THE HIDDEN LEDGE
The summer of 1897 was a memorable one in the great Northwest. It was
then that the first authentic news of the immense richness of the
Klondyke region became public. Less than a dozen persons had wintered on
Bonanza and Eldorado, the famous gold creeks discovered by Carmack in
September, 1896, and these reported the marvelously rich "strikes."
Certain weighty moose-hide sacks they carried, confirmed their stories.
Two weeks later the docks of the principal cities on the sunset coast
presented a changed appearance. All was hurry and flurry. Ships being
loaded to the deck rails were moored by their great hawsers alongside
docks groaning under immense freight deposited upon them. The rush and
clatter of drays and wagons united in one deep, deafening roar. These
huge masses of freight and baggage presented the same general
appearance. Everything with which to begin mining life in a new and
barren country was there. Dog sleds and fur robes, heavy army sacks
crammed to their drawstrings with Mackinaw and rubber clothing, boots
and shoes, boats, tents, dogs and horses, piles of lumber for boat
building, coils of rope, dog harness and bales of hay, while fat yellow
coated hams bulged in heaps both gay and greasy in the summer sun as
though further frying were unnecessary.
There were mining tools heaped in corners or against the walls of
warehouses, being stacked too high to safely keep their places if
jostled ever so lightly. New and clean gold pans, one inside another,
towered roofward among outfits of aspiring tradespeople of the
prospective camps in the Klondyke; these same rich men in embryo being
also the proprietors of the closely piled sacks of flour, meal and
beans, along with hundreds of cases of butter, eggs and cream, _ad
infinitum_.
Among the hurrying, excited men preparing for departure an undesirably
large number were those anxiously caring for bottle-filled cases and
black barrels, cumbrous and heavy enough to have been already crammed
with Klondyke gold; but in reality being full to the brim of that which
(their owners prognosticated) would relieve them of using pick and
shovel, and bring them without effort after their arrival in the new
diggings all the shining gold they could want to handle. It concerned
them little that they would give in exchange for all this wealth only
that which would deplete the pockets, befuddle the brains and steal the
wits of the deluded purchasers, making them in every case less able to
cope with adverse conditions so desperate in this new, untried, and
remote region.
These men walked, well dressed and pompous, among their goods and
chattels on the great and busy wharves in the hot sunshine, mopping
their perspiring brows and fat cheeks, which latter, like those of well
kept porkers, adorned their rubicund faces. Across their broad
waistcoats dangled glittering ropes and "charms" of tawdry composition,
well suited to the ankles of a chaingang, so heavy were they; and from
spotless white shirt fronts there shone jewels (?) of enormous size and
cheapness.
Above the din was heard at short intervals on the steamer's deck the
rattle of machinery, dropping huge, freight-laden nets or baskets into
the hold. Upon the wharves hustled blackened stevedores, flushed and
panting, reeking with perspiration and tobacco juice, but straining,
tugging, lifting until one could almost imagine he heard their muscles
snap; resolutely and steadily laboring hour after hour, until at last,
wearied beyond further endurance, they gave way to others who sprang
energetically into their places.
It was little past midsummer. A large ship of the collier class, lately
fitted in the roughest possible manner for carrying passengers to
Alaska, lay alongside the dock in the great town of S. Hundreds of
people waited on shore to catch the latest glimpse of friends about to
leave them, while a round thousand of those eager to "strike it rich" in
the new Klondyke swarmed over the vessel.
Of these, many, no doubt, would never return. It was a sad day, and
brightened only by that hope without which the world would be undone.
Upon their arrival in the quiet little sea of Lynn three days later all
hands were cheered because this indicated the end of their uncomfortable
voyage; and even if new discomforts awaited them, they would, at least,
be those occurring on shore and under broad heavens, in pure, cool air,
where the fetid atmosphere of ship's steerage quarters was unknown.
