“Keep together—keep together!” shouted the big Cornishman; but no one heeded, and he followed their example of seizing the first weapon he could reach and following.
The pursuit was short, for it seemed madness to follow in amongst the dense pines which formed the forest, placing themselves at the mercy of an enemy who could bring them down as they struggled through the dense thicket of fallen trees and tangled branches: so, after a few rallying cries, they made their way back to the open space by the lake, to find Abel sitting up and resting his head upon his hand.
“Wounded!” panted Dallas.
“Yes—no! I can’t tell! Look!” said the injured man huskily.
A few minutes’ examination showed how narrow had been his escape, a bullet having struck the side of the poor fellow’s head, just abrading the scalp. Half an inch lower must have meant death.
“Injuns,” said the Cornishman laconically.
“No, no,” cried Dallas, with a fierce look round; “it must be our enemies.”
“Not they, my lad; they’re fast asleep under the snow, you may take your oath. It’s Injuns, by the way they hid themselves. Now, then, can you keep watch—sentry go?” he said, addressing Abel.
“Yes, it was only a graze from the bullet; I am better now.”
“Then you take a loaded rifle and keep watch while we go on knocking the raft together.”
“Yes,” cried Dallas, “the sooner we get away from here the better.”
All set to work with feverish energy at the raft-making. Enough wood was cut, and by clever notching together, the use of spikes, and a further strengthening with rope, the framework rapidly progressed, their intention being to launch, load up, and set off that evening, so as to get to a safer spot.
Abel carefully kept his watch, scanning the dark edge of the forest; but there was no further interruption, and the men worked away, with only a brief pause for refreshment.
Then the sun dipped below the pines, and as darkness approached Dallas let his axe rest on the young pine he had been trimming, and turned to his companions, with a look of despair in his eyes.
“Yes,” said the Cornishman good-humouredly, “we cut out more stuff than we can finish to-night, my son. It’s a bigger job than I thought. We shall have to knock off now. What’s to be done about the fire?”
It was risky work, but the watch was well kept while water was boiled and bacon fried. Then a hasty meal was made, and as the darkness fell the fire was quenched by throwing over it a bucket or two of water.
It was hard enough to do this, for though the ground was clear about them, snow lay on every rocky hill, and the night promised to be bitterly cold. But the exposure to an enemy would have been too great; so after selecting one of the huge spruces whose boughs hung down to the ground for a shelter, and dragging the sledges close in, the question arose of continuing the watch.
“Tchah! It’s as dark as pitch,” said the Cornishman. “Nobody could see. Let the enemy think we’re watching. They won’t come. We must chance it. Wrap up well, and have a good night’s rest.”
This advice was taken, and soon after all were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, and awoke at daylight without a fresh alarm.
The previous day’s tactics were resumed, and the toil over the raft went on, but there was still so much to do in the way of bracing and strengthening the rough craft so that it might withstand the fierce currents and concussions they were to expect at the lower part of the lake where the rapids began, that the hours glided by till late in the afternoon, and still the task was not done.
“Who could have thought it would take so long?” said Dallas at last. “You see, we have everything to cut.”
“No one, my son,” said their big friend, smiling; “but I bet we shouldn’t have got the job done for us in double the time.”
“It would be madness to start to-night.”
“Stark. Couldn’t get loaded up before dark, and then it’ll be like pitch. Let’s cut some poles for punting and a mast to make a bit of sail if we like, and then I think we may say that we have got our job well done, ready for loading up and starting in the morning.”
“Yes,” said Abel, who seemed little the worse for his last mishap; “it was better to make a good job of the raft.”
“And that we’ve done,” said the Cornishman.
The poles were cut, trimmed, and laid upon the deck, which had been finished after launching; and now, as they examined their work, all were satisfied that it could not have been done better in the time, for as it lay in the clear water, swinging by a rope secured to a pine-stump, all felt that it would easily bear the party, their sledges and stores; and the pity seemed to be that it could not be used for the whole of their journey.
“Who knows? Perhaps it may.”
There was an hour’s daylight yet, and this was utilised down on the sandy shore of the stream which ran into the lake hard by.
It was the first trial, and no little interest was felt as every man waded into the icy cold water, pannikin in hand, to scoop the sand aside and then get a tinful from as deep down as they could.
This was washed and watched beneath the water, the stones thrown out, and washed again, till only a little sand remained, and this was carefully examined.
“Gold!” cried Dallas excitedly; and this was eagerly responded to by the others, for in every pan there was some of the precious metal, but such tiny grains that it was decided that a halt would be useless there.
“Farther on,” said Dallas excitedly; “this is only the edge of the golden land, but here is proof that we are going right.”
“Yes,” said the big Cornishman; “but I don’t rest till we can shovel it up like gravel from a pit.”
Darkness put an end to their search, and once more the fire was quenched, and in silence they sought the shelter of the great tree, placed their arms ready, rolled themselves in their blankets, and were soon asleep.
It seemed as if they had only just lain down when one of the men shouted, “Morning!”
“Hooray!” cried the big Cornishman. “Who’s going to face the cold, and have a dip in the lake?”
Every one but Abel, who hung back.
“Don’t you feel well enough to come?” said Dallas anxiously.
“Yes, but some one ought to light the fire and set the billy to boil.”
“Here! Hi! All of you,” yelled the big Cornishman, who had gone on. “Quick!”
All ran at the alarm, and then stood aghast.
“The rope must have come undone,” cried Dallas.
“Don’t look like it, my son. It’s left part of itself behind.”
“Broken—snapped?” cried Abel.
“Sawed through with a knife,” said one of the men.
“Injuns. Come in the night; lucky they didn’t use their knives to us,” growled the Cornishman fiercely, as he looked searchingly round.
“Look,” cried Dallas, excited; “these are not Indian traces;” and he pointed down at the sandy shore.
“Indian? No,” cried Abel, going down on his knees; “the marks of navigators’ boots, with nails;” and he looked wildly across and down the lake.
But the raft, their two days’ hard work, had gone.
