The Trail of 98 (27 page)

I shook my head sadly.

"I don't like it, Berna, I don't like it at all. I hate you to know the like
of such people, such things. I just want you to be again the dear, sweet little
girl I first knew, all maidenly modesty and shuddering aversion of evil."

"I'm afraid, dear, I shall never be that again," she said sorrowfully; "but
am I any the worse for knowing? Why should you men want to keep all such
knowledge to yourselves? Is our innocence simply to be another name for
ignorance?"

She put her arms round my neck and kissed me fervently.

"Oh, no, my dear, my dear. I have seen the vileness of things, and it only
makes me more in love with love and beauty. We'll go, you and I, to Italy very
soon, and forget, forget. Even if we have to
toil like peasants in the vineyards we'll go, far,
far away."

So I felt strengthened, stimulated, gladdened, and, as I lay on my bunk
listening to the merry crackle of the wood fire, I was in a purring lethargy of
content. Then I remembered something.

"Oh, say, boys, I forgot to tell you. I met McCrimmon down the creek. You
remember him on the trail, the Halfbreed. He was asking after you both; then all
at once he said he wanted to see us on important business. He has a proposal to
make, he says, that would be greatly to our advantage. He's coming along this
evening.What's the matter, Jim?"

Jim was staring blankly at one of the letters he had received. His face was a
picture of distress, misery, despair. Without replying, he went and knelt down
by his bed. He sighed deeply. Slowly his face grew calm again; then I saw that
he was praying. We were silent in respectful sympathy, but when, in a little, he
got up and went out, I followed him.

"Had bad news, old man?"

"I've had a letter that's upset me. I'm in a terrible position. If ever I
wanted strength and guidance, I want it now."

"Heard about that man?"

"Yes, it's him, all right; it's Mosher. I suspicioned it all along. Here's a
letter from my brother. He says there's no doubt that Mosher is Moseley."

His eyes were
stormy, his face tragic in its bitterness.

"Oh, you don't know how I worshipped that woman, trusted her, would have
banked my life on her; and when I was away making money for her she ups and goes
away with that slimy reptile. In the old days I would have torn him to pieces,
but now"

He sighed distractedly.

"What am I to do? What am I to do? The Good Book says forgive your enemies,
but how can I forgive a wrong like that? And my poor girlhe deserted her, drove
her to the streets. Ugh! if I could kill him by slow torture, gloat over his
agonybut I can't, can I?"

"No, Jim, you can't do anything. Vengeance is the Lord's."

"Yes, I know, I know. But it's hard, it's hard. O my girl, my girl!"

Tears overran his cheeks. He sat down on a log, burying his face in his
hands.

"O God, help and sustain me in this my hour of need."

I was at a loss how to comfort him, and it was while I was waiting there that
suddenly we saw the Halfbreed coming up the trail.

"Better come in, Jim," I said, "and hear what he's got to say."

We made McCrimmon comfortable. We kept no whisky in the cabin, but we gave
him some hot coffee, which he drank with great satisfaction. Then he twisted a
cigarette, lit it, and looked at us keenly. On his brown, flattish face were
remarkable the impassivity of the Indian and the astuteness of the Scot. We were
regarding him curiously. Jim had regained his calm, and was quietly watchful.
The Prodigal seemed to have his ears cocked to listen. There was a feeling
amongst us as if we had reached a crisis in our fortunes.

The Halfbreed lost no time in coming to the point.

"I like you boys. You're square and above-board. You're workers, and you
don't drinkthat's the main thing.

"Well, to get right down to cases. I'm a bit of a mining man. I've mined at
Cassiar and Caribou, and I know something of the business. Now I've got next to
a good thing.I don't know how good yet, but I'll swear to you it's a tidy bit.
There may be only ten thousand in it, and there may be one hundred and ten. It's
a gambling proposition, and I want pardners, pardners that'll work like blazes
and keep their faces shut. Are you on?"

"That's got us kodaked," said the Prodigal. "We're that sort, and if the
proposition looks good
to us we're with you. Anyway, we're clams at keeping our
food-traps tight."

