number of
them will band together and trample down the snow in a space with their
hoofs, and this is called a _moose-yard_.
Finally, one day, the boys came across tracks leading to a moose-yard,
then quickly made a temporary camp, and struck out to stalk it. They
came upon it just as the moose, of which there were about a dozen, had
reached a small lake. In the yard were two old bull moose, half-a-dozen
cows and the rest calves. The boys crept up on them until they were
within bullet range. The bull moose were magnificent specimens of wild
animal life and must have weighed more than a thousand pounds apiece.
The boys chose their quarry and then two bullets speeded forth though
the cracks of their Winchesters sounded like a single shot. They ran
toward the moose but the bullets which had crashed into their great
bodies did not kill them or even drop them to the ground. Instead, the
wounded beasts bellowed with rage and as the boys came up they charged
them with mighty fury, their great antlers cutting the air like so many
sabers.
As fast as they were able to get out of the way of one of the bulls, the
other was upon them and they were kept busy dodging, side-stepping and
in devious other ways eluding them. In the skirmish between the boys and
the bulls, the cows and the calves stood off at some little distance
looking on but without the slightest show of any intention of joining
in, for their belief in the power of the bulls to look after themselves
was absolute.
Just as the larger of the bulls was making a final desperate charge on
Jack, he pulled the trigger of his rifle three times with lightning-like
rapidity; the monster moose came to a dead-stop and toppled over, when a
fourth bullet ended him and Jack had his first and only moose to his
credit.
In the meantime Bill was having a hard time of it, for the other bull
pressed him so close he not only could not use his gun but he had to
drop it to save himself. Bill had seen bullfights in Mexico, but a
toreador dodging a bull of the bovine species was as mere child’s play,
he opined, as he afterward said in telling me about it, when compared
with getting away from this mighty animal of the genus _Cervus_.
He had also seen, yes, had even performed, that seemingly superhuman
feat known in the cattle country as _bulldogging_ a steer, which means
that a cowboy throws a steer to the ground by grasping its horns and
twisting its neck until the animal falls, but he knew that this trick
would not succeed with the monster he was now pitted against.
The struggle was going on away from where it started as far as powder
will send a bullet and the moment Jack had killed his moose he ran to
help his partner. Before he got within firing range he saw a sight that
he would not be likely to forget, no, not if he lived to the century
mark. The bull moose had made a terrific lunge at Bill but instead of
pinning him on his horns, or catching and tossing him a dozen yards or
so as is the way of these enraged beasts, the New York boy had grasped
his antlers as he lowered his head and with the agility of an acrobat,
plus the desire to aid and abet the first law of nature, when the bull’s
head went up Bill went with it with his feet straight up in the air.
In another instant he turned completely over and landed on the moose’s
neck and there he gripped the coarse thatch of hair and held on with a
tenacity of purpose that all of the bull’s cavorting around could not
shake off. Then it was that Bill drew his six-gun and emptied the
contents of it into the head of the great beast, while a bullet from
Jack’s rifle brought him down. Finding their leaders were no more, the
cows and calves turned and fled.
The next thing on the list was to skin the moose, and this was a very
arduous job. Both of the boys, but especially Bill, could almost
out-Indian an Indian when it came to skinning a caribou but out here
where the icy wind was cutting across the lake it was a very
disagreeable task. Before they were through with the work the day had
slipped into night and they had to make their temporary camp their
quarters. After a supper of moose-cutlet they felt much “sorensified” as
Bill expressed it, and he was not so badly off but that he could play a
few _chunes_, as he called them, on his mouth organ. They piled the
hides, both of which were as large as the largest buffalo hides, on
their sleds, together with as much of the meat of the carcass of one of
the moose as they could carry; this they took back with them to their
permanent camp, and it solved the meat problem for a very considerable
time to come.
While Jack could clean the skins quite as well as his partner, still the
job didn’t agree with his finer sensibilities and he balked on doing it
in true Indian style. Bill was not so particular and he would squat
squaw-like on the floor, lay the skin on his lap, hair-side down, grip
the edge of it with his teeth, and with his left hand under it he easily
and quickly cut and scraped away all the flesh and fat from it with his
knife in the right and never once make a miscue and cut the skin.
[Illustration: “BILL DREW HIS SIX-GUN AND EMPTIED IT INTO THE HEAD OF
THE GIANT BEAST.”]
Not satisfied with their experience as big game hunters in bringing down
the moose, the boys pined for a bear. Now while bears are quite
plentiful in many parts of Alaska they seemed to be mighty scarce in the
Yeehat district, though every once in a while the boys would see the
tracks of one. And so it was that Jack and Bill left their work of
seeking gold ever and anon and sought to track, instead, the bear to his
lair.