“You’re quite right, my son,” said the Cornishman coolly, after lighting his pipe and carefully examining the ground. “I’m not much of a hand at this kind of thing, but it looks plain enough. Here’s all our footmarks quite fresh, and here’s a lot more that look as if they were made last night.”
“Last night?” cried Dallas.
“Ay, that they do.”
“But those may be ours.”
“Nay; not one of us has got a hoof like that,” cried the Cornishman, pointing with the stem of his pipe. “I’ve got a tidy one of my own, but I aren’t pigeon-toed. Look at that one, too, and that. Yonder’s our marks, and, hullo! what’s that lying in the water?”
The others gazed in the indicated direction, and Dallas leaped into the shallow water, to stoop down and pick out a knife.
“Some one must have dropped this,” he cried.
“Unless one of us has lost his,” said the big fellow. “Any one own it?”
There was a chorus of negatives.
“Well, I’m sorry,” cried the Cornishman. “Poor chap! How savage he’ll be to find he has lost his toothpick. Look here,” he continued grimly, “if you all don’t mind, I’ll take care o’ this bit of steel. We may meet the chap as lost it, and I should like to give it him back.”
“Oh,” cried Dallas passionately, “how can you laugh and make a joke of such a misfortune as this?”
“What’s the good o’ crying about it, my son?” said the man, smiling. “There’s worse disasters at sea. Who says light a fire and have a good breakfast?”
“Breakfast!” cried Abel; “nonsense! We must go in pursuit at once.”
“And leave our traps for some one else to grab? Why, dear boy, we couldn’t get through the forest empty-handed.”
“No,” said Abel, gazing along the bank of the lake disconsolately.
“He’s right, Bel,” said Dallas, after shading his eyes and looking down the lake. “They’ve got right away.”
“Hang ’em, yes,” said the Cornishman, smiling merrily. “I say, I wish we hadn’t taken quite so much pains with that there raft. If we’d known we’d ha’ saved all those six-inch spikes we put in it.”
“The scoundrels, whoever they are!” cried Dallas. “It’s beyond bearing.”
“Nay, not quite, my son,” said their new friend good-humouredly, “because we’ve got to bear it. Cheer up. Might have been worse. You see, it was a fresh lot come along while we were asleep and out of sight. ‘Hullo!’ says one of ’em, ‘now I do call this kind; some un’s made us a raft all ready for taking to the water. Come along, mates,’ and they all comed.”
“I wish I’d heard them,” cried Dallas.
“Well, if you come to that, so do I, my sons. But there, we’ve got our tackle, and they haven’t taken all the wood, so we must make another.”
“Yes, and waste two more days,” cried Abel angrily.
“Well, we’re none of us old yet,” said the Cornishman good-humouredly; “and I don’t suppose those who have gone before will have got all the gold.”
“But it is so annoying to think that we lay snoring yonder and let whoever they were steal the raft,” said one of the men.
“So it is, my son,” cried his companion; “and I can see that you two are chock full o’ swear words. Tell you what: you two go in yonder among the trees and let ’em off, while we three light the fire and cook the rashers. It’ll ease your minds, and you’ll feel better. I say, what’s about the value of that there raft?”
“I wouldn’t have taken twenty pounds for my share of it,” cried Abel.
“Humph! Twenty,” said the Cornishman musingly. “Well, seeing it’s here, we’ll say twenty pound. There’s five of us, and that makes a hundred. All right, my sons; we shall come upon those chaps one of these days, and they’ll have to pay us about a pound and a harf o’ gold for our work; and if they don’t there’s going to be a fight. Now then, gentlemen, fire—breakfast—and then work. We shall be a bit more handy in making another. Wish we’d had a bit o’ paint.”
“Paint! What for?” cried Dallas and Abel in a breath.
“Only to have touched it up, and made it look pretty for ’em.”
“Never mind!” said Dallas, through his teeth. “We’ll make it to look pretty for them when we find them.”
“So we will, my son,” cried the Cornishman, and as he gathered chips and branches together he kept on indulging in a hearty laugh at the prospect of the encounter; and as the two young adventurers glanced at the man’s tremendous arms, they had sundry thoughts about what would happen to the thieves.
The Cornishman was right; they were much more handy over making the second raft, and worked so hard that by the end of the following day a new and stronger one was made and loaded ready for the next morning’s start.
But this time a watch was kept, one of the party sitting on board until half the night had passed, when he was relieved by another; and as the sun rose, breakfast was over, and they cast off the rope from the pine-stump which had formed the mooring-post.
The morning was glorious, and the sun lit up the snow-covered mountains, making the scene that of a veritable land of gold. A light breeze, too, was blowing in their favour, so that their clumsy craft was wafted down the lake, which here and there assumed the aspect of a wide river of the bluest and purest water, the keen, elastic air sending a thrill of health and strength through them, and it seemed as if the tales they had heard of the perils they were to encounter were merely bugbears, for nothing could have been pleasanter than their passage.
“Let’s see,” said Dallas, who was well provided with map and plan; “when we get to the bottom of this lake there are some narrows and rapids to pass along.”
“So we heard,” said the Cornishman. “Well, so much the better. We shall go the faster. I suppose they’re not Falls of Ni-agger-ray.—I say, can you gents swim?”
“Pretty well,” was the reply. “Can you?”
The big fellow scratched his head and screwed up his face into a queer smile.
“You ask my two mates,” he said.
“No, I asked you,” said Dallas.
“Not a stroke, my son. If we get capsized I shall trust to being six foot three and a half and walk out. I don’t s’pose it’ll be deeper than that. If it is, I dessay my mates’ll lend me a hand.”
“Then we mustn’t capsize,” said Abel.
“Well, it would be as well not,” said one of the other party drily, “on account of the flour and sugar and tea. I always said you ought to swim, Bob, old man.”
“So you did, mate,” said the big fellow, with a chuckle. “And as soon as it gets warm enough I’m going to learn.”