"All right; listen. You know the Arctic Transportation Co. have claims on
upper Bonanzawell, a month back I was working for them. We were down about
twenty feet and were drifting in. They set me to work in the drift. The roof
kept sloughing in on me, and it was mighty dangerous. So far we hadn't got
pay-dirt, but their mining manager wanted us to drift in a little further. If we
didn't strike good pay in a few more feet we were to quit.

"Well, one morning I went down and cleaned away the ash of my fire. The first
stroke of my pick on the thawed face made me jump, stare, stand stock-still,
thinking hard. For there, right in the hole I had made, was the richest pocket I
ever seen."

"You don't say! Are you sure?"

"Why, boys, as I'm alive there was nuggets in it as thick as raisins in a
Christmas plum-duff. I could see the yellow gleam where the pick had grazed
them, and the longer I looked the more could I see."

"Good Lord! What did you do?"

"What did I do! I just stepped back and picked at the roof for all I was
worth. A big bunch of muck came down, covering up the face. Then, like a crazy
man, I picked wherever the dirt seemed loose all the way down the drift. Great
heaps of dirt caved in on me. I was stunned, nearly buried, but I did the trick.
There were tons of dirt between me and my find."

We gasped with amazement.

"The rest was easy. I went up the shaft groaning
and cursing. I pretended to faint. I told them the
roof of the drift had fallen in on me. It was rotten stuff, anyway, and they
knew it. They didn't mind me risking my life. I cursed them, said I would sue
the Company, and went off looking too sore for words. The Manager was disgusted,
he went down and took a look at things; declared he would throw up the work at
that place; the ground was no good. He made that report to the Company."

The Halfbreed looked round triumphantly.

"Now, here's the point. We can get a lay on that ground. One of you boys must
apply for it. They mustn't know I'm in with you, or they would suspect right
away. They're none too scrupulous themselves in their dealings."

He paused impressively.

"You cinch that lay agreement. Get it signed right away. We'll go in and work
like Old Nick. We'll make a big clean-up by Spring. I'll take you right to the
gold. There's thousands and thousands lying snug in the ground just waiting for
us. It's right in our mit. Oh, it's a cinch, a cinch!"

The Halfbreed almost grew excited. Bending forward, he eyed us keenly. In a
breathless silence we stared at each other.

"Well," I objected, "seems to be putting up rather a job on the Company."

Jim was silent, but the Prodigal cut in sharply:

"Job nothingit's a square proposition. We don't know for certain that gold's
there. Maybe it's only a piffling pocket, and we'll get souped for our
pains. No, it seems to me
it's a fair gambling proposition. We're taking all kinds of chances. It means
awful hard work; it means privation and, maybe, bitter disappointment. It's a
gamble, I tell you, and are we going to be such poor sports as turn it down? I
for one am strongly in favour of it. What do you say? A big sporting chanceare
you there, boys, are you there?"

He almost shouted in his excitement.

"Hush! Some one might hear you," warned the Halfbreed.

"Yes, that's right. Well, it looks mighty good to me, and if you boys are
willing we'll just draw up papers and sign an agreement right away. Is it a
go?"

We nodded, so he got ink and paper and drew up a form of partnership.

"Now," said he, his eyes dancing, "now, to secure that lay before any one
else cuts in on us. Gee! but it's getting dark and cold outdoors these days.
Snow falling; well, I must mush to Dawson to-night."

He hurried on some warm, yet light, clothing, all the time talking excitedly
of the chance that fortune had thrown in our way, and gleeful as a
schoolboy.

"Now, boys," he says, "hope I'll have good luck. Jim, put in a prayer for me.
Well, see you all to-morrow. Good-bye."

It was late next night when he returned. We were sitting in the cabin,
anxious and expectant, when he threw open the door. He was tired, wet, dirty,
but irrepressibly jubilant.

"Hurrah, boys!" he
cried. "I've cinched it. I saw Mister Manager of the big Company. He was very
busy, very important, very patronising. I was the poor miner seeking a lay. I
played the part well. He began by telling me he didn't want to give any lays at
present; just wanted to stand me off, you know; make me more keen. I spoke about
some of their ground on Hunker. He didn't seem enthusiastic. Then, at last, as
if in despair, I mentioned this bit on Bonanza. I could see he was itching to
let me have it, but he was too foxy to show it. He actually told me it was an
extra rich piece of ground, when all the time he knew his own mining engineer
had condemned it."