But alas! When the dense fog lifted, and the sun with diffidence peeped
through its grey and watery veil, the sight that met the eyes of the
expectant argonauts was grand but not reassuring. Mountains rose to
wondrous heights above and on all sides of them, while those directly in
front, and barring them from their desired route and destination in
sheer contrariety loomed heaven-high, as though they would rend the
azure sky with their jagged and snowy peaks. Steep and precipitous rose
the sides of those giant hills directly from the water's edge except
where, at the foot of the Grand Canyon, trending northward, a small
tract of wet and boggy land dejectedly spread itself. Between this and
the anchored vessel upon the decks of which stood the thousand would-be
miners the waters of old Lynn rose and fell with an ocean's pulsing, at
the same time quietly moving in their accustomed way among the beach
sands and shingle. No soothing lap of the waters against the sides of
the vessel consoled these unromantic men. There were no docks or wharves
at Skagway. The immense ship's cargo must be unloaded into small boats
or hastily built scows to be towed ashore over the shallow waters. It
was the beginning of a gigantic undertaking, and many, hearing of a more
desirable landing-spot and a quicker, easier mountain pass further on,
kept with the ship to Dyea. But the same low and lazily lapping waters
surrounded them as at Skagway. Tides rose and fell, and, at their own
will, fogs settled and lifted.
By turns rain came, winds blew, and the sun shone, the latter in a
subdued and apparently reluctant manner, as in winter on the shores of
old Puget.
At this stage of affairs there was no further postponement of an evil
day possible, and the remaining voyagers with their freight were hustled
on shore with as much expedition as was permissible with a few barges,
flat-bottomed fishing boats, and Indian canoes.
With their faraway homes behind them, and the top of lowering mountains
often hidden by storm-clouds before them, these hundreds of daring
argonauts faced the hardships of a trail, and life in an Alaskan
mountain wilderness; their own backs and those of a few pack animals
being the only means of transporting many tons of necessary supplies
into the vast interior to which they journeyed.
To say that the courage of no man failed at the prospect would be
untrue; but none liked to appear to his fellows to weaken, and
notwithstanding the disheartening outlook, all set to work with a will
until the hold of the great ship was entirely empty and her waterline
had risen many feet above the ripples of Lynn.
The scene on shore was a repetition of that on the neighboring beach at
Skagway, separated from it, however, by glittering peaks, the snows of
which were melted daily by the sun and warm wind and found their way in
streams down ravines and canyons, across glaciers and around boulders,
dropping lower and still lower to the moraines near salt water.
Busy indeed was the scene now presented. Colonies of canvas tents were
grouped upon the beaches close above the high water mark where the
outfits of the travelers had been hastily dumped. Camp fires crackled
and Indian fishermen traded fresh salmon for tobacco; but the tired
and already mud-bedraggled prospectors slept heavily upon the damp, cold
ground when too much exhausted to proceed further with their "packing."
[Illustration: _The scene on shore was a repetition of that on the
neighboring beach at Skagwan_]
The race was now on. With many it was a race to their death. On sight of
the struggle at closer range, men formed themselves into groups or
partnerships, thinking thus to simplify and make easier the crossing
with their heavy outfits these tremendous mountains. In some instances
this was a wise precaution, but in many more cases it was followed by
failure to work harmoniously together, and profanity, bad feeling, and
quarreling ensued.
Like fish in their native element, or vampires living off others, so the
fat and rubicund-visaged owners of the bulky, black barrels before
mentioned, flourished on the needs, discouragements and extremity of
their brothers. Booths and shacks were expeditiously erected above their
barrels dumped out upon the sands, counters and rude seats were
provided, while flaring, staring cloth signs were flung out informing
all that this was "The Shelter", "Tommy's Place", or "Your Own
Fireside", in order to allure the cold, weary and disheartened travelers
into the saloons. Here, in exchange for their money, they were given
poisonous and adulterated liquors, imbibing which, with empty stomachs
and discouraged hearts, they became ill-natured and selfish, as well as
in a chronic state of internal drought.
At Skagway the army of "stampeders" swarmed up into the mountains.
