CHAPTER VI.
THE WET CAMP.
As his pack-train wound away along the trail from Douglas, Ned Corbettgave a great deep sigh as if there was something which he fain wouldblow away from him. And so there was.
As he left the last white man's house between Douglas and Lillooet, hehoped and believed that he left behind him towns and townsmen, pettydelays, swindlings, and suspicions of swindlings.
He was going to look for gold, and give a year at least of his younglife to be spent in digging for it, and yet this absurd young Englishmanwas actually thanking his stars that now, at last, he was rid of dollarsand dollar hunters, business and business men, for at least a month.
There was food enough on the beasts in front of him to last his partyfor a year. He was sound in wind and limb, his rifle was not a bad one,and he had seen lots of game tracks already, and that being so he reallycared very little whether he reached his claims in time or not. But ofcourse, as Cruickshank said, there was ample time to make the journeyin, time indeed and to spare, as every one he had met admitted, so thatno doubt Steve and he would reach Williams Creek in time, find theclaims as Cruickshank had represented them, and make no end of money.
That would just suit Steve; and after all a lot of money would be a goodthing in its way. It would make a certain old uncle at home take back agood many things he had once said about his nephew's "great useless bodyand ramshackle brains," and besides, he would like a few hundred poundshimself to send home, and a bit in hand to hire a boat to go to Alaskain. That had been Ned's day-dream ever since he had seen a certain cargoof bear-skins which had come down from that ice-bound _terra incognita_to Victoria.
So Ned sighed a great sigh of relief and contentment, took off his coatand slung it on his back, opened the collar of his flannel shirt and letthe soft air play about his ribs, turned his sleeves up over his elbows,tied a silk handkerchief turban-wise on his yellow head, and having cuthimself a good stout stick trudged merrily along, sucking in theglorious mountain air as greedily as if he had spent the last six monthsof his life waiting for briefs in some grimy fog-haunted chamber of theTemple.
He would have liked the ponies to have moved along a little faster,because as it was he found it difficult to keep behind them, five milesan hour suiting his legs better than two. But this was his only trouble,and as every now and then he got a breather, racing up some steepincline to head back a straggler to the path of duty, Ned managed to beperfectly happy in spite of this little drawback.
As for the others, Cruickshank, who had seemed restless and nervous aslong as he had been with the crowd of miners on the boat and at Douglas,had now relapsed into a mere automaton, which strode on silently aheadof the pack-train, emitting from time to time little blue jets oftobacco smoke. Steve seemed buried in calculations, based on a miner'sreport that the dirt at Williams Creek had paid as much as fifty centsto the shovelful, an historical fact which Phon and the young Yankeediscussed occasionally at some length; and old Roberts, having agreed toleave his suspicions behind him, shared his tobacco cheerily withCruickshank, and from time to time startled the listening deer withscraps of his favourite ditties.
It was the refrain of the old pack mule, "Riding, riding, riding on myold pack mule," which at last roused Steve Chance's indignation againstthe songster.
"Confound the old idiot!" growled the Yankee; "I wish he wouldn't remindme of the unattainable. I shouldn't mind riding, but I am getting prettysick of tramping. Isn't it nearly time to camp, Ned?"
"Nearly time to camp? Why, we haven't made eight miles yet," repliedCorbett.
"Oh, that be hanged for a yarn! We have been going five solid hours bymy watch, and five fours are twenty."
"That may be, but five twos are ten, and what with stoppages to fixpacks, admire the scenery, and give you time to munch a sandwich and tieup your moccasins, I don't believe we have been going two miles an hour.But are you tired, Steve?"
"You bet I am, Ned. If there really is no particular hurry let us campsoon."
"All right, we will if you like. Hullo, Cruickshank!" Cruickshankturned.
"Steve is tired and wants to camp--what do you say?"
Cruickshank hesitated a moment and then agreed to the proposition,beginning at once to loosen the packs upon the beasts nearest to him.
"Here, I say, steady there!" cried Corbett; "you take me too literally.Steve can go another mile if necessary. We'll stop at the next goodcamping-ground."