The Prodigal's eyes danced delightedly.

"Well, we sparred round a bit like two fake fighters. My! but he was wily,
that old Jew. Finally he agreed to let me have it on a fifty-per-cent. basis.
Don't faint, boys. Fifty per cent., I said. I'm sorry. It was the best I could
do, and you know I'm not slow. That means they get half of all we take out. Oh,
the old shark! the robber! I tried to beat him down, but he stood pat; wouldn't
budge. So I gave in, and we signed the lay agreement, and now everything's in
shape. Gee whiz! didn't I give a sigh of relief when I got outside! He thinks
I'm the fall guy, and went off chuckling."

He raised his voice triumphantly.

"And now, boys, we've got the ground cinched, so get action on yourselves.
Here's where we make our first real stab at fortune. Here's where we even
up on the hard jabs she's
handed us in the past; here's where we score a bull's-eye, or I miss my guess.
The gold's there, boys, you can bank on that; and the harder we work the more
we're going to get of it. Now, we're going to work hard. We're going to make
ordinary hard work look like a Summer vacation. We're going to work for all
we're worthand then some. Are you there, boys, are you there?"

"We are," we shouted with one accord.

There was no time to lose. Every hour for us meant so much more of that
precious pay-dirt that lay under the frozen surface. The Winter leapt on us with
a swoop, a harsh, unconciliating Winter, that made out-door work an unmitigated
hardship. But there was the hope of fortune nerving and bracing us, till we lost
in it all thought of self. Nothing short of desperate sickness, death even,
would drive us from our posts. It was with this dauntless spirit we entered on
the task before us.

And, indeed, it was one that called for all in a man of energy and
self-sacrifice. There was wood to get for the thawing of the ground; there was a
cabin to be built on the claim; and, lastly, there was a vast dump to be taken
out of the ground for the spring sluicing. We planned things so that no man
would be idle for a moment, and so that every ounce of strength expended would
show its result.

The Halfbreed took charge, and we, recognising it as his show, obeyed him
implicitly. He decided to put down two holes to bed-rock, and, after much
deliberation, selected the places. This was a matter for the greatest judgment
and experience, and we were satisfied that he had both.

We ran up a little cabin and banked it nearly to the low eaves with snow.
By-and-bye more fell
on
the roof to the depth of three feet, so that the place seemed like a huge white
hummock. Only in front could you recognise it as a cabin by the low doorway,
where we had always to stoop on entering. Within were our bunks, a tiny stove, a
few boxes to sit on, a few dishes, our grub; that was all. Often we regretted
our big cabin on the hill, with its calico-lined "den" and its separate kitchen.
But in this little box of a home we were to put in many weary months.

Not that the time seemed long to us; we were too busy for that. Indeed, often
we wished it were twice as long. Snow had fallen in September, and by December
we were in an Arctic world of uncompromising harshness. Day after day the glass
stood between forty and fifty below zero. It was hatefully, dangerously cold. It
seemed as if the frost-fiend had a cruel grudge against us. It made us grimand
careful. We didn't talk much in those days. We just worked, worked, worked, and
when we did talk it was of our work, our ceaseless work.

Would we strike it rich? It was all a gamble, the most exciting gamble in the
world. It thrilled our day hours with excitement; it haunted our sleep; it lent
strength to the pick-stroke and vigour to the windlass-crank. It made us forget
the bitter cold, till some one would exclaim, and gently knead the fresh snow on
our faces. The cold burned our cheeks a fierce brick-red, and a frostbite showed
on them like a patch of white putty. The old scars, never healing, were like
blotches of lamp-black.

But neither cold nor
fatigue could keep us away from the shaft and the drift. We had gone down to
bed-rock, and were tunnelling in to meet the hole the Halfbreed had covered up.
So far we had found nothing. Every day we panned samples of the dirt, always
getting colours, sometimes a fifty-cent pan, but never what we dreamed of, hoped
for.

"Wait, boys, till we get a two-hundred-dollar pan, then we'll begin to whoop
it up some."

Once the Company Manager came down on a dog-team. He looked over our shaft.
He wore a coon coat, with a cap of beaver, and huge fur mits hung by a cord
around his neck. He was massive and impassive. Spiky icicles bristled around his
mouth.