Following the Skagway River northward up the Grand Canyon, their
difficult trail crossed and recrossed the bed of the stream many times.
With small trees "corduroy" bridges were hastily thrown down in spots
made impassable by bogs and the continued tread of hundreds of hurrying
feet. With quick, impatient axe strokes men struck at overhanging and
obstructing trees and vines. On all sides hung huge boulders and cliffs
like pouting, protruding lips, as if the mountains had been shaken into
shape by some subterrane force and resented even yet their rough
treatment. Mosses hung from tree trunks, and vines thickly blanketed the
rocks and ledges between which dashed sparkling waterfalls in haste to
join the Skagway below. It mattered not if the hot noonday sun at times
entered these fastnesses; it served only to cheer the hearts of little
birds and animals, and bring to pestiferous life millions of mosquitoes
and flies to torment both day and night the unfortunate toilers on the
White Pass Trail.
These toilers worked in desperation. Their mad haste was infectious. Men
literally tumbled over each other on the trail in their eagerness to put
the Passes behind them. Every man carried strapped upon his back as much
of a load as it was possible for him to carry, and often times more,
with the not infrequent result that they dropped beneath their packs on
the trail. In like manner they loaded the animals they drove before
them, and here was exhibited man's awful inhumanity to the dumb brutes.
Pack horses, mules and dogs, loaded to top-heaviness and cinched until
one could almost hear their bones crack, climbed, straining, struggling,
panting, wild eyed and steaming from over-exertion under the lash of
angry and profane drivers, until they sank to their haunches, helpless
and exhausted, in some quagmire. Such common misfortune necessitated
the unloading of the poor beast at the loss of time and patience, not
only of his own driver, but those following, as any obstruction to this
narrow trail was greeted with extreme disfavor.
Language both bad and bitter was hourly exchanged between men on this
strenuous stampede to the Klondyke in the fall of '97. Animosities were
born which die only when hearts in men's bosoms are forever stilled.
Feuds were here originated, which if not settled with firearms were
ended in ways as deadly afterwards.
Conditions on the Chilkoot were identical. "Tenderfeet" were there as
tender, and the way as rough, even if a trifle shorter than that over
the White Pass. Nor were the tempers of the Chilkoot argonauts better
than those of their neighbors.
One root of the matter was not far to seek. Had they been content to
leave liquors untouched, nerves would have been less often jarred,
patience would not have become so soon exhausted, while brains would
have been clearer to plan, foresee, and execute. Not every man drank
liquors. There were numbers whose strongest stimulant was the fragrant
coffee, or water from the mountain springs; and these were among the
quiet, helpful ones who plodded patiently and industriously; lending a
kindly hand to some unfortunate fallen comrade or animal along the
rock-bound trail. They, too, were the ones who soonest reached the first
objective point of their journey--the end of mountaineering at Bennett,
from which place their boats would carry them into the Klondyke.
Among hundreds of others two travelers one day trudged with heavy packs
upon their backs, each following his loaded mule, which, once placed in
the long line of men and animals, wending their way toward the
mountains, would not, in self-defense choose to deviate from that
course.
Both men were strong, of middle age, and with money and supplies enough
to take them into the gold fields. After landing at Skagway they decided
to go into partnership, chiefly for the purpose of receiving assistance.
Little thought was given by either to the help he was to render his
partner; and although they had now been but a few days together, each
had already reminded the other of some fancied duty to himself; which
act, often repeated, will sometimes stir up unpleasantly the muddy
waters of men's souls. After having gotten a late start from Skagway,
they had gone only about two miles up the Canyon when both men and mules
seemed too much fagged to proceed further without rest, and as night was
close upon them they decided to make camp.
Turning to the west side of the Canyon they moved laboriously among
fallen logs, boulders and driftwood, and through the tangle of vines,
ferns, and foliage which also barred their way.
When they were well out of sight of their trail companions they found
themselves close under a huge wall of rock in the steep mountain side
which made a quiet spot for camping.