That night they reached the foot of the lake where the rocky walls closed in, forming a narrow ravine, through which the great body of water seemed to be emptying itself with a roar, the aspect of the place being dangerous enough to make the party pole to the shore at the first likely landing-place and camp for the night.
The evening was well upon them by the time they had their fire alight, and after a hearty meal their couch of pine-boughs proved very welcome.
“Sounds ominous, Dal,” said Abel. “I hope we shall get safely through in the morning.”
“We must,” was the reply. “Don’t think about it; we ought to be hardened enough to do anything now. How’s your head?”
“A bit achey sometimes. And your shoulder?”
There was no reply, for, utterly wearied out with poling the raft, Dallas was asleep, leaving only one of the party to watch the expiring embers of the fire, and listen to the rapids’ deep humming roar.
Abel did not keep awake, though, long. For after getting up to satisfy himself that the raft was safe, he lay down again, meaning to watch till the fire was quite out, though there was not the slightest danger of their being attacked. The only way an enemy could have approached was by water, and it was with a calm, restful sense of satisfaction that the young man stretched himself out on the soft boughs as he said to himself, “There isn’t a boat on the lake, and it would take any party two days to make a raft.”
“We could not have better weather, Bel,” said Dallas, as they finished the next morning’s breakfast. “Summer is coming.”
“Rather a snowy summer,” was the reply; “but never mind the cold: let’s try wherever we halt to see if there is any gold; those fellows are getting out their tins.”
A few minutes later all were gold-washing on the shore, their Cornish friend having cast loose a shovel, and given every person a charge of sand and stones from one of the shallows, taking his shovelfuls from places a dozen yards or so apart.
Then the washing began in the bright sunshine, with the same results—a few tiny specks of colour, as the men termed their glittering scales of gold-dust.
“That’s your sort, gentlemen,” cried the Cornishman, washing out his pan, after tossing the contents away; “plenty of gold, and if you worked hard you might get about half enough to starve on. Why, we could ha’ done better at home, down in Wales. You can get a hundred pounds’ worth of gold there if you spend a hundred and fifty in labour.”
“Yes; but even this dust shows that we are getting into the gold region,” said Dallas.
“That’s right, my son, so come along and let’s get there. I s’pose we’re going right?”
“We must be,” said Dallas. “I have studied the maps well, and we passed the watershed—”
“Eh? We haven’t passed no watershed. Not so much as a tent.”
Dallas had to explain that they had crossed the mountains which shed the water in different directions.
“Oh, that’s it, is it, my son? I thought you meant something built up.”
“So he did,” said Abel, smiling, “by nature. When we were on the other side of the mountains the streams ran towards the south.”
“That’s right, master.”
“Now you see the direction in which the water runs is towards the north. Here in the map is the great Yukon River, running right across from east to west, and these lakes form the little rivers which must run into the Yukon.”
“And that’s the great gold river, my sons.”
“Yes; but we shall find what we want in the rivers and creeks that run down from the mountains to form the Yukon.”
“That’s all right, my son; so if we keep to these waters we must come to the right place at last.”
“I hope so.”
“So do I, my son; so, as they said at the ’Merican railway stations, ‘All aboard, and let’s get as far down to-day as we can.’”
They stepped on to the raft, cast off the rope, and each man picked up one of the twelve-foot pine-sapling poles they had provided for their navigation down the rapids, of which they had been warned at starting; and the big Cornishman planted himself in front.
“Anybody else like to come here?” he said.
There was a chorus of “No’s,” and he nodded and smiled.
“Thought I was best here to fend the raft off the rocks when she begins to race. I say, we’re going to have it lower down. Hear it?”
All nodded assent.
“If we are capsized, my sons,” continued the big fellow drily, “one of you had better swim up to me and take me on his back. What do you say, little un?” he added to Abel. “It’ll be your turn to help me.”
“I’ll stand by you,” cried Abel; “never fear.”
“I know that, my lad. I say, the stream begins to show now as the place gets narrower. Looks as if it’ll be nearly closed in. Well, we must risk it. There’s no walking as I see on either side.”
“Ahoy!” came from the right bank, where the lake was fast becoming a river.
“Ahoy to you, and good morning, whoever you are,” cried the Cornishman.
Some unintelligible words followed, he who uttered them being plainly to be seen now on a ledge some fifty feet above the surface of the water. But his signs were easy to be understood.
“Wants us to give him a lift,” said Dallas. “Can we stop?”
“Oh, yes, and it would only be civil,” said the Cornishman. “Just room for one first-class passenger. All right; lend a hand here. I can touch bottom. ’Bout seven foot.”
Poles were thrust down, and the raft was urged across the flowing water till the eddy on the far side was reached, and then, with the fierce roar coming out of a narrow gap in the rocks a few hundred yards lower, the raft was easily thrust into a little cove below the man on the shelf.
“Going down the rapids?” he shouted.
“We are, my lad,” cried their captain. “Why?”
“Will you give a poor fellow a lift down? I can’t get any farther for the rocks.”
“Far as the gold country?”
“Oh, no: I don’t ask that. Only to where I can tramp again.”
“Well, we’ve just room for a little un,” said the Cornishman. “Much luggage?”
“Only this pack,” was the reply.
“Jump in, then,” said the leader, with a grim smile. “P’r’aps, though, you’d better come lower.”
The man nodded, slung his pack over his shoulder, and then, turning, began to descend the almost perpendicular face of the rocks, twice over narrowly escaping a bad fall. But at last he reached the foot, waded out a little, and then stepped on board.
“Thankye,” he said; “you are good Christians. I’ve been here a fortnight, and couldn’t get any farther. I shouldn’t have been alive now if I hadn’t got a fish or two.”
“You are tramping to the gold region all alone, then?”
“Yes, and I’ve nearly tramped all the way from Chicago.”
The Cornishman turned and stared.
“I got a lift sometimes on the cattle and freight trains, though, when I could creep on unseen.”
“The gold has a magnetic attraction for you, then?” said Abel.
“I suppose so, but it’s my last chance. This is a solitary way, though, isn’t it? I’ve hardly seen a soul. I saw your fire, though, last night, across yonder.”
