Connie Morgan in Alaska Part 17

"Wonder who worked this mine?" speculated Connie. "Just think of men working for years and years, I s'pose, to dig out _copper_--with all that gold lying free in the gravel."

"Yeh, son, seems queeah to us. But when yo' come to think of it, coppeh's wo'th a heap mo'n gold, when it comes down to usin' it fo'

hammehs, an' ha'poons, an' dishes. Gold ain't no real good, nohow--'cept fo' what it'll buy. An' if they ain't no place to spend it, a man mout a heap sight betteh dig out coppeh."

The sun was shining brightly on the snow when the three finally stood at the tunnel-mouth and gazed out into the valley of the Ignatook. A light wind carried the steam and frozen fog particles toward the opposite bank, whose high cliffs appeared from time to time as islands in a billowy white sea. Almost at their feet the waters of the creek wound between banks of glittering snow crystals, and above them the great bank of frozen mist eddied and rolled. The stakes Carlson had driven to mark his claim, and that of Pete Mateese, were plainly visible, and upon the black gravel at the water's edge were strewn the weather-darkened bones of many men.

"The copper miners!" cried Connie, pointing toward the grewsome collection. Waseche nodded.

"I reckon so," he answered. "I wondeh what ailed 'em."

"Aye, what!" echoed O'Brien. "What but th' Ignatook--that's shpelt death to iverywan that's come into uts valley. Th' whole Lillimuit's a land av dead min. Av ut ain't th' wan thing, uts another. Phwere's Car-rlson, an' Pete Mateese? Av ye don't dhrink th' pizen wather, ye'll freeze, er shtar-rve, er ye'll go loike Craik an' Greenhow, that come in with me--an' that's th' wor-rst av all. Craik, glum an' sombre, follyin' day an' noight th' thrail av a monster white moose, that no wan ilse c'd iver see, an' that always led into th' Narth. An' Greenhow, yellin' an'

laughin' loike foorty fiends, rushin' shtraight into th' mid-noight aurora--an 'nayther come back!

"Ye'd besht moind phwat Oi'm tellin' yez," he croaked, as he sat upon the bank and watched Waseche and Connie stake adjoining claims.

"Ut's th' same in th' ind," he continued, letting his glance rove over the tragic relics of a bygone race. "Some comes f'r copper, an' some f'r gold--an' phwere's th' good av ut? Th' metal is left--but th' bones av th' diggers mark th' thrail f'r th' nixt that comes! An' none goes back!"

"We're going back!" said Connie. "You don't know, maybe Pete Mateese got through."

"Mebbe he did--but ut's mebbier he didn't," despaired the man.

"Now, look a heah, O'Brien," cut in Waseche, "yo' be'n up heah so long yo' plumb doleful an' sad-minded. We-all ah goin' to get out of heah, like the kid done told yo'. Come on along now an' stake out yo' claim 'long side of ou'n. I've mined, it's goin' on fo'teen yeah, now--an' I neveh seen no pay streak like this heah--not even Nome, with her third beach line; the Klondike, with its shallow gravel; oah Ten Bow, with its deep yellah sand. It's no wondeh yo' expected a stampede."

But the Irishman was obdurate and, despite all persuasion, flatly refused to stake a claim.

"Come on, then," said Waseche. "We-all got to locate that map of Carlson's. He said how he mapped the trail to the Kandik."

"Sure, an' he did!" exclaimed O'Brien. "Oi found th' map six months agone. But ivery toime Oi'd thry to folly ut, thim danged haythins ud dhrag me back."

"Where is the map? Le's see it," said Waseche. O'Brien stared from one to the other of his companions, with a foolish, round-eyed stare.

Suddenly he leaped to his feet and without a word dashed down the creek in the direction of the river, leaving Waseche and Connie to gaze after him in astonishment.

"Where's he going?" asked the boy.

"Sea'ch me!" exclaimed Waseche; "come on--we got to catch him. Me'be he's took a spell. Po' fellow, I'd hate fo' anything to happen to him now."

O'Brien had obtained a very considerable lead when the others started and, giving no heed to their cries to halt, he lumbered heavily onward.

Connie and Waseche ceased to call and, saving their breath, dashed after him as fast as their legs could carry them. The Irishman was in good muscle and wind, thanks to his life in the open, but in neither speed nor endurance was he a match for his pursuers, who were iron-hard from the long snow trail. When O'Brien neared the pa.s.s that gave out onto the river, the two partners redoubled their efforts and, although they gained perceptibly, O'Brien was still ten yards in advance when he plunged between the two upstanding rocks that Connie had named the "gate-posts of the Ignatook."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "As they pa.s.sed between the pillared rocks the Indians broke cover, hurling their copper-tipped harpoons as they ran."]

Without a moment's hesitation, the boy, who had outdistanced Waseche, dashed after him and with a "flying tackle" tripped the fleeing man, so that both rolled over and over upon the rime-covered ice of the river.