Selecting an open space between trees, the packs of all were deposited
upon the ground. Men and mules now breathed deeply, and rested strained
muscles, so chafed beneath the heavy and unaccustomed packs.
"Give the mules enough rope, but fasten 'em tight, Smithson," said one,
"we don't want 'em wanderin' away and we havin' to hunt 'em up. Time is
too precious on this trail, and there are too many fellows around
wishin' fur just such mules. We'd have a dandy time hiking it over the
Pass with our four tons of grub all on our backs, wouldn't we?"
"It would take us a year, sure," was the reply, "and may as it is. I
know one thing. I'm goin' to take a drink before continuing these
proceedings, and I advise you to do the same," pulling a flat bottle
from his "jumper" pocket and putting it to his lips.
For answer his companion dropped the sticks he had been gathering for a
fire, and produced a duplicate bottle which he quickly appropriated in
like manner.
To an old miner, inured to such life, the work of pitching camp here
would have been slight, but to these men it was a new experience.
Cooking upon a camp fire, sleeping upon a bed of boughs, cut from the
thicket when exhausted after new and hard labor was bad enough; but when
to this was added the almost unendurable stinging and singing of the
ever present mosquitoes it was a thousand fold worse. A good fire and
smoke must be kept going all night, and by lying close beside it they
hoped to get some rest from the insects.
Before sleeping the two men planned their next day's work. They would
leave everything and ride back to Skagway for another load of supplies,
getting all here under the rock before proceeding further up the trail.
In the meantime the bothersome winged insects buzzed and flirted. They
crept into the ears of men and mules in spite of the long journey the
latter necessitated; the poor brutes learned after a time either to keep
up a continual flopping of these head ornaments, or to assume a low,
drooping position, thus keeping their ear chambers closed to visitors;
while their caudal appendages were not allowed a moment's respite from
duty. The men relieved themselves of bitter and revengeful sentiments
toward their unwelcome visitants by deep and hearty curses, until a
little later, worn and weary, in the camp-fire "smudge" they slept
despite their discomforts. It is not really known, but it is supposed,
that the two long eared animals might have done good work that night had
they been wise enough to also raise their voices in protest; the
mosquitoes of these mountain fastnesses being as yet unused to such
foreign and reverberating sounds.
However, the men slept fitfully, though they arose in testy humor the
following morning and took immediate recourse to their whiskey bottles
upon awaking.
The mules were still fastened to a tree nearby. They had crossed in
front of the wall of rock which was moss covered to such an extent that
its face was considerably hidden, and then climbed higher in an attempt
to secure the best herbage, and were still browsing.
"Smithson, you're the youngest, you fetch the mules while I make the
fire for breakfast," said Roberts to his companion, yawning and rubbing
his mosquito bitten hands and face.
"Do it yourself! I'm only two years younger than you. If I'm going to
hear that gag every time there is anything extra hard to do on this trip
I'll quit now and hunt a boy to work with," was the disgruntled answer.
"Do it then! I don't care; though I don't think it's harder to get the
mules than to bring water, cut wood, and get breakfast, do you? I'll
swap jobs if you want to, but getting the mules includes watering them
at the creek, of course."
"Oh, yes, of course," echoed Smithson in a surly voice.
"You better get a move on or I'll have breakfast cooked and eaten before
you get 'round to anything. You needn't suppose I'm going to do your
work and mine, too," was the impatient rejoinder of Roberts as he swung
his axe hard into a stick of wet wood he was cutting.
Smithson shuffled off up the bluff in search of the animals, which, when
found, were treated in no very kindly manner by the sour faced,
mosquito-bitten and generally disgusted tenderfoot, whose introduction
into this new world was, apparently, taking all good-nature out of him.
The mules made no resistance and were soon poking their noses into the
creek waters where Smithson had led them. When he returned to camp
expecting to find a smoking breakfast awaiting him, he was disappointed.
Looking about for Roberts he saw him against the face of the cliff
nearly half way to its top.
