A Claim on Klondyke Part 17

Arrived in due time at the hill-top, I fired the gun again, then very shortly after we drew up at the door, entering with the sleigh as before.

May met me with a radiant face--shaking my hands most heartily, hardly giving me time to remove my mitts before she had me by the hand; and long before I had unlashed my snow-shoes she was praying me to come forward and see her father, who, she announced, was improving rapidly.

He really seemed to be. She had rigged up a couch beside the fire, on which he sat wrapped in a blanket, but looking, as I thought on first seeing him, quite bright and cheerful.

The books and papers pleased them mightily; it delighted me to see them so interested.

May looked ever so much better; she had a little colour in her face now, and in spite of the very terrible storm, which had raged around their unsheltered hut with still more force than it had around me, so far as I could judge, and alarmed them greatly, they had certainly both improved. We talked incessantly.

I found Mr Bell an interesting man, full of information on many subjects; his daughter was just like him in that respect. He was about sixty, and must have been, when in health, an able, stalwart man.

They begged me to smoke, and I having no objection, started my pipe, which caused Mr Bell to try again, and this time he succeeded fairly for a little.

I could, however, see pretty well that he was still very frail, requiring great care, and I felt half afraid that the excitement of my visit would harm him.

But what was I to do? The shanty was but one room: I must either go altogether, or stay; there was nothing else for it. I put this to Miss Bell, who said decidedly that I must stay, that she knew my presence would do her father good, and he backed her up with much vigour, for him. The tears came to his eyes when he besought me to stay as long as I possibly could.

What could I do, then, but accede to his wishes? for indeed I did not wish to go away--far, very far from it.

This shanty was perhaps twenty feet by twelve; the floor was clay. The only furniture besides the two beds behind the blanket curtains was a very rough table of split wood, fastened on to four unbarked stakes driven into the ground. The seats were a couple of three-legged stools, a block or two of wood, and an empty keg. Of table furniture there was nothing but some granite-ware cups and plates, some iron spoons, and a few knives and steel-p.r.o.nged forks. Their cooking gear was a frying-pan, a tin billy, black and battered, and an iron camp oven.

I perceived they had no bread, only "flap-jacks," a species of griddle cake cooked in the frying-pan. I said something about this, which caused May to say that she could not make bread.

"I'm a first-rate hand at it," said I; "let me make you some."

"It's hardly fair to set a visitor to cooking," she answered, with a smile.

"Nonsense," I went on; "I'm a good all-round cook, really--I've had plenty of experience during the last few years; let me show you what I can do--I'd like to."

Blushing, she agreed, explaining that with a proper stove and the right appliances she had managed when they were in a civilised country, but here, she had to confess, she was a perfect failure.

I set to work, much to their amus.e.m.e.nt, and as I busied myself they talked to me, and by degrees I got to understand how they came to be in this terrible predicament.

I learned that their party originally consisted of four besides themselves: they had come up the Yukon from St Michael's, had rested a few days at Dawson, and had then continued up the Yukon, and by degrees had crept up a branch river, always prospecting, and without much success until they hit on this spot. Here they had found gold plentiful. They all worked hard until winter was near, and it was time to go out.

The four men were rough fellows, Americans, who had been mining in Alaska on and off for years--they believed them to be perfectly honest.

They had got gold to about the value of 1000 each during the short time they had been working, and were anxious to get out and go home to the States that season, and return the following year.

May and her father were willing enough to depart with them, but when the time arrived to start Mr Bell was attacked by an old complaint, a species of fainting fit, which always laid him by for weeks; so for him to undertake the terrible journey down their river to the Yukon, and then down that river to Fort Cudahy, which they supposed was the only way out, and where they hoped to catch the last steamer going down that year, was impossible.

The men were in a measure sympathetic; they waited a few days, trying to persuade my friends to risk the journey, but May would not agree.

Yet, if they did not go out then, they knew they would have to winter there. Provisions were low; there certainly was not enough to last them all till spring. Many and long were the discussions as to what should be done.

These men being, as I have said, anxious to get out and home, arranged this plan at last. They would go, leaving with Mr Bell and his daughter all the food they had; they would make their way to Dawson, and then hire Indians or others to come up for them, bringing a good boat, laden with ample food. By that time it was hoped Mr Bell would be able to take the journey.