“Did you see anybody go by on a raft three or four days ago?” cried Dallas eagerly.
“I did. Party of three, and hailed them.”
“What were they like?” cried Abel.
“Roughs; shacks; loafers. One of them had a big red beard.”
Dallas started, and glanced at Abel.
“A brute!” cried the stranger fiercely. “I asked them to give me a lift, as I was going to starve here if they didn’t, and I warned them that I had heard it wanted a strong party to take a craft through the rapids. ‘All right, stranger,’ he said, pushing the craft a little nearer. ‘Mind lending me your knife to trim this rough pole with? I’ve lost mine.’”
It was Abel now who glanced at Dallas.
“‘Catch,’ I said, pitching mine, in its sheath.”
“Well?” said the Cornishman, fumbling in his belt.
“Well,” continued the man, with a sombre look in his eyes, “he caught it, and began to smooth his pole, letting the raft drift away; and though I begged and prayed of them to stop for me, they only laughed, and let her get right into the current. It was life or death to me, as I thought then,” continued the stranger, “and I climbed along that shelf and followed, shouting and telling them I was starving, and begging them to throw me my knife back if they wouldn’t take me aboard; but they only laughed, and told me to go and hang myself. But I followed on as fast as I could, right along to the opening yonder where it’s so narrow that I could speak to them close to; and though I knew they couldn’t stop the raft there, I thought they’d throw me my knife.”
“And did they?” said the Cornishman.
“No. I was there just before them, and I shouted; but you can’t hear yourself speak there, the roar echoes so from the rocks. The next minute they’d been swept by me so near I could almost have jumped on board; and there I stood, holding on and reaching out so that I could see them tear down through the rushing water. They’d took fright, dropped their poles, and were down on their knees holding on, with the raft twisting slowly round.”
“Capsized?” cried Dallas.
“Drowned?” cried Abel.
“I could not see,” continued the stranger. “I watched them till they went into a sort of fog with a rainbow over it, and then I felt ready to jump in and try to swim, or get drowned, for without my knife I felt that all was over.”
“Not drowned, then?” said Dallas.
“No, my son; them as is born to be hanged’ll never be drowned,” said the big Cornishman grimly. “Look ye here, old chap, you’d better take this toothpick; it’s the one that the boss of that party who stole our raft lost.”
“Ah!” cried the stranger; “they stole your raft?”
“They did, my son, and it seems to me things aren’t at all square, for these here fellows are ready to do anything—from committing murder down to stealing a knife. Why, they’ve even cheated death, or else they’d be lying comfortably buried in the snow.”
“Ha!” ejaculated Dallas, as he stood grasping his pole, and the raft began to glide along.
“Yes, it is ‘Hah!’ my son,” said the Cornishman; “but I shouldn’t wonder if we came across a tree some day bearing fruit at the end of a hempen stalk. I say, though, my son, is the river below there so dangerous as you say?”
“Yes; it is a horrible fall, as far as I could see.”
“Then hadn’t you better stop ashore?”
“And starve?” said the man bitterly.
“You’re ready to risk it, then?” said Dallas.
“I’d risk anything rather than stop alone in this horrible solitude,” said the stranger excitedly.
“All right, then, my son. There’s a spare pole. Set your pack down; take hold, and come on.”
The stranger did as he was told, and took the place pointed out.
“If it’s as noisy as he says,” continued the Cornishman, “there’ll be no shouting orders—it’ll all be signs. So what you see me do you’ve got to follow. Spit in your hands, all of you, and hold tight with your feet. Stick to it, and we’ll get through. We must; there’s no other way.”
No one spoke in reply, but their companion’s cheery way of meeting the perils ahead sent a thrill of confidence through the party, as they stood on the triangular raft, noting that the current was gradually growing swifter as the rocky walls on either side closed in from being hundreds of yards apart to as many feet, and the distance lessening rapidly more and more.
It was horrible, but grand, and as the pace increased, a curious sensation of intoxicating excitement attacked the party, whose senses seemed to be quickened so that they could note the wondrous colours of the rocks, the vivid green of the ferns and herbs which clustered in the rifts and cracks, and the glorious clearness of the water.
So excited was the great fellow at the head of the raft that he raised his pole, turned to look at his companions, and then pointed onward, while moment by moment the great walls of rock seemed to close in upon them as if to crush all flat.
Up to now their progress had been a swift glide, but as they approached the narrow opening, which seemed not much more than wide enough to let them pass, the raft began to undulate and proceed by leaps, each longer than the last, while the water rippled over the side.
Then all at once the front portion—the apex of the elongated triangle—rose as if at a leap, dipped again, and they were off with a terrific rush in a narrow channel of rock, up whose sides the water rose as if to escape the turmoil. Wave rose above wave, struggling to get onward; there was the roar of many waters growing more deafening, and the raft was tossed about like a straw, its occupants being forced to kneel and try to fend her off from the sides. And now, to add to the horror, turmoil, and confusion, they plunged at a tremendous speed into a bank of churned up mist, dense as the darkest cloud, rushing onward in bounds and leaps which made the raft quiver, till all at once Dallas, who was near their captain, suddenly caught sight of a mass of rocks apparently rising out of the channel right in their way.
The next moment there was a terrific shock, a rush of water, black darkness, and everything seemed to be at an end.
The preparations for fending the raft off the rocks that might be in their way, or keeping it from the wall-like sides which overhung them, were absurd; for as they were swept into the furious rapid, and whirled and tossed about, each man instinctively dropped his pole to crouch down and cling for dear life to the rough pieces of timber they had so laboriously notched, nailed, and bound together.
The course of the river was extremely erratic, zigzagging through the riven, rocky barrier which formed the ancient dam at the foot of the lake; and one minute they were swept to right, the next to left, while at every angle there was a whirlpool which threatened to suck them down.
