A Claim on Klondyke Part 19

May told him what she would do if she had made her pile as he had. At which he told her that she easily could make it, if she would follow his instructions, and that if she would engage not to tell others he would give her the route, and ended by making her promise that when she had made all she wanted, and returned to Kent, she would let him know.

She laughingly gave her word. So when they parted next day, he whispered: "Up-stream, about fifty miles, the river forks. Go up the branch that trends north-west, follow that for less than twenty miles, and you'll get gold enough."

All this time Mr Bell had been taking notes and making sketches for his journal; but when these young Englishmen described their good fortune, it excited him and caused him and May to desire to do as they had done, so they arranged to join in with the four Americans, in work and profit, sharing equally. May was, you understand, an acquisition, and could in many ways do as much as a man. So now there were six in company, all gold-diggers.

I did not hear many particulars of their journey up the Stewart, only that they landed and tried for gold frequently, They usually got "a show," princ.i.p.ally of flour-gold, but nothing that looked like a pile big enough for six.

When they had gone up fifty miles, as they reckoned, a very likely looking branch went off to the south-east. The practical men of the party wanted to ascend it; but Mr Bell, knowing what May had heard, strenuously opposed this. Having some little knowledge of geology, besides the gift of talking well, he made a plausible theory, and soon got them to agree to try their luck up the north-west stream.

As they proceeded they found gold everywhere, and occasionally a coa.r.s.e speck which encouraged them.

One day they were camped beside a creek which joined the Stewart, perhaps seventy miles from the Yukon. The miners had gone off prospecting. May and her father scrambled up this creek: it was very picturesque, and he wished to make a drawing.

Whilst he worked with his pencil, May, as usual, poked about the rocks and bars. She carried a tin dish always, with which she had learned dexterously to wash and prospect.

All was quiet, except the murmur of water running over the stones, the buzz of mosquitos, and the twitter of the humming-birds, who were darting amongst the flowers which were plentiful along the margin of the stream.

May having been silent for some minutes, suddenly came to her father, pale, and looking strangely at him.

He was alarmed, thinking perhaps a snake had bitten her. She pointed eagerly, and did not speak.

Going in the direction she indicated, he came to her dish. Then he, too, was excited, for the bottom of it was covered with gold--and coa.r.s.e gold, too!

For some minutes they could neither of them do much more than stare with amazement.

"Where, where did you get it?" he asked.

She showed him. He emptied the gold into the crown of his hat, and, bareheaded, scooped up another pan of gravel, which he washed, and found to be as full of gold as hers was.

They were calmer now; but they looked at each other with immense satisfaction, for they realised what they had discovered.

"May, my dear, we've got gold at last!" he exclaimed. "Our fortune is made; but, oh! if we could but let your dear mother know--eh?"

They were both in tears, quite overcome with emotion; but they were very thankful.

Every one carried a little gold scales, so they soon weighed what they had obtained. There were over twenty ounces, worth 70 at least.

That there was plenty more ground like it they made sure by trying several places around, and all gave splendid prospects. In an hour or two they had 200 worth!

Then they hurried back to camp, joyful and grateful.

May said she had much difficulty to calm her father, he was so exalted: she greatly feared he would have a fainting fit again.

The others were still absent when they reached camp, but soon returned disheartened: they had found nothing.

May began joking them, and asking if they had found stuff that would go five dollars to the dish.

They dolefully replied, "No; nor any that would go one dollar, which would pay--but five cent stuff was all that they could hit on."

"Two dollars!" she cried. "Oh, that's nothing; that will not satisfy me." She laughed as she cried, "Fifty dollars to the pan is about my figure!"

"Fifty dollars!" one of them replied with a sneer. "I guess you'll not get that round this yere region."

Then her father offered to wager that he could lead them to a spot where they could get stuff as rich as she had said, within an hour. He said this in such a jovial way that they saw there was some deep meaning to it. And when Mr Bell nodded to May, and she produced the tin and upset it into a dish, and they saw the shine of the gold, there was a lively time.

It was late, but light enough; no one could sleep. All hands rushed up to the place, each washed a pan of dirt, and every one showed gold--coa.r.s.e gold, galore!

No need to describe how they cached their boat, and moved their camp to the hillside near their find. How they built the shanty for May and her father, which we were then in, and hewed a couple of dug-outs for themselves.

Then for two months they worked away with pick and shovel, dish and sluice, almost day and night, till they had secured some eighteen hundred ounces, which gave them about 1000 each!

Then they planned that all should go home together for the winter.

They purposed to secure their claim at the headquarters of the Government in that region, which they supposed was Circle City, for they believed then that all that country belonged to the United States.

They intended, however, to stop off at Dawson City to ascertain the truth.

It was then that Mr Bell took sick, and the rest of the story transpired which I have already recounted.

Nearly all of what I have so far related was told by May, only here and there her father added a word of correction or explanation.

For the last half-hour he had not spoken. May was sitting turned from him, but I could see his face, and I noticed that he had closed his eyes: I merely supposed that he was sleeping.

When May ended her story we were silent for a minute. She turned to address him; the moment her eyes fell on him, she exclaimed in alarm, "He has fainted again! He is dead!"

I was bewildered. "No, no! not that!" was all I could say; "he is only sleeping."

Kneeling beside him, she endeavoured to arouse him, but he did not stir.

Again she cried out that he was dead, and looked at me appealingly.

But I had hold of his wrist, I could feel his pulse; it was weak, but I knew he was alive, and told her it was a recurrence of his old complaint--bad enough, but not so bad as she supposed.

I brought whisky, forced some into his mouth, and before long we had the satisfaction of seeing him revive.

May was now blaming herself for having allowed him to be agitated by our conversation, at which I also felt guilty, for had not my visit been the cause of it?

We carried her father to his bed; I sat beside him with his sorrowing daughter for an hour. He slowly came to himself and knew us, but she declared that it would be many days before he would be anything like right again.

It was terribly sad, I felt very deeply for her, yet I could do little to help; and fancying I would be better out of the way, I began to make preparations to depart.

When May saw my intention she was strongly opposed to it, and begged me to remain, prayed me not to leave her there alone, and declared that if I had any kind feeling I would not think of going.

I cannot remember all she said in her excitement; all I know is, that it being against my wish to go, I promised to stay a while, and when her father had rallied more I laid myself down beside the fire and soon fell asleep, for I was very weary.

When I awoke I persuaded May to take some rest, whilst I sat by him, and as she was f.a.gged out and quite exhausted she agreed to do so.

Then when he and I were alone he began to talk to me in a low weak voice. In vain I begged him to lie quietly, to try and sleep, and get well for his daughter's sake. But it was useless, he would not keep silent; he knew she was sleeping, and declared in an eager whisper that this being perhaps the only chance that he would ever have to speak privately to me, he must talk. What could I do but listen?

"You know that I'm a dying man," were the first words he said. I was so overwhelmed with consternation at this, that I did not know what to reply to him.