"I'm afraid you won't get anything better than this," replied thecolonel. "Why, what is the matter with this? You didn't expectside-walks and hotels on the trail, did you, Corbett?"
Even in his best moods there was a nasty sneering way about Cruickshank,which put his companions' backs up.
"No, but I did think we might find a flat spot to camp on."
"Did you? Then I'm sorry to disappoint you. You won't find anythingexcept a swamp meadow flatter than this for the next ten miles or so,and the swamps are a little too wet for comfort at this time of year."
"Do you mean to say, Cruickshank, that we can't find a flatter spot thanthis? Why, hang it, man, you couldn't put a tea-cup down here withoutspilling the contents," remonstrated Corbett.
"Well, if you think you can better this, let us go on; perhaps you knowbest. What is it to be, camp or 'get?'"
"Oh, if you are certain about it I suppose we may as well stay here;but, by Jove, we shall have to tie ourselves up to trees when we go tosleep to prevent our straying downhill." And Ned laughed at the visionhe had conjured up.
A minute later a bale,--bigger, heavier, and more round of belly thanits fellows,--escaped from Steve Chance's grip and fell heavily to theearth. Steve was not a strong man, certainly not a man useful forlifting weights, besides he was a careless fellow, and tired. For amoment Steve stood looking at the bale as it turned slowly over andover. Twice it turned round and Steve still looked at it. The nextmoment it gathered way, and before Steve could catch it was hoppingmerrily downhill, in bounds which grew in length every time it touchedthe hillside. Steve, assisted by Phon, had the pleasure of recoveringthat bale from the group of young pines amongst which it eventuallystuck, and brought it with many sobs and much perspiration to the pointfrom which it originally started. It took Steve and Phon longer to getover that two hundred feet of hillside than it had taken the bale.
That first camp of theirs has left an impression upon Ned's mind andSteve's which years will not efface. Ned was too tough to look upon itas more than a somewhat rough practical joke, likely to pall upon a manif repeated too often, but to Chance that camp was a camp of misery anda place of tears. There was water, but it was a long way downhill; therewas, as Cruickshank said, timber enough to keep a mill going for atwelvemonth, but whatever was worth having for firewood was eitheruphill or downhill--you had to climb for everything you happened towant; and to wind up with, you absolutely had to dig a sort of shelf outof the hillside upon which to pitch your tent.
It was here, too, that Steve had his first real experience of campingout. He helped to unpack the horses, but he took so long to retrieve thebale which had gone downhill that some one had to lend him a hand evenwith the one beast which he unpacked. He volunteered to cook, but whenon investigation it was discovered that he would have fried beanswithout boiling them, a community unduly careful of its digestionscornfully refused his assistance. In despair he seized an axe, and wentaway as "a hewer of wood and a drawer of water." By and by the voice ofhis own familiar friend came to him again and again in tones of cruelderision:
"Where is that tree coming down, Steve?"
"I don't know and don't care, but it's got to come somewhere," repliedthe operator angrily, as he hewed blindly at the tough green pine.
"But it won't do for firewood anyway, Steve, this year, and if you don'ttake care you will never need firewood again. Don't you know how to makea tree fall where you want it to?" and Ned took the tool from his hand,and completing what his companion had so badly begun, laid the tree outof harm
's way.
"Well, it seems that I can't do anything to please you," grumbled Steve,now thoroughly angry. "When there is anything that you and Cruickshankreckon you want my help in you can call me, Corbett. I'll go and smokewhilst you run this show to your own satisfaction."
"No you won't, old man, and you won't get riled either. Just be a goodchap and go and cut us some brush for bedding. See, this is the bestkind," and Ned held out to his friend a branch of hemlock. Although anhour later Ned noticed that there was every kind of brush _except_hemlock in the pile which Steve had collected, he wisely complimentedhim on his work, and said nothing about his mistake. A man does notbecome a woodsman in a week.
Meanwhile the tent had been pitched; Cruickshank was just climbing upthe hill again after driving the ponies to a swamp down below, and oldPhon was handling a frying-pan full of the largest and thickest rashersof bacon on record. Little crisp ringlets of fried bacon may serve verywell for the breakfast of pampered civilization, but if you did not cutyour rashers thick out in the woods you would never stop cutting.