Noise, darkness, the wild turmoil of tumbling waters, blinding mist, and choking spray, strangled and confused the little crew, so that they clung to the raft, feeling that all was over, and that they were about to be plunged deep down into the bowels of the earth. Dallas was conscious of wedging his toes between two of the timbers, clinging with his left hand, and reaching over the bound-down sledges to grasp Abel’s; and then all seemed to be blank for a length of time that he could not calculate. It might have been a minute—it might have been an hour; but he held on to his cousin’s hand, which clutched his in return in what seemed to be a death-grip, till all at once they were shot out into the bright sunshine, and were gliding at a tremendous rate down a water-slide, with the water hissing and surging about them where they knelt.
As soon as he could sweep the blinding spray from his eyes, Dallas looked round in wonder, to find that all his companions were upon the raft, and that the rocky walls on either side were receding fast as the river opened out, while the rapid down which they plunged seemed quite clear of rocks.
The deafening noise was dying out too, and as Dallas looked back at the fast growing distant gap in the rock through which they had been shot, he wondered that the raft should have held together with its freight, and that they should still be there.
His brain seemed still to be buzzing with the confusion, when he was conscious of some one beside him giving himself a shake like a great water-dog and shouting:
“What cheer, there! Not dead yet. Are any of you?”
There was no reply—every one looking strained and oppressed; then, without a word, the little party began to shake hands warmly, and the big Cornishman shook his head.
“It was a rum un!” he exclaimed; “it was a rum un! Well, we’re all alive O, and if we do get any gold, you may all do as you like, but I shall go back home some other way.”
The straightforward naïve way in which this was said seemed so absurd on the face of it that the cousins could not refrain from smiling: but the sight of a great mass of rock ahead dividing the swift stream into two, and toward which the raft seemed to be rushing fast, made all turn to seize their poles and fend it off from a certainty of wreck.
However, the poles were all probably being whirled round and round one of the pools they had passed, like scraps of straw, and the shattering of the raft seemed a certainty; but their big companion was a man of resource. Seating himself upon the edge of the raft as it glided evenly along, he waited with legs extended for the coming contact. His feet touched the rock, and a vigorous thrust eased their craft off, the brave fellow’s sturdy limbs acting like strong buffers, so that there was only a violent jerk, the raft swung round, and they went gliding on again.
The current was swift, but clear now from further obstacles, and hope grew strong.
“I say, I call it grand!” cried one of the men. “We shall soon get there if we keep on like this.”
“Yes, but the sooner one of us takes a rope and jumps ashore, the better. We must cut some fresh poles.”
This was done at the first opportunity, Abel leaping on to the rocky bank with a rope, as they glided by a spot where the forest of pines came down close to them; and then, seizing his opportunity, he gave the rope a turn round a small tree. There was a jerk, and the hemp threatened to part; but it held, and the raft swung round and became stationary as the rope was made fast.
The first proceeding was to wring out their garments, and the next to examine the sledges, which had been so well made fast when loaded up that they had not stirred; but some of the stores were damaged with water.
“Can’t help it,” said Dallas cheerily. “Our lives are saved.”
Something was done towards their drying by the warm sunshine, for this came down brightly, though the aspect round was growing almost as wintry as the country they had passed through higher up beyond the lake; and as they gazed at the mountains, which they felt must lie somewhere near the part for which they were aiming, it seemed as if they would, after all, be arriving too soon for successful work.
The raft proved useful for some days on their way north by river and lake, their journey being through a labyrinth of waterways, where again and again they made halts in likely places to try for the object of their search.
But the result was invariably the same; they found gold, but never in sufficient quantity to warrant a stay.
“Wouldn’t pay for bread and onions, my sons,” said the Cornishman, and they pushed on farther and farther into the northern solitudes, with their loads growing lighter, and a feeling of longing to reach the golden land where they knew something in the way of settlements and stores existed, and where people could at once take up claims and begin work. For a comparison of notes proved that they were all rapidly coming to the end of their means.
The subject of the passage of the raft down the cataract had been several times over discussed during their halts, and the possibility of their enemies having escaped. The Cornishman and his companions, including the man they had succoured, declared as one that the marauding trio must have perished.
“And so should we, my sons,” said the big fellow, “if we had gone down that water-slide on the first raft.”
“I do not see it,” said Dallas; “we made both.”
“Yes; but the first was when we were ’prentices, the second was when we had served our time.”
The speaker laughed as he said this; and as it happened, it was on the second day after that he pointed with something like triumph to some newly cut and trimmed young pieces of pine-trunk notched in a peculiar way, cast up among some rocks on the shores of the little lake they were crossing.
“That’s the end of ’em, my sons,” he said.
“Oh, no; any one may have cut down those trees.”
“For sartain, my son; but I nailed ’em together, for there’s one of my spikes still sticking in. Good nail, too; see how it’s twisted and bent.”
This seemed unanswerable, but neither Abel nor Dallas was convinced.
“They may have swum ashore,” Abel said to his cousin, as they lay down to sleep that night.
“Yes,” said Dallas, “and I shall hold to Bob’s proverb about those born to be hanged.”
“So this is the golden city,” said Dallas, as he and Abel sat, worn out and disconsolate, gazing at a confusion of tents, sheds, and shanties, for it could be called nothing else, on the hither side of a tumbled together waste of snow and ice spreading to right and left. “Is it all a swindle or a dream?”
“I hope it’s a dream,” replied his cousin, limping a step or two, and then seating himself on the sledge which, footsore and weary, he had been dragging for the last few days after they had finally abandoned their raft. “I hope it’s a dream, and that we shall soon wake.”
The big Cornishman took his short pipe out of his mouth, blew a big cloud, looked at his companions, who were asleep rolled up in their blankets, and then at the cousins.
“Oh, we’re wide awake enough, my sons,” he said, “and we’ve got here at last.”
“Yes,” said Dallas bitterly; “we’ve got here, and what next?”
“Make our piles, as the Yankees call it, my lads.”
“Where?” cried Abel. “Why, we had better have stayed and washed gold-dust out of the sand up one of those streams.”