"Smithson, come here quick," called Roberts in a voice trembling with
excitement.
"I won't do it! I want my breakfast. What are you doing? Picking wild
flowers, I suppose. How're we goin' to get along without grub, I'd like
to know. Come down, I say!"
Roberts appeared to be working industriously. Finally he rose from his
stooping position, and motioning to his partner, called out in a low
tone:
"Come quick, man, or you'll be sorry! Never mind breakfast; you can eat
that any day; but you don't see this sight often."
With that Smithson ambled over to the foot of the cliff.
"What is it?" he inquired crossly.
"Catch this bit of rock and look at it," said Roberts in a low, excited
voice, dropping a small white fragment at the feet of the other.
"By Jove! Roberts, it carries gold!"
"Shut your mouth! Don't tell the men on the trail! These hills have ears
and plenty of 'em. Come up here quick, but first bring a pick and hammer
from the packs."
With that the dilatory fellow forgot his hunger, his mosquito-bitten
hands and face, and in less than two minutes was climbing up the cliff
with the tools.
He found his partner looking well pleased but perspiring. As Smithson
joined him he sat down on the rock and mopped his face with his red
bandana.
"What made you come up here?" asked Smithson, "I thought you were
gettin' the grub."
"So I was, but I had no dry wood, and saw some near the foot of the
cliff. Coming to get it I saw that the ropes of the mules had crossed
this rock and as they climbed higher their ropes pulled tighter and had
worn off the moss which fell to the ground below. Among this moss there
were several bits of whitish rock which seemed to be quartz. Then I saw
a spot high above my head that looked like the small piece below, and
climbed to see, when you came back and found me."
"What do you think of it?" asked Smithson.
"Think of it? Why, man, we have struck a quartz ledge with gold in it!
See that shiny yellow stuff, scattered through this rock! Can't you tell
gold when you see it?"
"Yes, but perhaps that's all there is of it--what then?"
"A likely story! No, sir, there's more where that comes from. Give me
that pick! You scrape off the moss and break up some of the rock as I
get it out, and we'll see what it looks like; but above all things we
must not forget to speak low, for by Jiminy crickets! we don't want to
see anyone around here but you and me."
"What about goin' to Skagway for the freight?"
"We won't go to-day. We've got enough grub to last till to-morrow. We'll
work right here."
They did so. Even the mosquitoes were forgotten. At noon they wondered
what made them feel so faint. The bottles in their "jumper" pockets were
empty--they had eaten nothing since the night before. Both at last
decided to quit work and prepare their meal before prospecting further.
In their eager efforts to get at the width of the ledge the men
afterwards scraped off the moss and vines, by this means exposing what
appeared to be a four foot vein. On each side of this vein ran a wall of
hard, dark rock they did not recognize, but the quartz was quartz and
carried free gold; and that at present was enough for them. In their
ignorance they knew nothing of which way the vein "dipped", of what the
"gangue" was composed, nor how often and where "faults" occurred. The
question in hand was the presence of gold and the length, width, and
depth of the quartz lode. The gold was really there in pretty yellow
streaks and spots, shining brightly in whichever way it was turned.
Of course Roberts claimed the discovery. This angered his partner.
"The mules are the real discoverers," declared Smithson with spirit,
"and one of them is mine. You knew very well that the quartz was there
when you sent me after the animals so you could prospect the place."
"You're a liar, and you know it!" retorted Roberts, hotly. "There is
none so suspicious of others as a rogue. If you understood mining laws
you would know that by being my partner one half of all I find is yours
without your raising a finger, and you could quit this howl before
beginning. A man may be an idiot in the States if he chooses, but here
he needs all the sense he was born with besides what he can cultivate."
With this thrust Roberts picked up his tools to resume his prospecting.
"I like that first rate. It reminds me of home and Hannah. I presume you
want me to put these things in a grub box and wash the dishes while you
go out to prospect your quartz ledge, don't you?" sneered Smithson, in
whose temper there was little improvement since he had eaten because his
stock of whiskey and tobacco was exhausted.