And Waseche Bill, bursting upon the scene, saw, approaching silently and swiftly among the rocks and scrub of the river's edge, shadowy, fur-clad forms. The White Indians were guarding well the egress from the creek of the frozen steam.

Hastening to the two struggling figures, Waseche jerked them to their feet, and before the surprised O'Brien knew what was happening, he was being unceremoniously hustled into the narrow valley from which he had just emerged--and none too soon, for as they pa.s.sed between the pillared rocks, the Indians broke cover and rushed boldly upon them, hurling their copper-tipped harpoons as they ran.

CHAPTER XVI

FIGHTING THE NORTH

"Wheheveh was yo' aimin' fo' to go to?" interrogated Waseche, when they were once more safely seated about the fireplace in the room at the end of the old mine tunnel.

"Sure, ut's th' map!" answered O'Brien, in a tone of the deepest dejection.

"The map! What about it?"

"Ut's in me other pants!" wailed the Irishman. "Back in th' _igloo_!"

"The _igloo_! The _igloo_--back there?"

"That same," nodded O'Brien, shamefacedly dropping his glance before the wrathful glare of Waseche's eyes. "Ye see, ut's loike this: two years ago, Oi bruk away fr' th' haythins an' made th' Ignatook. Car-rlson an'

Pete Mateese wuz here thin, an' Oi shtayed wid um f'r a month, until wan day Oi wuz fishin' in th' river, an' they shwooped down an' caught me befoor Oi c'd git back into th' valley. Afther that they watched me clost, an' befoor Oi c'd git away ag'in Car-rlson an' Pete Mateese wuz gone. 'Twuz thin Oi found his map, pegged to a caribou haunch on top av th' pile yondher, an' Oi shtayed here an' wor-rked till Oi'd all th'

gold Oi c'd pack, an' thin Oi shtar-rted f'r th' Kandik. They caught me, av coorse, bekaze th' heft av thim cans, along wid phwat grub Oi wuz dhraggin' on th' sled, wuz more thin a wan man load. They're sooperst.i.tious about th' creek, an' th' gold, too, an' they slung th'

cans back into th' valley.

"That's two toimes Oi got away, an' since that they ain't watched me so clost, f'r they've lur-rned that widout dogs, Oi can't make ut to th'

outside--an' Be Jabbers! nointeen toimes since, Oi've been dhrug back, but Oi always kep' th' map f'r fear that sometoime Oi'd git to use ut--an' now, phwin we've got th' chanst, Oi've gone an' murdhered us all be layvin' ut behint--an' all on account av th' dance an' th'

_potlatch_, be rayson av which Oi wint an' changed me britches!"

The man's grief was so genuine, and his dejection so deep that the wrathful gleam faded from Waseche Bill's eyes, and Connie moved nearer and placed his hand upon the Irishman's shoulder.

"Never mind, O'Brien. You didn't mean to leave the map--we know that--don't we, Waseche?"

"Sho', he didn't," answered the man, gloomily. "But that don't help the _case_ any. How we-all ah goin' to get out of heah, now, is mo'n I know----"

"Me nayther," a.s.sented O'Brien. "Av Oi'd shtayed in Kildare, Oi w'dn't be here now. We bether go back an' settle down wid th' Injuns--av we c'n make friends wid um ag'in, befoor they har-rpoon us--f'r Oi'll niver see Flor-ridy, now!"

Connie leaped to his feet and stood before the two men, who looked into the narrowing grey eyes that flashed in the flickering flare of the blubber lamp.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "You make me tired!" cried Connie. "Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around."]

"You make me _tired_!" cried the boy, "both of you--with your talk of not getting out of the Lillimuit; and of going back to the Indians! Why, they'd eat up our dogs, and then we _couldn't_ get out! What's got into you, Waseche? Buck up! Anybody'd think you needed a city, with the streets all numbered, to find your way around!

"Carlson came in by the Tatonduk--and he went out by the Kandik--his first trip, when he showed the nuggets he brought back. Who made Carlson's map? He was a sourdough--but he has nothing on _us_! He found his own way out--and so will we! If we miss the Kandik, we'll find a pa.s.s of our own--or a river--or a creek! We're not afraid of the Lillimuit. It hasn't got us yet! And it isn't going to! We've got the dogs, and we've got the grub--and we've got the nerve to back them.

We'll hike to the outside on our own trail--and we'll turn around and come back after the gold!

"But, if we don't make it--and have to die out there in the White Country--when they find us, they'll know _men_ died! We'll be, anyway, _one_ day's mushing ahead of our last camp fire!"

Waseche leaped to the boy's side and grasped the small, doubled fist.

"They sho' _will_, kid!" he cried. "They sho' _will_! But they ain't a goin' to find us bushed! I wisht yo' daddy c'd of heahd yo' then--He was _some_ man, Sam Mo'gan was, an' he'd sho' be proudful of his boy!

"I'm plumb 'shamed, pahdneh, fo' to gloomed up on yo' that-a-way--ain't we, O'Brien?"