“Oh, you mustn’t judge of a place first sight; but I must say it aren’t pretty. People seems to chuck everything they don’t want out o’ doors, like the fisher folk down at home in Cornwall. But it’s worse here, for they’ve got no sea to come up and wash the rubbish away.”
“Nor yet a river,” said Dallas. “I expected the Yukon to be a grand flowing stream.”
“Well, give it a chance, my son,” said the big fellow cheerily. “A river can’t flow till it begins to thaw a bit. Chap tells me it’s very late this year, but it’ll break up and clear itself in a few hours. Says it’s a sight worth seeing.”
“But we did not come to see sights,” said Abel peevishly. “Where’s that other man?”
“Gone. Told me to tell you both that he was very grateful for the help you had given him, and that now he’s going to shift for himself.”
“The way of the world!” said Dallas dismally.
“Oh, I don’t know, my son. He’s right enough. Said if he had the luck to find a good claim up one of the creeks he should peg out five more alongside of it and come and look us up, and made me promise I’d do the same to him. What do you think of that?”
“Nothing,” said Dallas. “I’m too tired out to think of anything but eating and sleeping, and there seems to be no chance of finding a place to do either.”
“No, my son; it’s a case of help yourself. I’ve been having a look round, and the only thing I can find anybody wants to sell is whisky.”
“Yes, that was all they had at the store I went to. That’s the place with the iron roof and the biscuit-tin sides—yonder, where those howling dogs are tied up.”
“Ah, I went there,” said the Cornishman, “and the Yankee chap it belongs to called it his hotel. But to go back to what we are to do next, my son. We mustn’t stay here, but go up to one of the little streams they’re talking about, and peg out claims as soon as we find good signs. Now, I’ve been thinking, like our chap who lost his knife, that we’d better separate here and go different ways. If we find a good place we’ll come to you, and if you find one you’ll share with us. What do you say?”
“Tired of our company?” asked Abel bitterly.
The big fellow turned to him and smiled.
“Look here, my son,” he said, “that foot of yours hurts you more than you owned to. You take my advice; after we’ve got a bit of a fire and made our camp and cooked our bit o’ supper, you make a tin o’ water hot and bathe it well, and don’t you use that foot much for a day or two. No, my sons, I’m not tired of you. If I had been I should ha’ said good-bye days ago. I’m sorry for us to break up our party, but I’ve been thinking that what I proposed was the best plan, even if it does sound rough.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Dallas, speaking in a more manly way. “I beg your pardon. So does my cousin here. We’re fagged out, and this does seem such a damper. I wish we were back somewhere in the pine-woods.”
“Tchah! I don’t want no pardons begged, my son. I know. When I saw this lovely spot first I felt as if I could sit down and swear; but what good would that ha’ done? It’ll be all right. Now it seems to me that we shall be more comfort’ble if we go just over yonder away from the hotels and places, make our bit o’ fire, get a pannikin of tea, and then two of us’ll stop and look after the traps in case any one should come and want to borrow things and we not know where they’re gone. T’others had better have a look round and drop in here and there at these places where the men meet. It won’t do to be proud out here. I want to see some of the gold.”
“Eh?” cried a big, hearty voice, and a man who was passing stopped short and looked at them. “Want to see some of the gold? Well, there you are!”
He unfastened a strap that went across his breast, and drew a heavy leather satchel from where it hung like a cartouche-box on his back.
“Catch hold,” he cried. “That’s some of the stuff.”
The three awake looked at the stranger sharply, and the Cornishman opened the bag, to lay bare scales, grains, and water-worn and rubbed scraps of rich yellow gold, at the sight of which the new-comers drew their breath hard.
“Did you get this here?” cried Dallas.
“Not here, my lad, but at Upper Creek. That lot and two more like it. You’d better go on there as soon as you can if you want to take up claims; but I must tell you that all the best are gone already.”
“Which is the way?” cried Abel.
“I’ll show you when I go back to-morrow, if you like. Where shall you be?”
“Camping just over there,” said Dallas, pointing.
“All right. I’m going to sleep at the hotel to-night. Come on by-and-by and see me, and we’ll have a chat.”
“I say, my son,” said their big companion, putting his hand in the bag, half filling it, and letting the gold run back again, before beginning to fasten the flap.
“My son! Why, you’re a Cornishman.”
“That’s so.”
“Glad to see a West-countryman out here. I’m from Devonport. But come on and have a chat by-and-by. What were you going to say, though?”
“Seeing what a set of rough pups there are about here, my son, I was going to say, is it safe for a man to carry about a lot of gold like that?”
The stranger took back his bag and slung it over his shoulder again, as he looked from one to the other, half-closed his eyes, and nodded.
“Yes, and no, my lads. You’re right; we have got some rough pups about here—chaps who’d put a bullet into a man for a quarter of what I’ve got there. But they daren’t. We’ve got neither law nor police, you see.”
“No, I don’t see,” said Dallas. “You speak in riddles.”
“You don’t see, my lad, because you’re a Johnny Newcome. I’ll tell you. We’ve got some of the most blackguardly scum that could be took off the top of the big town sink-holes—men who’ve come to rob and gamble; but we’ve got, too, plenty of sturdy fellows like yourselves, who mean work and who trust one another—men who’ll help each other at a pinch; and I’ve heard that there’s a sort of lawyer fellow they call Judge Lynch has put in an appearance, and he stands no nonsense. He’s all on the side of the honest workers, and one of them has only to denounce a man as a thief for the Vigilants to nail him at once. Then there’s a short trial, a short shrift, and there’s one rogue the less in the world.”
“You mean if he’s proved to be a thief, or red-handed.”
“That’s it, my lads. There, I’ve got some friends to meet. Come on and see me to-night.”
The speaker nodded cheerily to all three, and went off at a swinging gait.
“Well, I wouldn’t have minded shaking hands with that chap,” said the big Cornishman. “The more of that sort there is out here the better.”
“Yes,” cried Dallas; “his words were quite cheering.”
“So was the sight of that little leather sack of his, my sons. Do your foot good, Mr Wray?”