Lucky would it have been for Steve and Ned if rough fare and a rockycamp had been the worst troubles in store for them, but unluckily, evenas they lit their post-prandial pipes, the storm-clouds began to blow upthe valley, ragged and brown, and whilst poor Steve was still tossing ona sleepless pillow, vexed by the effects of black tea on his nerves, andcrawling beasts upon his sensitive skin, the first great drops of thecoming storm splashed heavily on the sides of the tent.
Of course the tent was new. Everything the two young miners had was new,brand-new, and made upon the most recent and improved lines. None of theold, time-tried contrivances of practical men are ever good enough forbeginners. So the fourth or fifth drop of rain which hit that tent camethrough as if it had been a sieve, and when well-meaning Steve rubbedhis hand over the place "feeling for the leak," the water came in in astream.
When the next morning broke, the wanderers looked out upon that mostmiserable of all things, a wet camp in the woods. The misery of a wetcamp is the one convincing argument in favour of civilization.
It was still early in the year, and the season was a late one even forBritish Columbia, amongst whose mountains winter never yields without astruggle. On the dead embers of last night's camp-fire were slowlymelting snowflakes, and a chill wet wind crept into Ned's bosom, as helooked out upon the morning, and made him shudder.
But Ned was hard, so that careless of rain and puddles he splashed outpast the camp-fire, and after a good many failures kindled a littlecomparatively dry wood, over which to make the morning tea, and thendrew upon himself the scorn of that old campaigner Cruickshank bywashing.
What work they could find to do the men did, but even so the hours wentwearily by. Cruickshank was opposed to making a start, for fear lest therain should damage the packs, which now lay all snug beneath their_manteaux_. So they waited until Cruickshank was tired of smoking, andRoberts of hearing himself sing; until Corbett could sleep no more, andSteve was hoarse with grumbling. Only Phon, lost in thought which whitemen cannot fathom, and the pack animals full of sweet young grass,seemed content.
For three whole days the party stopped in the same camp, gazing hourafter hour upon a limited view of stiff burnt pines, with the meltingsnow drifting down through them, and the fog wrapping them and hidingaway all the distance. Even the fire of piled logs shone, _not_ withheat but with damp, and the monotonous splash of the drops as they fellfrom a leak in the tent into the frying-pan set to catch them, combinedwith Phon's harsh cough, to break the silence.
At last, when even Ned was beginning to think of rheumatism, and tolong for a glass of hot toddy and a Turkish bath, the sun came backagain, and cast long rich shadows from the red stems of the bull-pinesacross the trail, over which Steve nearly ran, in his anxiety to leavethe wet camp as far behind him as possible.
But even the wet camp was only the beginning of troubles. Three daysthey lost waiting for the sun, and in the next camp they waited threemore days for their horses.
At the first camp Cruickshank had been careful to hobble the horses,which would not have strayed had he left them free in a small naturallyinclosed pasture, like that swamp at the foot of the side hills. But atthe second camp, where the feed was bad and the ways open, he neglectedto hobble any of them, and, oddly enough, old packer though he was, heoverlooked the whole band in his first day's search, so that no one wentthat way to look for them again, until it occurred to Corbett to try topuzzle out their tracks in that direction for himself. There he foundthem, in the very meadow in which they had pastured the first night, allstanding in a row behind a bush no bigger than a cabbage, old Job attheir head, every nose down, every ear still, even Job's blue eye fixedin a kind of glassy stare, and the bell round Job's neck dumb, for itwas full of mud and leaves. It was deuced odd, Ned thought, as he drovethe beasts home. Cruickshank didn't seem to know as much of packing andthe care of horses as he appeared to know at first; but if he knew toolittle, that wall-eyed fiend, Job, knew too much.
Anyway, they had taken eight days to do two days' travel, up to thattime. It was well that they had ample time in which to make theirjourney to Cariboo.
Gold, Gold, in Cariboo! A Story of Adventure in British Columbia Page 6