"It is almost as easy as swinging a heavy iron pick, I reckon," replied
Roberts sarcastically.
With this the men parted. A fresh dispute soon arose, however, as to
whether the ledge should be immediately staked or not.
"We would surely be fools to go and leave it for others, especially as
it is uncovered and in plain sight," objected Smithson.
"We will cover it so that none can find it. If we stake the ledge it
must be recorded in Skagway, and the moment we do that our secret is
out. By simply planting stakes or monuments, we cannot hold the ground
from others, but it must be on record. Now if we stop here long all
these fellows on the trail will get into Dawson ahead of us and gobble
up the claims. We started out for placer gold--creek gold--not quartz
gold which takes machinery for development. By going to Dawson first we
may find enough to allow of our opening up this ledge in a year or two."
"Well, I've always heard that 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the
bush', and if this is true I think we'd better stay right here."
"If you knew more you would kick less. It takes a lot more money to open
up quartz mines than we've got or ever may have. But I see what you're
after. You want to stay near Skagway and its well warmed barrooms, don't
you?" laughed Roberts.
"You go to blazes!"
"No, no, I'm going to Dawson. But first I think we'd better drop this
business and pack our supplies from Skagway, don't you?" asked the more
sensible man of the two.
"Yes, yes," said Smithson, who was thinking of his whiskey and tobacco
in that place, and of his chronic thirst which water from the mountain
could not allay.
Before leaving, the new prospect hole was hidden from the view of
stragglers. A few tall saplings were felled, which, with foliage still
upon them, were pushed over the edge of the cliff with stems downward in
order that their leafy tops might rest against the prospected rock and
temporarily hide the new discovery. In case anyone happened that way it
would appear to them that the saplings had been felled and dropped over
the cliff for firewood.
By this time the White Pass trail had grown to be a veritable horror.
Men were ill and suffering from hard work and exposure. Animals lay dead
at the foot of cliffs, over the edges of which they had slipped or been
crowded with packs still strapped upon their sore and bleeding backs.
Others lay, stripped of all accoutrements, in the hot sunshine among the
buzzing flies, after a broken leg had necessitated a bullet in the head,
thus causing stenches to fill the nostrils of the already suffering and
oppressed passersby. No one had time to bury animals. If a man fell it
was, of course, obligatory to halt from their "packing" long enough to
dig a shallow bed among the rocks; but this done, and a handful of
granite fragments heaped above his head, the procession moved on as
before. No time could be spared for headstone marking; and long after
these strugglers of the argonauts on the White Pass Trail were forgotten
by all but the participants (who will never to their dying day forget
them) these lonely mounds of the fallen men could at intervals have been
seen flanked by bleaching bones of defunct animals.
Lonely indeed were these dreary resting places. The scream of the eagle
as he easily swung on powerful pinions from cliff to cliff on family
errands or to drink at the foot of some rushing cascade was the only
dirge that was sung. Ferns swayed gently in shaded nooks, and wild
flowers nodded familiarly to each other. Filmy winged bees flitted with
bustling movement head foremost into the cups of bluebells beneath skies
as azure as they, and in atmosphere as pure as God could make it.
In winter all this was changed. Snow covered the little mounds as well
as the whole surrounding region; and intermittently the falling flakes
whirled and drifted into ravines and canyons, making them level with the
steep mountain-sides; presently melting under the sunshine and
beginning a race to the sea.
However, the argonauts hurried on. They were not here to moralize--they
had something else to do.
As the two men proceeded, making numerous trips with the freight laden
mules between camps, they found, much to their disappointment, that,
without assistance, they would not be able to reach Lake Bennett in time
to build a boat and make their way into the Klondyke before being
overtaken by winter.
In order to proceed faster it would be necessary to hire Indian packers
to help them over the summit of the Pass, else the sun of another summer
would see them still wearily toiling on that terrible trail.
