Gold, Gold, in Cariboo! A Story of Adventure in British Columbia

by Clive Phillipps-Wolley

  CHAPTER IX.

  UNDER THE BALM-OF-GILEAD TREE.

  From noon of the day upon which Ned Corbett and old Roberts strode outof Lillooet until the night upon which we meet them again was afortnight and more, a fortnight of which I might, if I chose, write ahistory, but it would only be the history of almost every mining partyand pack-train that ever went up the Frazer. The incidents of those daysare indelibly engraved upon the memories of Steve and of Corbett, but toRoberts they passed without remark and left no impression behind. Thelife was only the ordinary miner's life; and there was nothing new tothe old-timer in buoyant hopes wearing away day by day; nothing new inthe daily routine of camps broken by starlight and pitched again atdusk; in trails blocked by windfalls or destroyed by landslips; in packswhich would shift, tie them ever so tightly; in stones which cut themoccasins, and prickly pears which filled the sole with anguish; or incruel fire-hardened rampikes, which tore the skin to rags and theclothes to ribands. Three weeks upon the road had done its work upon theparty, had added much to their knowledge, and taken much away that wasuseless from their equipment.

  When they left Westminster they were five smart, well-fed, civilizedhuman beings; when they struggled up out of the valley of the Frazertowards Cariboo, at Soda Creek, they were five lean, weather-hardenedmen, their clothes all rags and patches, their skin all wounded andblistered, every "indispensable adjunct of a camp," as made by Mr.Silver, discarded long ago; but every article of camp furniture whichwas left, carried where it could be got at, ready when it was wanted,and thoroughly adapted to the rough and ready uses of those who took thetrouble to "pack it along."

  Even to Steve it seemed ages now since his nostrils were used to anyother odour than the pungent scent of the pines; ages since his earslistened to any other sound than the roar of the yellow river and themonotonous tinkle of the leader's bell; ages even since washing had beento him as a sacred rite, and a clean shirt as desirable as a cleanconscience.

  And yet Corbett and Chance had seen, on their way up, men who led harderlives than theirs; blue-shirted, bearded fellows, who carried their allupon their own shoulders; and others who had put their tools and theirgrub in the craziest of crafts, and, climbing one moment and wading thenext, strove to drag it up stream in the teeth of the Frazer.

  As Ned saw the frail canoes rear up on end against the angry waters, heunderstood why the old river carried so many down stream whose deadhands grasped no dollars, whose dead lips told no tales. But the rivertrail had come to an end at last, and the five were now steeringnorth-east for the bold mountains and their gold-bearing rivers andcreeks. They had now put many a mile between themselves and Soda Creek,and were lying smoking round their camp-fire, built under a hugebalm-of-gilead tree, which stood in the driest part of what we call aswamp, and Canadians a meadow. The pack-saddles were set in orderlyline, with their ropes and cinches neatly coiled alongside them; thepacks were snug under their _manteaux_, and the tent was pitched as menpitch a tent who are used to their work, not with its sides all bellyingin, strained in one place slack in another, but just loose enough toallow for a wetting if it should happen to rain in the night. Now andagain the bell of one of the pack animals sounded not unmusically fromsome dark corner of the swamp, or the long "ho-ho" of kalula, thenight-owl, broke the silence, which but for these sounds would have beencomplete.

  Suddenly a voice said:

  "Great Scott! do you know what the date is?"

  Since the pipes had been lighted no one had spoken, and as Cruickshankbroke the silence, it was almost under protest that Ned rolled round onhis blanket to face the speaker, and dropped a monosyllabic "Well?" Themen were too tired to talk, and night, which in these northern forestsis very still, had thrown its spell upon them. Steve and Phon merelyturned their heads inquiringly to the speaker, who sat upon a logturning over the leaves of a little diary, and waited.

  "To-morrow will be the 27th of May."

  "The 27th of May--what then?" asked Ned dreamily. He was hardly awaketo everyday thoughts yet.

  "What then! What then! Why, if you are not at Williams Creek by the 1stof June your claims can be jumped by anyone who comes along."

  "But can't we get there by the 1st of June?" asked Ned, sitting up andtaking his pipe out of his mouth.

  "Impossible. If you could drive the ponies at a trot you could only justdo it. It is five good days' journey with fresh animals, and we haveonly four to do it in, and grizzlies wouldn't make our ponies trot now."

  "Well, what are we to do?" broke in Chance. "You calculated the time,and said that we had enough and to spare."

  "I know I did, but I made a mistake."

  "Oh to blazes with your _mistakes_, Colonel Cruickshank," cried Chanceangrily; "they seem to me a bit too expensive to occur quite so often."

  "Don't lose your temper, my good sir. I couldn't help it, but I amwilling to atone for it. I calculated as if April had thirty-one days init, and it hasn't; and, besides, I've dropped a day on the roadsomehow."

  "Looking for horses," growled Roberts, "or shooting grouse, maybe."

  "What do you propose to do, Colonel Cruickshank?" asked Corbett, whoseface alone seemed still perfectly under his own control.

  "Well, Mr. Corbett, I've led you into the scrape, so I must get you outof it. If either you or Roberts will stay with me I'll bring the horseson for you to Williams Creek, whilst the rest can start away right nowand make the best of their time to the claims. You could do thedistance all right if it wasn't for the pack-ponies."

  "But how could _I_ stay?" asked Corbett.

  "Well, you needn't, of course, if Roberts doesn't mind staying;otherwise you could assign your interest in your claim to him, and hecould go on and hold it for you."

  "But it will be deuced hard work for two men to manage nine pack-poniesover such a trail as this."