But their hunt for a bear was very like their hunt for gold in that they
hunted both with vim and determination but neither the bear nor the gold
was anywhere to be found. Yet the boys knew that both were there if they
could only catchee ’em, as Sing Nook would say. When they came upon the
fresh tracks of a bear, as they did once in a while in crossing lakes or
going through the woods, they forewent their main quest in the hopes of
getting a shot at Bruin, but instead they never even got a look at one.
But bear was not on their minds all of the time. They had been busy
around their permanent camp for several days getting the moosehides into
shape and bear was as remote from their minds as the prehistoric
dinosaur.
One evening Jack was getting supper and Bill had gone over to the
wood-pile, which was a stone’s throw from the cabin, for some firewood.
After he had been gone for a quarter of an hour, or so, Jack began to
wonder what had become of him, inasmuch as he was waiting for the wood
to broil a moose-steak. Another five minutes elapsed and Jack, who had
become impatient, went to the door to hurry Bill up.
“Going to stay at that wood-pile all day,” he yelled very loud and not
very gently.
No answer from Bill, so Jack went over to see if anything could have
happened. When he got close to the wood-pile he heard groans and when he
came upon his partner he found enough had happened, and to spare. There
was Bill keeled over in the snow covered with frozen blood while lying
up as close to him as two mortal enemies could get was a big brown bear
breathing his last.
Jack lifted his partner to his shoulder and carried him to the cabin
where he gave him first aid and washed him up. Bill was clawed, chewed,
torn and bruised from head to foot and back again. Only for his fur
clothing he must certainly have been killed.
After Jack had attended his partner and made him as comfortable as
possible he went out to the wood-pile and took a look at the bear. Mr.
Bruin had been slashed up quite a bit himself for Jack counted fifty-six
knife wounds in his head and body. He was assuredly a whopper for he
must have weighed in the neighborhood of six hundred pounds.
Bill lay in his bunk for two days and nights and when he got up he was
still feeling pretty groggy. The first thing he did was to ask for his
“lookin’ glass,” which was a bit of burnished steel of the kind used by
dough-boys in the army. Bill screwed up his face and Jack thought he was
going to cry.
“’Tain’t no use, pard,” he moaned looking at himself.
“No use of what, Bill,” Jack asked sympathetically.
“No use in havin’ a goil. Look at me map now and tells me, as man to
man, could any goil love a guy what’s got one like it. I says no.”
“A fellow’s face hasn’t anything to do with it. It’s the kind of a
fellow he is down deep in his heart, and the stuff he’s made of, that
counts, not only with his girl, but with the world at large,” urged
Jack.
“But look at it. Nobody but a mother could love a face like that,”
proclaimed Bill, and Jack came very near thinking his partner had spoken
rightly.
“Now tell me how it all happened.”
“Well,” began Bill, putting his hand to his forehead, “I remember I went
to the wood-pile and as I was pickin’ up an armful o’ wood I heard
something back of me go _woof! woof!_ I said ’_woof, woof_ yourself’ and
lookin’ ’round I saw this here ornery bear standin’ back o’ me with his
dooks up and ready for a fight. I drops the wood and lets out an orful
holler for you to bring a gun but you musta gone to sleep on the stove
for you didn’t show up.
“Then this here ornery bear makes a reach for me jaw and me and him had
a sprintin’ match ’round the wood-pile. Finally he catches up with me
and lands a gentle little tap on me jaw with his tremendous right hand
and it sent me sprawling. Afore I could get up he was on top o’ me and I
thought I was goin’ to be like the hero o’ that rime for little kids
which runs:
‘Algy met a bear;
The bear was bulgy
And the bulge was Algy.’
“I had left me six-gun here in the cabin and I had just sense enough
left to grabs me huntin’ knife when I stabbed him every chanst I got.
“We rolls over and over until after a while he and me couldn’t roll over
any more and then you comes.”
“Yes, you drove that knife into him fifty-six times by actual count,”
said Jack admiringly.
“One more stab and there’d have been enough for an advertisement for a
pickle factory,” replied Bill.
“You certainly did put him out of commission all right. It must have
been a great fight. I tell you I’d like to have seen it,” allowed Jack
with enthusiasm.
Bill looked up and blinked his eyes at his partner.
“Yes, it was a great fight all right. I’m sorry you missed it and I wish
you could have seen it from the place I did. I allus did prefer broilin’
moose-steaks as against killin’ a b’ar, and hereafter youse gets the
wood. See?”
