The Golden Mocassins/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI.
In the far Northern, country, in the depressing days of winter, there is something in being alone, when one is despondent, that augments all one's melancholy. Not a living thing had been up, down, or around me all day. The dogs felt my mood, and were not companionable. Even the “camp robber,” or Canadian blue jay, that sometimes favored me with his presence, had vanished, and I was left alone to brood.
Nor am I ashamed to say that the face of Elizabeth Wilton was in my memory most of the hours, and that she appeared as an unattainable apparition, a source of bitter regret. Life summed itself in this, that I was to go hungry for love, and that all I could hope for was money, a paltry success. And of that there was none in sight, for our claim was still a discouraging blank.
I sometimes fancy that the drunkard, or drinking man, has his recompense; for when I sat alone in my cabin that long winter evening, I thought that I should welcome the oblivion of bestial drunkenness! Anything to forget!
I could not interest myself in the book loaned me by Cavanaugh, and blew out my light and went to bed. Sleep came quickly as a boon. I was awakened by a terrific thumping at the door.
“Come in,” I called, sitting up, and wondering who it could be, and how long I had slept.
It opened, and outlined against the stars of the background stood some one, who answered: “Is that you, Tom?”
“Yes, Kentuck,” I replied, recognizing his voice. “Light the candle. You know where it is. What is it?”
“They've gone,” he said. “It must be that I didn't quite understand the time set. The Big Chicken and the Hatchet, I mean. Constantine and she had a row down at the camp to-day, and he came home alone. To-night one of the natives from across the river came up to a claim above, and stopped to tell Constantine that she had sent word she was going with friends to visit some relatives in Taninaw. Constantine went into a rage, and reckoned she could go and be hanged, for all of him; but I knew what it meant.
“If we're to take a try at finding where they've headed for, and get in and stake some of that gold they all talk about, we've got to get action to-night. We could cut across from here, and get to Taninaw not more than a day behind them. We'd save the time of going around the camp there by going to that little stream above it, direct. And there we ought to find their trail. I hate to lose the chance. It means a lot to me. Won't you come with me?”
I had crawled out of my bunk as he talked, and pulled on my trousers, and sat there on the edge thinking. He wanted to go to gain wealth to marry Elizabeth Wilton, the girl I loved. I knew that, and yet it influenced my decision but little. The glamour of gain was not all, either, but rather the fact that I was sick of life as it had been, and also that there was Dan to consider. Poor old Dan, with his cares and worries, eating his heart out because he could not take care of those others outside! And Dan was all man. If by chance I could make this expedition, and meet with success, it would mean more to Dan than anything in the world. But there were the discomforts and fatigues of what might prove to be a long, hard trail, vicissitudes, perhaps starvation and death!
I walked to the door and threw it open, and looked out into the night, while Kentuck sat watching me, anxiously waiting for my decision. Off in the north the aurora was beginning to rise above the trees on the crest of the mountains, shining in streamers of gold, fluttering, waving, and spreading across to consume the sky. The cold was so intense that I hurriedly drew back, and closed the door, and stood with my back against it, looking at Kentuck. The bunk was warm and comfortable, after all; but to lie soft meant an opportunity lost. The reckless mood invaded me again, and I took a step toward him.
“Yes,” I said. “I'll go!”
He threw his hat up, and shouted.
“Go out and pull the sled down off the roof,” I said, “and look over the dog harness you'll find hanging in the cache at the side of the door. Then we'll get the grub together, put the dogs in, and pull out. What time does it say there on the clock? Ten? Well, we should be away from here by eleven, and the moon rises just about that time, and is in the full.”
I began selecting the clothing I should want, extra moccasins, and mittens and socks, and dragged the fur robe from the bottom layer in my bunk. I had begun to wrap the bacon and beans and oatmeal into their separate sacks by the time he had finished his last repairs on the harness. I took my snowshoes from the wall, and threw Dan's to him, and told him to look at the lashings, then sat down and wrote a note to my partner:
Dear Dan: The Sioux and the girl have pulled out, and Kentuck and I are going to try to follow them and stake claims on that ground, wherever it may be. Don't worry over me, because I'll turn up sooner or later. Get some one to do that assessment work that Kentucky started over on McGraw's claim, and whatever you do, don't let any one know where we have gone. Better let them think we've headed up to Goldpan to do some assessment work, because I think we'll be back shortly. I've taken your rifle and cartridges, because mine are too heavy. We're traveling light. Yours as ever,
Tom.