This seemed to all such a sensible and practical plan that it was agreed to, and the four Americans left.

It would take four weeks at least before this help could arrive. It would have to come before the rivers were frozen, or else a very different mode of egress must be devised. Sleighs and dogs are the only means of winter travel there.

The men left early in October; the rescue party might be expected in November.

That month arrived. Mr Bell had recovered; he and May worked at their claim, being very successful, but as the month went by, and no one came, they were very despondent. At the end of that month the river was solid; no hope was left to them of getting out by boat. When December had half gone they felt they were abandoned, and their food was short! They ate sparingly; week after week pa.s.sed; the snow came and buried them; Mr Bell became feeble--ill; May had everything to do, wood to cut, cooking to attend to, and her father to nurse.

Their provisions were by that time very short, even the frozen salmon was nearly exhausted, and they had no means of obtaining another ounce of anything to eat! and now it was February.

Three days before I reached them they had consumed everything but a little tea, and were actually starving.

As this sad narrative was ended, I placed on the table what I had cooked. "Come, then," I exclaimed, "eat now; let us be thankful I arrived in time. No need for any more anxieties, but to get strong and well, and away from this terrible region."

CHAPTER IX.

Whilst May and I ate, Mr Bell had some oxtail soup, which I had brought.

"How was it that those men did not keep their promise, and send you provisions and help?" I asked him.

"Well," said he, "I believe I can understand. They are not bad fellows, really, but were most anxious to get home to the States. Two were married. No doubt they called at Dawson, and made what they thought a good arrangement; but they could not stop to see it carried out. Very likely the boat was just starting, and it would be their last chance to get off; they could not delay. No, I don't think they neglected us willingly."

"Had you known them long?"

"We fell in with them at St Michael's last June, when we came up the Yukon. We did not come here to dig for gold?"

"Why! what on earth brought you then? Storekeeping? You puzzle me."

"Oh! no. I'm a writer and an artist. I came up for a Tacoma newspaper--to send articles and sketches out."

I had noticed a few drawings fastened to the logs. They had interested me. May had informed me they were her father's work, and this was the explanation.

"But you haven't been able to keep up correspondence with headquarters," I remarked. "Have you sent anything to them? Has anything been published?"

"Ah! that I don't know," he replied. "We sent some from Circle City and a few sketches, but since that, nothing. You see we soon discovered there was the chance of making more money here at gold-digging than by newspaper work, and ultimately we got up this Stewart river."

"Stewart river!" I exclaimed, "what makes you call this river so? This is the Klond.y.k.e, or a branch of it."

"No! no!" declared Mr Bell, "I a.s.sure you it is a tributary of the Stewart, here."

We had no map, no knowledge at all of the geography of the country. We only understood that the Yukon ran through it, having its sources in the Rocky Mountains to the east, and ending in Behring Sea, in the Arctic Ocean, to the north-west. Into this river we believed all other streams ran. I a.s.sured him that Meade and I came down it from the east, pa.s.sing the mouth of the Stewart on the way to Dawson, where we entered the Thronda or Klond.y.k.e, which we ascended for fifty miles or so; then we came up a branch perhaps forty miles, and there we camped and had stopped since.

Now, I had come farther up this same stream for ten or twelve miles, and found them. "Certainly," I said, "we must be on a branch of the Klond.y.k.e."

Mr Bell was as sure that we were on the Stewart. We could not settle it. I believed that it was, at most, one hundred miles from my dug-out to Dawson, whilst he declared that from the shanty in which we were then talking it was more than two hundred and fifty! It was a puzzle which we could not and did not clear up then.

After this digression the story of their adventures was continued.

They told me about the gold they obtained before and after their companions left them, and of the arrangement which was made that they should register the claim in Dawson on their way down, as they expected to find there some proper authority, whether Canadian or American they did not then know. But I had been able to a.s.sure my friends that we were in Canada, that all the Klond.y.k.e was in Canada; it was known to be seventy miles at least from the international boundary. This had pleased them greatly, for they knew the name of William Ogilvy, the Canadian Government Surveyor, who had been deputed to run the 141st parallel of north longitude to settle this.