“Yes, I forgot all about it,” said Abel, eagerly. “Here, let’s make our fire.”
This was done, and the billy soon began to bubble, when the tea was thrown in and declared to be delicious, in spite of a mouldy taste consequent upon getting wet in its travels and being dried again.
“Better if we hadn’t had all our sugar spoiled,” said Dallas, as he munched his biscuit along with a very fat rusty scrap of fried bacon.
“It don’t want any sugar, my son,” said the Cornishman. “I’ve just stirred a teaspoonful of that chap’s gold-dust into it, and it has given it a wonderful flavour.”
“Yes,” said Abel, “the sight of that gold seems to have quite changed everything.”
The meal was finished, with the whole party refreshed and in the best of spirits. Then the sledges were drawn together, a few small pine-saplings bound on to make a roof, over which a couple of waterproof sheets were drawn, and there was a rough tent for a temporary home.
By that time it was evening, and lanterns were being hung out here and there, lamps lit in the shanties, and the place began to look more lively. In two tents there was the sound of music—a fiddle in one, a badly played German concertina in the other; but the result was not cheerful, for whenever they were in hearing the great shaggy sledge-dogs, of which there were scores about, set up a dismal barking and howling.
The Cornishman’s two friends had cheerfully elected to keep the camp, at a word from their big companion, and the other three started to have a look at the place and end by calling at the hotel upon their new acquaintance.
As soon as they were a few yards away, the Cornishman laughed and winked. “I can trust you, and I can trust Bob Tregelly, and that’s me, my sons; but I can’t trust them two where there’s whisky about. They’ve sworn to me that they won’t go amongst it, and I’m not going to let ’em. Now then, I’m about to see if I can’t find something to eat at a reasonable price, and buy it. Have you lads got any money?”
“Yes, a little left,” replied both.
“Then you’d better ware a pound or so the same way; biscuit and bacon and meal, I should say. I’ll meet you yonder at the hotel in an hour, and we’ll pick up what we can about the whereabouts of the stuff; but we shan’t want to stay here long, I expect. Will that do?”
“Yes, in an hour,” said Dallas, and they separated.
There was not much to take the young men’s attention, but they heard a couple of men say that the ice was giving, and another was telling a group of a man having come to the hotel who had done wonders up some creek he and his mates had tried.
“Our friend, Bel,” said Dallas; and soon after, without making any purchases, from the inability to find what they wanted, they strolled back just at dark towards the hotel.
“What a hole!” said Abel, as they approached the place, to find from the lights, the noise, and clattering of drinking-vessels, that a tent which had been stretched over a wooden frame was crowded, and a couple of men in shirt-sleeves were busily going in and out from a side shed of corrugated iron, attending on the assembled guests.
“Evening, gentlemen,” said the elder of the two. “You’ll find room inside. Go right up the middle; there’s more seats there.”
Just then there was a shout of excitement, and the young men looked at one another.
“It’s all right, gents,” said the man, who was evidently the landlord. “We’re having a big night. There’s a man from Upper Creek with a fine sample of gold. I could show you if you like. Happy to bank for you too if you strike it rich, and supply you with stores and good advice. Any one will speak up for me.”
“But surely that means a row,” said Dallas, as a roar of voices came from the canvas building.
“No; that’s about a robbery on the track. Three men came in to-day, and they’re telling the lads how they were attacked and half killed. The Vigilants are strong here to-night, and there’ll be business if the fellows are caught. We don’t stand any nonsense here.”
“Shall we go in, Bel?” whispered Dallas.
“Yes; we needn’t stay long,” was the reply. “I want to talk to that man with the gold.”
“This way, gentlemen,” said the bar-keeper. “You follow me.”
The pair followed the man into the long low place, along each side of which were trestle tables crowded with men drinking and smoking, the tobacco fumes nearly filling the place like a fog. There was a gangway down the centre, and they followed their guide nearly to the end, when both started violently at the sight of a group of three men seated at a table beneath the largest swinging lamp, whose reflector threw a bright light down on the biggest of the party, who was on his legs, waving his pipe as he talked loudly.
“You’re making a mistake, mates,” he said. “It’s just as I telled you, and if it hadn’t been for the pluck of my pals here we should have been dead as well as robbed. But you mark my words; they’ll make for here, and if they do—ah, what did I say? Look, mates, look; this here’s the very pair.”
There was a wild shout of rage, as every man in the place seemed to leap to his feet; and before, utterly stunned by the sudden attack and denunciation, either of the new-comers could find words to utter in their defence, they were seized and dragged to their knees.
“It’s false! A cowardly lie!” cried Dallas at last, as he tried to shake himself free.
“Quiet!” cried one of his captors fiercely, “or you’ll git into trouble!”
“Yes, a lie—a lie!” cried Abel, finding his voice. “Don’t choke me, sir. Give a man fair play.”
“Oh, yes, you shall have fair play,” said another sternly.
“Those men attacked and tried to murder us both yonder in the snowy pass.”
“Well! I ham!” roared the red-bearded scoundrel, looking round protestingly at all present. “But there, I’ve done.”
He dropped heavily back in his seat, and held up his hands to his two companions.
“That’s a queer way of defending yourself, young fellow,” said a stern, square-looking man, who spoke roughly, but in a way that suggested education.
“Yes, but it’s the truth,” cried Dallas firmly. “Hands off, gentlemen. We shall not try to run away.”
“Now, then: these three gentlemen say they have been robbed on the road.”
“And I say it is false. That man is a liar and a thief—a would-be murderer.”
“Well,” cried the red-bearded man again. “Did you ever, mates?”
“No,” cried one of the others. “Why, he talks like a play actor.”
“Look here, gentlemen,” cried the third excitedly, and he rose, planted a foot on the bench, and bared his bound-up leg, “here’s that tall un’s shot as went through my calf here. I’m as lame as a broken-kneed un.”
A murmur of sympathy ran through the place, and Dallas spoke out again as Abel looked quietly round at the grim faces lowering through the smoke.
“Look here, gentlemen, I can prove my words,” cried Dallas.
