CHAPTER X.
THE SHADOWS BEGIN TO FALL.
When Corbett woke, the first beams of the rising moon were throwing anuncertain light over the forest paths, and the children of night werestill abroad, the quiet-footed deer taking advantage of the moonlight tomake an early breakfast before the sun and man rose together to annoythem.
The camp-fire had just been made up afresh, and a frying-pan, full ofgreat rashers, was hissing merrily upon it, while a kettle full ofstrong hot coffee stood beside it, ready to wash the rashers down.
Men want warming when they rise at midnight from these forest slumbers,and Roberts, knowing that it would be long ere his friends broke theirfast again, had been up and busy for the last half-hour, building a realnor'-west fire, and preparing a generous breakfast.
Cruickshank too was up, if not to speed the parting, at any rate to seethem safely off the premises, a smile of unusual benevolence on his darkface.
Between them, he and Roberts put up the travellers' packs, taking eachman's blankets as he got out of them, and rolling in them such lightrations as would just last for a four days' trip. In twenty minutes fromthe time when they crawled out of their blankets, the three stood readyto start.
"Are you all set?" asked Cruickshank.
"All set," replied Chance.
"Then the sooner you 'get' the better. It will be as much as yourheathen can do to make the journey in time, I'll bet."
"Why, is the trail a very bad one?"
"Oh, it's all much like this, but it's most of it uphill, and there maybe some snow on the top. But you can't miss your way with all thesetracks in front."
"You will be in yourself a day or two after us, won't you?" askedCorbett.
"Yes. If you don't make very good time I daresay I shall, although thesnow may delay the ponies some. But don't you worry about them. I'lltake care of the ponies, you can trust me for that."
"Then, if you will be in so soon, I won't trouble to take anythingexcept one blanket and my rifle," remarked Ned.
"Oh, take your rocker. It looks more business-like; and, besides, allthe millionaires go in with 'nothing but a rocker-iron for their wholekit, and come out worth their weight in gold.'"
There was a mocking ring in Cruickshank's voice as he said this, atvariance with his oily smile, but Steve Chance took his words in goodfaith. Steve still believed in the likelihood of his becoming amillionaire at one stroke of the miner's pick.
"I guess you're right, colonel. I'll take my rocker-iron, whatever elseI leave behind. Lend a hand to fix it on to my pack, will you?" andthen, when Cruickshank had done this, Steve added with a laugh: "I shallconsider you entitled to (what shall we say?) one per cent on theprofits of the mine when in full swing, for your services, colonel."
"Don't promise too much, Chance. You don't know what sort of a gold-mineyou are giving away yet;" and the speaker bent over a refractory strapin Steve's pack to hide an ugly gleam of white teeth, which might havehad a meaning even for such an unsuspicious fool as Ned Corbett, who atthis moment picked up his Winchester and held out his hand toCruickshank.
"Good-bye, colonel," he said. "What with the claims and the packs, wehave trusted you now with every dollar we have in the world. Lucky forus that we are trusting to the honour of a soldier and a gentleman,isn't it? Good-bye to you."
It was the kindliest speech Ned had ever made to Cruickshank. Weeks ofcompanionship, and the man's readiness to atone for his mistake, had hadtheir effect upon Corbett's generous nature; but its warmth was lostupon the colonel.
Either he really did not see, or else he affected not to see theoutstretched hand; in any case he did not take it, and Ned went awaywithout exchanging that silent grip (which a writer of to-day has aptlycalled "an Englishman's oath") with the man to whom he had intrusted hislast dollar.
As for old Roberts, he followed his friends for a couple of hundredyards upon their way, and then wrung their hands until the bonescracked.
"Give this to Rampike when you see him, Ned. I guess he'll be atWilliams Creek, or Antler; Williams Creek most likely," said the oldpoet in parting, and handed a note with some little inclosure in it toNed.
"All right, I won't forget. Till we meet again, Rob;" and Corbett wavedhis cap to him.
"Till we meet again!" Roberts repeated after him, and stood lookingvacantly along the trail until Steve and Corbett passed out of sight.Then he, too, turned and tramped back to camp, cheering himself as hewent with a stave of his favourite ditty.
The last the lads heard of their comrade on that morning was thecrashing of a dry twig or two beneath old Roberts' feet, and the refrainof his song as it died away in the distance--
"Riding, riding, riding on my old pack-mule."
