The Trail of a Sourdough Part 5

However, the argonauts hurried on. They were not here to moralize--they had something else to do.

As the two men proceeded, making numerous trips with the freight laden mules between camps, they found, much to their disappointment, that, without a.s.sistance, they would not be able to reach Lake Bennett in time to build a boat and make their way into the Klond.y.k.e before being overtaken by winter.

In order to proceed faster it would be necessary to hire Indian packers to help them over the summit of the Pa.s.s, else the sun of another summer would see them still wearily toiling on that terrible trail.

Indians were then hired. The great mountain tops, bald of everything save boulders and a few saucer-shaped lakelets reflecting in their cold depths the floating clouds above, seemed now for the first time to encourage the hara.s.sed and footsore travelers.

Soon they were cheered by entering a forest. Here was fuel in abundance, and shelter, at least partial, from frosts and rain. Below, the green and level "meadows" beckoned to them, and still farther the shining waters of Bennett. But trail troubles would soon for them be over, and with lighter hearts, though with weary feet and backs, they stumbled on in their eagerness to reach the long waterway which was to guide them into the promised land.

Beautiful Bennett! How pure its waters, and how clean its sands! With what maidenly modesty it nestles in the rugged arms of its lovers, the sky-piercing mountains!

Tents were everywhere. Cabins rose in a night. In surrounding thickets were the axes of men heard, felling trees for boat-building. Night and day this continued, and turns were taken at sleeping in order that the work might not be stopped; indeed, some men seemed never to sleep, so intent were they on making an early entrance into the gold fields ahead.

Not so, Smithson. He slept more than ever. His bottle made him drowsy.

It did not increase the sweetness of his naturally selfish disposition, which under the delays, hardships, and extra expense of their journey had rather increased his laziness and stubbornness.

Nothing Roberts did pleased him. They often came to words, but never to blows in an argument, for sooner than do this Roberts would turn on his heel and leave his partner to fall asleep and thus escape his burden of the work.

"Come now," said Roberts one morning, "our boat is nearly finished and we ought to be off and away in about two days. You can surely do the caulking of seams, after which I'll paint her."

"I never caulked a boat in my life, and I think it a poor time to begin," said Smithson. "If it isn't done right all hands may go to the bottom. You better get someone else to do it."

"There is n.o.body but me to do it unless we pay ten dollars a day, and we can't afford that. I've done most of the work so far, and I think you might take hold now like a man if you never do again," argued Roberts.

The words "like a man" nettled Smithson. He resented the inference that he was not manly. Seizing his hat he shambled off toward the beach where the boat was in process of construction.

His heart was filled with anger. He began fairly to hate Roberts. He had no right to order him around, and he hated to leave that quartz ledge.

If Roberts were only out of his way the hidden ledge would all be his own. He had pondered this many times when his working partner supposed him sleeping. Only for Roberts he could sell the boat and supplies for double their cost, return to Skagway, and build a cabin near the quartz ledge, thus escaping the long and dangerous trip down the lakes and rivers as well as the awful Arctic winter which he more and more dreaded in the Klond.y.k.e. On the south side of the mountains the weather would be more mild; he would have no difficulty in finding another partner, if not of his own s.e.x, then the other--why not? he asked himself. The owner of a ledge like that one might afford luxuries beyond those of the common people. In this way he ruminated, standing with his hands in pockets alongside the boat he was expected to finish by caulking.

Smithson hated work. Why should he work? There was enough gold in the big ledge on the other side of the summit to keep him as long as he lived if he could have the whole and manage it to suit himself. Could a boat be caulked lightly in spots, he wondered, so that such weak places might be plugged at the proper moment afterwards, making it fill with water and sink with its freight?

It might be done, but that would be bad policy, for freight landed even this far had cost large sums of money; farther on it would be worth more and could be sold for many times what they had paid for it at starting; but men were far too plenty. One man would not be missed. It might be managed, perhaps, and he decided to do the caulking as requested by Roberts.

An hour later a fair beginning had been made. A fire was built over which the smoke of melting pitch ascended, while oak.u.m was filling the seams of the boat's sides under the hands of the new ship-builder.