So ended their hunt for big game.
* * * * *
Now if you will look at a map of Alaska you will see that the Porcupine
River is like the letter U laid over on its side; that is to say, its
head waters are in Alaska and the stream then flows east over the
International boundary into the Yukon Territory, thence north by
northeast across the Arctic Circle and when it reaches latitude 137
degrees and longitude about 67-1/2 degrees, it makes a sharp bend and
flows back west by southwest for a couple of hundred miles, when it
empties into the Yukon River, between the towns of Beaver and Fort
Yukon.
The boys had followed Jack’s scheme of going out in every direction like
spokes from the hub of a wheel, in which case, as has been previously
explained, the hub was the base of their supplies on the Big Black
River. And it will also be seen by a reference to the map that this
river is a tributary of the Porcupine River and empties into it near
Fort Yukon. In fact, Alaska is a country of rivers and nearly all of
them, except those along the coast, are feeders for the Yukon River.
By the middle of March the boys had completed about half of the spokes
of the wheel and on this particular trip they had found greater
evidences of gold in larger quantities than on any one they had
previously made. It was their sixth trip, which took them due south of
their base, and at the end of it they came to the head waters of the
Porcupine River. Then they traveled down it, or perhaps it would be
better to say up it, for in its inception it flows northwest. They met
more miners on, and in the vicinity of, the Porcupine River than in all
of the rest of their trips put together.
Every little way they would come across a handful of miners who were
engaged in the irksome but albeit pleasant task of picking out the
pay-streak in a mine, hauling it to the surface and piling it up on the
dump. At these camps the boys always lost a lot of time for they would
have to stop and give, or get, the latest news from down under which in
most instances was from three to five months old. All of the men they
met were in the most cheerful and sanguine frame of mind, which of
itself was enough to show that the claims they had staked out were rich
in the yellow metal.
At every camp the boys received a most hearty welcome from these rough
and hardy men who were wresting treasure from old Mother Earth here in
the high, high North. Often they felt that they must push on but they
simply could not withstand the temptation of accepting an invite to stay
for dinner, supper or breakfast, or as long as they had a mind to, for
the men were making their _piles_ and under such auspicious
circumstances they craved the company of their fellow kind.
Thus it was that when the boys went into the rough log cabins, which
were often no better and sometimes a great deal worse than their own,
they saw glittering things lying around loose the like of which their
cabin could not boast, and these were nuggets of gold in abundance. In
one cabin they saw an old molasses can with the cover melted off and it
was filled to overflowing with nuggets; in another cabin there was a
bucket heaped high with nuggets, while in still another, nuggets were
piled up in the corner like coal.
And this treasure was only a small part, an incidental part, of the
winnings of these men, for the nuggets were picked up from the
pay-streak as it was picked out and shoveled into the buckets, while the
gold dust which had a far greater worth was still out in the dumps
waiting to be washed in the final clean-up which would take place in the
spring.
Bill allowed that the men in Alaska must all be white except for that
rotter, Black Pete, for no one watched the gold to keep it from being
stolen, nor would there be any need to watch it until they started back
on their long journey toward civilization. The boys were at last on the
trail of gold!
“Here in this district is gold a-plenty, Jack, if we want to do like the
rest of ’em and work for it,” said Bill as a feeler, for he had begun to
think that, after all, it might be a better paying deal to do a little
digging on their own account and get a few thousand out of a place where
they knew it was, than to keep on looking for millions laced up in
moosehide sacks, when they hadn’t the faintest notion of where it was
hidden. In other words it was the outcropping of the old cabbage--adage
I mean--which says that a canary in the cage is worth a couple of them
flying around the room with the windows open.
But Jack vetoed the idea, for since they were on the richest claims that
had yet been staked by mortal, it stood to reason that right in this
district must be the great store of gold they were after. Again, and by
the same token, when various miners offered them ten, fifteen, yes, even
as high as twenty-five dollars a day to work for them, these generous
wages made not the slightest appeal to the boys. If they had to work to
get the gold out of the earth, the boys allowed it would be better to do
a little prospecting the coming summer, stake out their claims and then
go to it the next winter.
“It’s the same old game I’m tellin’ you, pards,” said one of the miners
to his companions as the boys drove away after he had made them a
particularly alluring offer to go to work. “These young scalawags are
after them moosehide sacks o’ gold as sure as I’m born, and twenty
dog-teams couldn’t pull them away from the crazy idee.”
Then the three men laughed a long, loud, and hearty laugh which showed
what they thought of the scheme.