“Very well, then,” said the dark, square-looking man, “prove them; you shall not be condemned unheard.”
A chill ran through the young man at the other’s judicial tone, and the name of Judge Lynch rose to his mind. But he spoke out firmly.
“A friend who has journeyed here with me is to meet me here to-night.—Ah, here is one gentleman who knows us;” and he made a step towards their bluff acquaintance of that evening, who had risen from his seat farther in, and was looking frowningly on. “Speak a word for us, sir.”
“Well, my lad, I never saw you till to-night,” was the reply. “I did have a chat with this man, gentlemen, and his mate there, and I found them well-spoken young fellows as ever I met.”
“But you never saw them before,” said the dark man.
“Well, I must tell the truth,” said the gold-finder.
“Of course.”
“No,” said the man sadly, “I never did but fair play, gentlemen, please.”
“They shall have fair play enough,” said the dark man. “What about your friend, prisoners, is this he?”
“Prisoners!” gasped Abel. “No, no; a friend who travelled with us.”
“Bah! Another lie, gentlemen,” cried Redbeard mockingly; “they were alone, and shot my mate, so that it was two to two; but they took us in ambush like, and by surprise. They hadn’t got no friend with ’em.”
“Yes, they had,” cried a loud voice which dominated the roar of anger which arose; “they had me; I was along with ’em—only a little un, my sons, but big enough for you all to see.”
There was a laugh at this, but it was silenced by the dark man’s voice.
“Silence, gentlemen, please,” he said, “and no laughter where two men’s lives are at stake.”
A chill ran through Dallas again, but he forced a smile at his cousin, as if to say, what he did not think, “It will be all right now.”
“Look here,” cried the Cornishman, drawing himself up to his full height, and looking round as if to address every one present; “these youngsters said what was quite right. They’ve been along with me and two more ever since we dug ’em out of the snow.”
“That’s right, as far as I know,” said their acquaintance with the gold; “there was a party of five when I came upon them to-night;” and a fresh murmur arose.
“It’s all right, mates,” said Redbeard to his two companions; “there’s a gang of ’em, but don’t you be skeared; these gents’ll see justice done.”
“Well, I don’t mind being called one of a gang, my sons,” said the Cornishman. “I worked on the railway once, and I was ganger, or, as you call it here, boss, over a dozen men; but if this chap, who looks as red as if he’d come out of a tin-mine, says I robbed him, I’ll crack him like I would a walnut in a door.”
There was a roar of laughter here, and cries of “Well done, little un!” But the dark man sternly called for silence once more.
“Now, sir, what do you say to this?” he said to Redbeard sharply.
“What I said before, boss. That big chap wasn’t with ’em then. I say these two young larrikins tried to rob and do for us. Look at his leg!”
“Robbed yer and tried to do for yer? Did they, now! Well, they do look a pair of bad uns, don’t they, my sons?—bad as these three looks good and innercent and milky.”
“Hear him!” growled Redbeard fiercely. “Talking like that, with my poor mate suffering from a wound like this, pardners,” and he pointed to his companion’s leg.
“Get out!” roared the Cornishman scornfully; “put that sore prop away; you’re talking to men, not a set of bairns. Think they’re going to be gammoned by a bit of play-acting?”
There was another loud murmur of excitement, the occupants of the canvas building crowding up closer, evidently thoroughly enjoying the genuine drama being enacted in their presence, and eager to see the dénouement, even if it only proved to be a fight between the two giants taking now the leading parts.
The man with the red beard felt that matters were growing critical for the accusers, while public opinion was veering round in favour of the prisoners; and resting one hand upon his hip, and flourishing his pipe with the other, he took a step forward, his eyes full of menace, and faced the Cornishman.
“Look ye here, old un,” he growled, “I’m a plain, straightforward, honest man, as has come up here to try and get a few scraps o’ red gold.”
“Same here, my lad.”
“And I want to know whether you mean all that ’ere nasty, or whether you mean it nice?”
“Just as you like, my son,” cried the Cornishman. “You’ve told the company here that my two young friends tried to rob and settle you. I tell the company that it’s as big a lie as was ever spoke.”
“Well!” growled the man again, and he looked round at his companions; “of all—”
“Yes,” said the Cornishman, “an out-and-out lie; and I could play the same cards as you, and show judge here and all of you the mark of your bullets in one of my young friends’ shoulder, and on the other’s skull. But I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” said the dark man. “Let’s see them.”
“Hear, hear! Bravo, judge! Right, right!” came in chorus.
“Very good, gentlemen,” said the Cornishman, turning calmly to Dallas. “You show first.”
“It is nearly healed up now,” said Dallas.
“Hor, hor, hor!” laughed the man with the red beard, “hear him!”
Dallas gave him a fierce glance, and as his captors set him free he hastily slipped off jacket and waistcoat, before tearing open his shirt and laying bare an ugly red scar where a bullet had ploughed his shoulder; and a murmur once more arose.
“That will do,” said the dark man. “Now the other.”
“I have nothing to show,” said Abel. “The bullet struck my cap, and just glanced along the side of my head.”
“Come close under the lamp,” said the dark man sternly.
“Better mind your eye,” said Redbeard warningly.
The dark man gave him a sharp look, and then bade Abel kneel down and bend his head sideways.
As he did so a whitish line a few inches long was visible where the hair had been taken off, and at the sight of this there was a fresh murmur.
“That’s good proof in both cases, gentlemen,” said the dark man firmly. “Now, sir,” he continued, “what more have you to say in support of your evidence?”
“This here,” cried Redbeard. “I want to know first whether this bully countryman here means what he said nasty, or whether he means it nice?”
“Hear, hear!” shouted a voice behind.
“Just which you please, my fine fellow,” said the Cornishman; “you can take it hot with sugar, or cold with a red-hot cinder in it, if you like.”
“Then maybe I’ll take it hot,” cried Redbeard, fiercely.
He spoke with one hand behind him, and quick as thought he brought it round with a swing, but a man near him struck it up.