Smithson could work if he liked. When his partner, after taking a much needed rest and nap, came out to see how the business was progressing he was well pleased. The work appeared satisfactory.

"I'm afraid you'll be sick, old fellow, after such exertion as this,"

laughed he with a twinkle in his eye, "for you're breaking your record, sure; but keep right on; I'll get paint and brushes in readiness to start my job the moment you've done. The sun will soon dry all thoroughly," and he hastened back to their tent.

For reply the new workman only lighted his pipe. His mind was busy and he needed a nerve-quieter. The train of thought in which he had just indulged was strange, and rather disquieting--altogether he needed the smoke.

The common industry at Bennett was now the launching of boats. Hundreds of frail and faulty craft were started upon their long voyage to the Klond.y.k.e laden with freight to the water's edge. Men who had never before used a saw, axe, or plane, here built boats and sailed courageously away.

Smithson and Roberts had done the same.

It was late in the afternoon. The storm clouds were rapidly gathering overhead. The men had raised a sail and were scudding northward before the wind towards Caribou. If they could make the crossing that night, Roberts said, they would be in luck. To sleep on sh.o.r.e and sail again next morning was his plan.

Night came on. No other craft was near. The wind flapped their small sail and the yardarm wobbled badly. Roberts sat in the stern.

"Mind the sail, there, Smithson, and pull that tarpaulin over the grub pile, for by Jingo! we're goin' to catch it now!" as the cold rain dashed full against their faces, and they both crouched lower in the boat.

"Haul in the sail!" shouted Roberts, an instant later at the top of his voice, and Smithson arose presumedly to obey.

"Haul in the sail!" repeated Roberts while tending the rudder, as the other hesitated.

With that the man addressed moved, but not in the way expected. He grasped the yardarm and swung it suddenly and heavily around against Roberts.

Instantly the side of the little craft dipped low, shipping water, but the roar of the gale drowned the noise of a sudden splash. A cry of horror, the flash of two hands in the water, and the boat sped madly away on her course.

Ten minutes later the white capped waters tossed a boat upon the beach near Caribou. Its one occupant looked wildly around in the darkness but presently managed to make a fire by which to warm and dry himself.

He muttered incoherently meanwhile.

"I didn't do it--'twas the wind--dark and wild--couldn't stop the boat--terrible storm--two hands in the water--Jove! where's that whiskey?" and he fumbled among the supplies under the tarpaulin. When he had found it and drunk deeply he felt stronger and replenished the fire.

"The ledge! The hidden ledge! It's all mine now, yes, mine, mine!" and he hugged himself in his greedy, guilty joy.

"To-morrow I'll sell the grub and backtrack to the coast to guard it."

The storm died away and the cold, bright moon shone searchingly. The man lay down in the boat to rest, pulling his furs and tarpaulin over him.

Sleep did not immediately come at his bidding. He saw and heard affrighting things. The rush and roar of the elements--two hands flashing out of the ink-black water--the cry of horror--but he wanted to forget, and at last, in spite of all, he slept.

An Indian guide trudged heavily up the long trail toward the summit. He was closely followed by a white man and both were headed southward. The guide carried a heavy pack on his back, but the white man was "traveling light."

When night came they camped and rested; amusing themselves for a while with a poker game. Black bottles kept them company. At last trouble arose over the cards. Smithson had indiscreetly allowed his guide a glimpse of his money belt, and though the white man was well armed, in a moment of forgetfulness he allowed the native to pa.s.s behind him; when a sudden shot and thud upon the ground quickly settled forever all scores between them.

An Indian seldom smiles.

This one smiled gloomily now; muttering as he wiped the revolver in his hand:

"Him bad white man yesterday,--good man now,--heap long time sleep."

Half an hour later the sure-footed Indian cautiously made his way along the trail. Stars twinkled overhead. A well filled money belt, a revolver, and blankets ornamented his person, though only the latter were visible.

The "Hidden Ledge" was close at hand, but unknowingly he pa.s.sed it by; its secret having been, for the present, buried with the two partners who were numbered among the strenuous stampeders on the White Pa.s.s Trail.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER IV

A NEW KLONd.y.k.e