We dragged the old tarpaulin out for the sled, threw in the little trail tent and trail stove, the frying pan, coffeepot, and tin kettle, and I put in an extra pair of blankets and some dry gear for Kentuck, then we lashed it down on the sled with the dog fish piled on top, the ax and the rifle convenient, and shut the cabin door.
The dogs came reluctantly, poor brutes! They gave the trail bark of the wilderness when they felt the harness bands across their breasts, and stood wagging their tails and waiting. I took a last look in the cabin, and pulled the door shut, and we headed away in the chill, bright night, down the cañon, which was in shadow, despite the moon on the white peaks above.
We were off on the quest, and traveled silently and swiftly away up the stream from whose headwaters we purposed to cross the divide, and head the fugitive Sioux and Mary, who had the secret, passed down from mouth to mouth, all forever speechless in death.
We were lighter than we had thought, and made good progress, inasmuch as Kentuck knew the way, and ran ahead of the dogs on his snowshoes without ever wavering, while I held the sled handles behind. Malicula, the leader, strained forward as if enjoying the Chase, and scenting in it something of the hereditary, for he was a half-blood wolf. The others, with brushes erect, and curled over their backs, strung out behind him, trotting steadily at a pace that ate up the miles. At three o'clock we halted, and decided to make a quick camp for the night at a place where some native hunting party had left a comfortable wikiup with its poles between three favorable trees, its lean-to of thick, sheltering brush, and its mat of fir boughs inside to give rest to our weariness.
We altered our plans the next day, and decided to go into Taninaw, because we found that we would be short of dog fish if the chase proved prolonged, and on them depended our comfort and speed. Moreover, I was anxious to know if we would hear anything of our quarry at that point. So it was that we pulled up to the old A. C. trading post, and carelessly laid in more supplies before making inquiries. The trader proved garrulous, and volunteered the information we wanted, thus saving us questions.
“You're the first white men down from Neucloviat in, quite a while,” he said. “Yes, the first since poor old Sam Barstow came down. What's that the natives say about him bein' dead?”
I confirmed that mysterious interchange of news which travels so incredibly fast in Alaska, and the trader shook his head. As he weighed out our dog fish he asked questions about the camp, and whether it was “makin' good” or not, and we answered him noncommittally.
“They was a funny-lookin' buck with a tin tooth in here yesterday I never saw before,” he said, “and he told me the camp wa'n't much. He had that Mary, who used to be down at Holy Cross, with him. The big klootch that was old Sarta's daughter. They were headin' off up the Taninaw on a huntin' trip. He laid in quite a bunch of dog feed. Seemed to have the dust, and, by the way, it was the funniest lookin' stuff I ever saw. Looked as if it had been hammered. I wouldn't have took it if it hadn't been the same kind that Sam paid for the stuff he bought down here. It don't look like the gold from Birch, any more than that does like the brassy stuff they git out at Klondike. Here's some of it.”
He poured some beaten nuggets into the blower, and held them toward us. I picked one up, and looked at it. It was that peculiar red, and I knew it had been perforated. Mary had torn it from the moccasins of gold to pay their bill. The proof was there in my hand that the Hatchet and Constantine's sister had really been there at the post, and that Kentuck must have understood much of what they said.
“When did you say they were here?” I asked.
The trader thought a while, and then said that it was “day before yistaday.”
His answer caused Kentuck and me to exchange glances. They were traveling faster than we had thought they could. We must do something to improve our speed. But it would not do to show that we had any special object.
“We're thinking of going over to Tramway Bar, or in that direction,” I said, “and we ought to have more dogs. We've got four, but we could use six or eight. Know of any?”
He ruminated for a while, and then said he thought he could help us out. This necessitated more dog feed, and a delay. we went over our outfit, ounce by ounce, cutting down here and increasing there, as only those who have traveled in that country where weight is measured by ounces rather than pounds, can understand. And it was two o'clock in the afternoon when, with everything complete, and three additional dogs, we pulled away from Taninaw, and headed for the small stream up which we were to go.
We had not found any sign of their trail when we made camp that night, and, the next morning at daybreak, we were again on the way. At noon we were beginning to lose faith, but we discovered lines leading down to the bed of the creek. We went ahead of the dogs, and examined them carefully. The snow told the story. It was the Sioux and a squaw. The lines of the man's feet were straight, with the toes a little turned in, and one foot planted squarely in front of the other, the unquestionable stride of the plains Indian, while the woman's footprints showed spread, and small, and rounded, the footprint of the Alaskan native.