Ned Corbett could not imagine how he had ever thought that air a livelyone. It was stupidly mournful this morning, or else the woods and thedistance played strange tricks with the singer's voice. But if Ned wasaffected by an imaginary minor key in his old friend's singing, aglimpse at the camp he had left would not have done much to restore hischeerfulness.
The embers had died down, and looked almost as gray and sullen as theface of the man who sat and scowled at them from a log alongside. Theonly living thing in camp besides the colonel was one of those impudentgray birds, which the up-country folk call "whisky-jacks." Of course hehad come to see what he could steal. That is the nature of jays, and thewhisky-jack is the Canadian jay. At first the bird stood with his headon one side eyeing the colonel, uncertain whether it would be safe tocome any closer or not. But there was a fine piece of bacon-rind at thecolonel's feet, so the bird plucked up his courage and hopped a fewpaces nearer. He had measured his distance to an inch, and with one eyeon the colonel and one on the bacon, was just straining his neck to theutmost to drive his beak into the succulent morsel, when the man whom hethought was asleep discharged a furious kick at an unoffending log, andclenching his fist ground out between his teeth muttered:
"A soldier and a gentleman! a soldier and a gentleman! Yes, but it camea bit too late, Mr. Edward Corbett. Hang it, I wish you had stayedbehind instead of that fool, Roberts."
Of course the "whisky-jack" did not understand the other biped'slanguage, but he was a bird of the world, and instinct told him that hiscompanion in camp was dangerous; so, though the bacon-rind still laythere, he flitted off to a tree hard by, and spent the next half-hour inheaping abuse upon the colonel from a safe distance.
That "whisky-jack" grew to be a very wise bird, and in his old days usedto tell many strange stories about human bipeds and the Balm-of-Gileadcamp.
But there was half a mile of brush between Ned and their old camp, so hesaw nothing of all this; and after the fresh morning air had roused him,and the exercise had set his blood going through his veins at its normalpace, he went unconcernedly on his way, talking to Steve as long asthere was room enough for the two to walk side by side, and thengradually forging ahead, and setting that young Yankee a step which kepthim extended, and made poor little Phon follow at a trot.
Though Ned and Steve had grown used to isolation upon the trail withten laden beasts between the two, they made several attempts upon thisparticular morning to carry on a broken conversation, or lighten theroad with snatches of song.
Perhaps it was that they were making unconscious efforts to drive away afeeling of depression, which sometimes comes over men's natures with aslittle warning as a storm over an April sky.
But their efforts were in vain; nature was too strong for them. In thegreat silence amid these funereal pines their voices seemed to fall attheir own feet, and ere long the forest had mastered them, as it mastersthe Indians, and the birds, and the wild dumb beasts which wander aboutin its fastnesses. The only creature which retains its loquacity in apine-forest is the squirrel, and he is always too busy to cultivatesentiment of any kind.
Cruickshank had warned them that the trail led uphill, and itundoubtedly did so. At first the three swung along over trails brownwith the fallen pine needles of last
year, soft to the foot and level tothe tread, with great expanses of fruit bushes upon either side,--bushesthat in another month or two would be laden with a repast spread onlyfor the bear and the birds. Salmon-berry and rasp-berry, soap-berry andservice-berry, and two or three different kinds of bilberry were there,as well as half a dozen others which neither Ned nor Steve knew bysight. But the season of berries was not yet, so they wetted theirparched lips with their tongues and passed on with a sigh.
Then the road began to go uphill. They knew that by the way they kepttripping over the sticks and by the increased weight of their packs. Byand by Steve thought they would come to a level place at the top, andthere they would lie down for a while and rest. But that top never came,or at least the sun was going round to the south, and it had not comeyet. And then the air began to grow more chill, and the trees to change.There were no more bushes, or but very few of them; and the trees, whichwere black dismal-looking balsams, were draped with beard-moss, thewinter food of the cariboo, and there was snow in little patches attheir feet. When the sun had gone round to the west the snow had grownmore plentiful, and there were glades amongst the balsams, and at lastSteve was glad, for they had got up to the top of the divide.
But he was wrong again, for again the trail rose, and this time througha belt of timber which the wind had laid upturned across their path.Heavens! how heavy the packs grew then, and how their limbs ached withstepping over log after log, bruising their shins against one andstumbling head-first over another. At first Steve growled at everyspiked-bough which caught and held him, and groaned at every sharp stakewhich cut into the hollow of his foot. But anger in the woods soon givesplace to a sullen stoicism. It is useless to quarrel with theunresponsive pines. The mountains and the great trees look down uponman's insignificance, and his feeble curse dies upon his lips, frozen bythe terrible sphinx-like silence of a cold passionless nature.