  "It won't be any violets," replied Cruickshank, "you may bet on that;but it's my fault, so I'll 'foot the bill.'"

  "I don't know about its being your fault either," broke in Corbett, "Iwas just as big an ass as a man could be. I ought to have calculated thetime for myself. Can't we all stop and chance it?"

  "What, and lose a good many thousand dollars paid, and every chance ofmaking a good many thousand more, for which we have been tramping over amonth--that would be lunacy!" broke in Chance.

  "Well, if you don't mean to lose the claims, I know no other way ofgetting to Williams Creek in time," said Cruickshank; and, looking up atthe sky, he added, "you might have two or three hours' sleep, and thenbe off bright and early by moonlight. The moon rises late to-night."

  It was a weird scene there by that camp-fire; and there were thingswritten on the faces of those sitting round it, which a mere outsidercould have read at a glance.

  The moon might be coming up later on, but just at that moment there wasneither moon nor star, only a black darkness, broken by the occasionalsputtering flames of the wood fire. Out of the darkness the men's facesshowed from time to time as the red gleams flickered over them; thefaces of Corbett, Steve, and Roberts full of perplexity and doubt; theeyes of Phon fixed in a frightened fascinated stare upon the colonel;and Cruickshank's face white with suppressed excitement, the coarse,cruel mouth drawn and twitching, and the eyes glaring like the eyes of atiger crouching for its prey.

  "Well, what had we better do?" asked Corbett at last from somewhereamongst the shadows, and Cruickshank's eyes shifted swiftly to whereSteve and Roberts lay, as if anxious to forestall their answer.

  "I'll stay, Ned Corbett. It's safer for me than it would be for you,"said Roberts. "I can only lose a little time, not much worth to anyone,and you have a good deal to lose."

  After all it was only a small question. They had driven the pack animalsnow for a month, and, whoever stayed, would only at the worst have todrive them for another week. The work, of course, would be rather heavywith only two to divide it among; but on the other hand those who wentahead would have to make forced marches and live upon very shortrations.


  Ned was rather surprised then that Roberts answered as if it was amatter of grave import, and that his voice seemed to have lost the jollyring which was natural to it.

  "Don't stop if you don't like to, old chap. Phon can assign hisinterests to you and stay behind instead."

  "No, no, me halo stay. Halo! halo!" and the little Chinaman almostshrieked the last word, so emphatic was his refusal.

  "It's no good leaving Phon," replied Roberts, casting a pitying looktowards that frightened heathen; "he would see devils all the time, andbe of no use after it got dark. I tell you, I'll stay and take care ofthe ponies; and now you had better all turn in and get some sleep. Youwill have to travel pretty lively when you once start. I'll see to yourpacks."

  Probably Ned had been mistaken from the first, but if any feeling hadshaken his friend's voice for a moment, it had quite passed away now,and Roberts was again his own genial, helpful self.

  After all, he was the very best person to leave behind. ExceptCruickshank, he was the only really good packer amongst them. He was asstrong as a horse, and besides, he had no particular reason for wantingto be at Williams Creek by the 1st of June.

  "You really don't mind stopping, Rob?" asked Corbett.

  "Not a bit. Why should I? I'd do a good deal more than that for you, ifit was only for the sake of the dear old country, my lad."

  Again, just for a moment, there seemed to be a sad ring in his voice,and he stretched out his hand and gripped Ned's in the darkness.

  Ned was surprised.

  "The old man is a bit sentimental to-night," he thought. "It's not likehim, but, I suppose, these dismal woods have put him a little off hisbalance. They _are_ lonesome."

  With which sage reflection Ned turned his eyes away from the dark vistadown which he had been gazing, and rolling round in his blankets forgotboth the gloom and the gold.

  For two or three hours the sleepers lay there undisturbed by the callsof the owls, or the stealthy tread of a passing bear, which chose thetrail as affording the best road from point to point. At night, whenthere is no chance of running up against a man, no one appreciates awell-made road better than a bear. He will crash through the thickestbrush if necessary, but if you leave him to choose, he will avoid roughand stony places as carefully as a Christian.

  Towards midnight Cruickshank, who had been tossing restlessly in hisblankets, sat up and crouched broodingly over the dying embers,unconscious that a pair of bright, beady eyes were watching himsuspiciously all the time.

  But Phon made no sign. He was only a bundle of blankets upon the ground,a thing of no account.

  By and by, when Cruickshank had settled himself again to sleep, thisbundle of blankets sat up and put fresh logs on the camp-fire. Thewarmth from them soothed the slumberers, and after a while evenCruickshank lay still. Phon watched him for some time, until convincedthat his regular breathing was not feigned, but real slumber, and thenhe too crept away from the fire-side, not to his own place, but into theshadow where Roberts lay.

  After a while an owl, which had been murdering squirrels in their sleep,came gliding on still wings, and lit without a sound on the limb of atall pine near the camp. The light from the camp-fire dazzled its bigred-brown eyes, but after a little time it could see that two of thestrange bundles, which lay like mummies round the smouldering logs, weresitting up and talking together. But the owl could not catch what theysaid, except once, when it saw a bright, white gleam flash from thelittle bundle like moonlight showing through a storm-cloud, and then asthe bigger bundle snatched the white thing away, the listening owlheard a voice say:

  "No, my God, no! That may do very well for a Chinee; it won't do for aBritisher, Phon!"

  And another voice answered angrily:

  "Why not? You white men all fool. You savey what _he_ did. S'pose you nokill him, by'm bye he--"

  But the rest was lost to the owl, and a few minutes later, just as itraised its wings to go, it saw the smaller bundle wriggle across theground again to its old place by the embers.