“Got 'em!” said Kentucky, straightening himself.
I stooped over, and examined the snow, trying to form some conclusion of the number of their dogs, and how long they had preceded us along that winding, white way. It seemed to us that they were fully twenty-four hours ahead, and we resumed our progress. The new dogs were ill fed compared with ours, and were reluctant to work with their new teammates, and fearful of their new masters. They traveled with heads turned back frequently, and fearful eyes, which led me to believe that their former owners had been free with the lash. It would take them time to appreciate white drivers. Kentucky, who was in the lead, threw up his hand, and we came to a place where the Hatchet and Mary had evidently halted for tea.
“Had a fire over there, you see,” said Kentuck, striding off to the side, with me at his heels. We found round spots on the snow, indicating that they had five dogs, so felt safe on the score of speed, unless they had remarkable animals. We doubted if they would prove equal to four of ours, at least, for of these two were from that splendid racing stock which is bred for speed down around Nushagak, on Bristol Bay, and our leader was a wolf whelp.
“Yes,” I said, kicking over the charred sticks, “they must be at least twenty-four hours ahead' of us, so we needn't be afraid of running into them. That is good. Now for a long straightaway!”
For three hours more we went rapidly ahead, and then, as I happened to be in the lead, I met with a surprise. Again we stopped, and Kentucky came forward to my side. I pointed at the snow tracks. Another sled had come down from the bank above, taken the trail, and was following in the tracks of the Sioux and his companion.
"What do you suppose that means?” we asked each other, looking up with a sudden suspicion.
“You don't reckon somebody else is onto them, and joined in the chase, do you?” asked Kentuck, in a tone of annoyance.
I shook my head in perplexity, and back-tracked over the new trail. It had followed along the bank above for some distance, as if afraid to venture out on the stream until certain that those ahead were well out of the way, and its progress had been leisurely. We went back some distance, and found where the newcomers had paused to rest, or observe, and here the signs were more plentiful.
“White men,” said Kentuck. “See the arches of the insteps? Here!”
I was not so sure, for the moccasins made it hard reading; but there were certain lines about the insteps that indicated less pressure, and in one place I thought I could discern seams which would indicate that the moccasins were really Canadian shoe packs, all of which must be brought down from Dawson when they come to our section of the country, and were therefore rare.
We found a cigarette stub, which rather confirmed our surmise that they must be white men, for the paper was different from that used by the natives where we were, and unobtainable either in Taninaw or Neucloviat.
I crumbled some of the tobacco into my palm, and decided it was the old, familiar blackstrap, which told us nothing; but of one feature we were convinced—the new outfit was probably but a few hours behind the one in the lead, and was going with caution.
We turned back toward the bank, and I heard Kentuck give a sudden sharp yell: “Here! come back here!” and then a whistle.
I ran to rejoin him, but he had started out on the trail, and I looked below. At that point the stream was straight for long distance, and I saw, almost at the end of the stretch, a black shape hurrying faster as the sound of Kentuck's voice reached his ears. One of our new dogs had chewed himself loose from his harness in our absence, and was heading back for his village, a full day behind. It was our first loss, and it seemed like a calamity, coming at that inopportune time.
I was a more experienced dog man that Kentucky, so left him with the sled, and ran after the fugitive for more than two miles, calling wheedlingly, and endeavoring to win his attention; but whenever I approached he would look back over his shoulder, and quicken his trot to the long, swinging lope that would speedily carry him hundreds of yards into the lead, and at last, disgusted and angry, I gave it up, and made my way back to where Kentucky, deciding that I would be gone a long time, had begun making camp on the river bank. Already he had the tent across its rope between the trees, and pegged down over the smooth, white snow, and when I arrived was carrying the dunnage up to it.
“Too fast for you, eh?” he called down to me. “I was afraid of it. But we'll get along.”
There was optimism in his voice, and I was compelled to try to feel it. The darkness was coming swiftly, and by the time I had taken out the dogs, and as a precautionary measure chained the other new purchases, it was black. Everything about the day had been unsatisfactory, and those ahead of us must have gained many miles. All we could hope for now would be steady weather, so that their trails might not be obliterated.
“Don't be blue,” Kentuck said to me as his last words, yawning sleepily. “These new fellers maybe aren't followin' at other trail at all, but just happened to be goin' the same way,”
I hoped so, but doubted it.