As long as the sunlight lasted the three kept up their spirits fairlywell. The glades in their winter dress, with the sunlight gleaming uponthe dazzling snow and flashing from the white plumes of the pines, werecheery enough, and took Corbett's thoughts back to Christmas in the oldcountry; besides, there were great tracks across one glade--tracks likethe tracks of a cow, and Ned was interested in recognizing thefootprints of the beast which has given its name to Cariboo.
But when the sun went, everything changed. A great gloom fell like apall upon man and nature: the glitter which made a gem of every lakeletwas gone, and the swamps, which had looked like the homes of an idealFather Christmas, relapsed into dim shadowy places over whose softfloors murder might creep unheard, whilst the balsam pines stood rigidand black, like hearse plumes against the evening sky.
"Ned, we can't get out of this confounded mountain to-night, can we?"asked Chance.
"No, old man, I don't think we can," replied Ned, straining his eyesalong the trail, which still led upwards.
"Then I propose that we camp;" and Chance suited the action to the word,by heaving his pack off his shoulders and dropping on to it with a sighof relief.
Perhaps the three sat in silence for five minutes (it certainly was notmore), asking only for leave to let the aching muscles rest awhile;though even this seemed too much to ask, for long before their muscleshad ceased to throb, before Steve's panting breath had begun to comeagain in regular cadence, the chill of a winter night took hold uponthem, stiffened their clothes, and would shortly have frozen them totheir seats.
"This is deuced nice for May, isn't it, Steve?" remarked Ned with ashiver. "Lend me the axe, Phon; it is in your pack. If we don't make afire we shall freeze before morning. Steve, you might cut some brush,old chap, and you and Phon might beat down some of the snow into a floorto camp on. I'll go and get wood enough to last all night;" and Corbettwalked off to commence operations upon a burnt "pine stick," stillstanding full of pitch and hard as a nail. But Ned was used to his axe,and the cold acted on him as a spur to a willing horse, so that he hewedaway, making the chips fly and the axe ring until he had quite a stackof logs alongside the shelter which Steve had built up.
Then the sticks began to crackle and snap like Chinese fireworks, andthe makers of the huge fire were glad enough to stand at a respectfuldistance lest their clothes should be scorched upon their backs. That isthe worst of a pine fire. It never gives out a comfortable glow, buteither leaves you shivering or scorches you.
Having toasted themselves on both sides, the three travellers found aplace where they would be safe from the wood smoke, and still standingpulled out the rations set apart for the first day's supper, and ate thecold bacon and heavy damper slowly, knowing that there was no secondcourse coming.
When you are reduced to two slices of bread and one of bacon for a fullmeal, with only two such meals in the day, and twelve hours ofabstinence and hard labour between them, it is wonderful how even coarsestore bacon improves in flavour. I have even known men who wouldcriticise the cooking at a London club, to collect the stale crumbs fromtheir pockets and eat them with apparent relish in the woods, though thecrumbs were thick with fluff and tobacco dust! As they stood theremunching, Ned said:
"I suppose, Steve, we did wisely in coming on?"
"What else could we have done, Ned?"
"Yes, that's it. What else could we have done? And yet--"
"And yet?" repeated Steve questioningly. "What is your trouble, Ned?"
"Do you remember my saying, when I bought the claims, that withCruickshank under our eyes all the time we should have a good securityfor our money?"
"Yes, and now you have let him go. I see what you mean; but you can relyupon Roberts, can't you?"
"As I would upon myself," replied Corbett shortly. "But still I havebroken my resolution."
"Oh, well, that is no great matter; and besides, I don't believe thatthe colonel would do a crooked thing any more than we would."
"He-he! He-he-he!"
It was a strangely-harsh cackle was Phon's apology for a laugh, andcoming so rarely and so unexpectedly, it made the two speakers start.
But they could get nothing out of the man when they talked to him. Hewas utterly tired out, and in another few minutes lay fast asleep by thefire.
"I am afraid that quaint little friend of ours doesn't care much for thecolonel," remarked Ned.
"Oh, Phon! Phon thinks he is the devil. He told me so;" and Stevelaughed carelessly.
What did it matter what a Chinaman thought! A little yellow-skinned,pig-tailed fellow like Phon was not likely to have found out anythingwhich had escaped Steve's Yankee smartness.
Gold, Gold, in Cariboo! A Story of Adventure in British Columbia Page 10