Indians were then hired. The great mountain tops, bald of everything
save boulders and a few saucer-shaped lakelets reflecting in their cold
depths the floating clouds above, seemed now for the first time to
encourage the harassed and footsore travelers.
Soon they were cheered by entering a forest. Here was fuel in abundance,
and shelter, at least partial, from frosts and rain. Below, the green
and level "meadows" beckoned to them, and still farther the shining
waters of Bennett. But trail troubles would soon for them be over, and
with lighter hearts, though with weary feet and backs, they stumbled on
in their eagerness to reach the long waterway which was to guide them
into the promised land.
Beautiful Bennett! How pure its waters, and how clean its sands! With
what maidenly modesty it nestles in the rugged arms of its lovers, the
sky-piercing mountains!
Tents were everywhere. Cabins rose in a night. In surrounding thickets
were the axes of men heard, felling trees for boat-building. Night and
day this continued, and turns were taken at sleeping in order that the
work might not be stopped; indeed, some men seemed never to sleep, so
intent were they on making an early entrance into the gold fields ahead.
Not so, Smithson. He slept more than ever. His bottle made him drowsy.
It did not increase the sweetness of his naturally selfish disposition,
which under the delays, hardships, and extra expense of their journey
had rather increased his laziness and stubbornness.
Nothing Roberts did pleased him. They often came to words, but never to
blows in an argument, for sooner than do this Roberts would turn on his
heel and leave his partner to fall asleep and thus escape his burden of
the work.
"Come now," said Roberts one morning, "our boat is nearly finished and
we ought to be off and away in about two days. You can surely do the
caulking of seams, after which I'll paint her."
"I never caulked a boat in my life, and I think it a poor time to
begin," said Smithson. "If it isn't done right all hands may go to the
bottom. You better get someone else to do it."
"There is nobody but me to do it unless we pay ten dollars a day, and we
can't afford that. I've done most of the work so far, and I think you
might take hold now like a man if you never do again," argued Roberts.
The words "like a man" nettled Smithson. He resented the inference that
he was not manly. Seizing his hat he shambled off toward the beach where
the boat was in process of construction.
His heart was filled with anger. He began fairly to hate Roberts. He had
no right to order him around, and he hated to leave that quartz ledge.
If Roberts were only out of his way the hidden ledge would all be his
own. He had pondered this many times when his working partner supposed
him sleeping. Only for Roberts he could sell the boat and supplies for
double their cost, return to Skagway, and build a cabin near the quartz
ledge, thus escaping the long and dangerous trip down the lakes and
rivers as well as the awful Arctic winter which he more and more dreaded
in the Klondyke. On the south side of the mountains the weather would be
more mild; he would have no difficulty in finding another partner, if
not of his own sex, then the other--why not? he asked himself. The owner
of a ledge like that one might afford luxuries beyond those of the
common people. In this way he ruminated, standing with his hands in
pockets alongside the boat he was expected to finish by caulking.
Smithson hated work. Why should he work? There was enough gold in the
big ledge on the other side of the summit to keep him as long as he
lived if he could have the whole and manage it to suit himself. Could a
boat be caulked lightly in spots, he wondered, so that such weak places
might be plugged at the proper moment afterwards, making it fill with
water and sink with its freight?
It might be done, but that would be bad policy, for freight landed even
this far had cost large sums of money; farther on it would be worth more
and could be sold for many times what they had paid for it at starting;
but men were far too plenty. One man would not be missed. It might be
managed, perhaps, and he decided to do the caulking as requested by
Roberts.
An hour later a fair beginning had been made. A fire was built over
which the smoke of melting pitch ascended, while oakum was filling the
seams of the boat's sides under the hands of the new ship-builder.
Smithson could work if he liked. When his partner, after taking a much
needed rest and nap, came out to see how the business was progressing he
was well pleased. The work appeared satisfactory.
"I'm afraid you'll be sick, old fellow, after such exertion as this,"
laughed he with a twinkle in his eye, "for you're breaking your record,
sure; but keep right on; I'll get paint and brushes in readiness to
start my job the moment you've done. The sun will soon dry all
thoroughly," and he hastened back to their tent.
For reply the new workman only lighted his pipe. His mind was busy and
he needed a nerve-quieter. The train of thought in which he had just
indulged was strange, and rather disquieting--altogether he needed the
smoke.
The common industry at Bennett was now the launching of boats. Hundreds
of frail and faulty craft were started upon their long voyage to the
Klondyke laden with freight to the water's edge. Men who had never
before used a saw, axe, or plane, here built boats and sailed
courageously away.
Smithson and Roberts had done the same.
It was late in the afternoon. The storm clouds were rapidly gathering
overhead. The men had raised a sail and were scudding northward before
the wind towards Caribou. If they could make the crossing that night,
Roberts said, they would be in luck. To sleep on shore and sail again
next morning was his plan.
Night came on. No other craft was near. The wind flapped their small
sail and the yardarm wobbled badly. Roberts sat in the stern.
"Mind the sail, there, Smithson, and pull that tarpaulin over the grub
pile, for by Jingo! we're goin' to catch it now!" as the cold rain
dashed full against their faces, and they both crouched lower in the
boat.
"Haul in the sail!" shouted Roberts, an instant later at the top of his
voice, and Smithson arose presumedly to obey.
"Haul in the sail!" repeated Roberts while tending the rudder, as the
other hesitated.
With that the man addressed moved, but not in the way expected. He
grasped the yardarm and swung it suddenly and heavily around against
Roberts.
Instantly the side of the little craft dipped low, shipping water, but
the roar of the gale drowned the noise of a sudden splash. A cry of
horror, the flash of two hands in the water, and the boat sped madly
away on her course.
Ten minutes later the white capped waters tossed a boat upon the beach
near Caribou. Its one occupant looked wildly around in the darkness but
presently managed to make a fire by which to warm and dry himself.
He muttered incoherently meanwhile.
"I didn't do it--'twas the wind--dark and wild--couldn't stop the
boat--terrible storm--two hands in the water--Jove! where's that
whiskey?" and he fumbled among the supplies under the tarpaulin. When he
had found it and drunk deeply he felt stronger and replenished the fire.
"The ledge! The hidden ledge! It's all mine now, yes, mine, mine!" and
he hugged himself in his greedy, guilty joy.
"To-morrow I'll sell the grub and backtrack to the coast to guard it."
The storm died away and the cold, bright moon shone searchingly. The man
lay down in the boat to rest, pulling his furs and tarpaulin over him.
Sleep did not immediately come at his bidding. He saw and heard
affrighting things. The rush and roar of the elements--two hands
flashing out of the ink-black water--the cry of horror--but he wanted to
forget, and at last, in spite of all, he slept.
* * * * *
An Indian guide trudged heavily up the long trail toward the summit. He
was closely followed by a white man and both were headed southward. The
guide carried a heavy pack on his back, but the white man was "traveling
light."
When night came they camped and rested; amusing themselves for a while
with a poker game. Black bottles kept them company. At last trouble
arose over the cards. Smithson had indiscreetly allowed his guide a
glimpse of his money belt, and though the white man was well armed, in a
moment of forgetfulness he allowed the native to pass behind him; when a
sudden shot and thud upon the ground quickly settled forever all scores
between them.
An Indian seldom smiles.
This one smiled gloomily now; muttering as he wiped the revolver in his
hand:
"Him bad white man yesterday,--good man now,--heap long time sleep."
Half an hour later the sure-footed Indian cautiously made his way along
the trail. Stars twinkled overhead. A well filled money belt, a
revolver, and blankets ornamented his person, though only the latter
were visible.
The "Hidden Ledge" was close at hand, but unknowingly he passed it by;
its secret having been, for the present, buried with the two partners
who were numbered among the strenuous stampeders on the White Pass
Trail.
[Illustration]