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

by Clive Phillipps-Wolley

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  DROWNING IN THE FOREST.

  Perhaps no two men were ever in more desperate plight than were SteveChance and Ned Corbett as they lay upon the edge of Pete's Creek canyonin the Chilcotin country on that 2d of October, 1862.

  For a week at least they had been living upon very meagre rations, madeup principally of brook trout and berries; for a day and a half they hadbeen stumbling hurriedly through one of the densest mountain forests inBritish Columbia; and now, when Chance's strength was exhausted and thegrub half gone, Ned the guide and hunter was utterly bereft of sight.

  For ten long minutes the two sat silent, then Ned lifted his head in ahelpless dazed way, and Steve saw that both his eyes were completelyclosed by the hornets' stings.

  "Chance, old chap, this is bad luck, but it will all rub off when it'sdry. There are only two things now for you to choose between, either youmust go on alone and bring help for Phon and myself from the Frazer, orgo back and bring Phon out with you. You and he could catch a freshsupply of trout up at the pool, enough at any rate to keep body and soultogether."

  "And what is to become of you, Ned?"

  "Oh, I shall get all right. I must get on as best I can in the dark fora day or two, and then if you can spare me the rifle, I shall be able toforage for myself. If you _can_ spare the rifle I can do with half myshare of the grub."

  Steve Chance laughed. It was not the time which most men would havechosen for laughing, but still Steve Chance laughed a quiet dry laugh.The Yankee didn't like hard times, and didn't pretend to, but he had gotinto a corner, and had not the least idea of trying to back out of it.

  "Say, Ned, is that what you'd expect an 'old countryman' to do? I guessnot. And if it comes to that, men don't go back on a pal in the newcountry any more than they do in the old. If you stay here, I stay withyou. If we get out of this cursed country we get out together, and if westarve we starve together. Let's quit talking nonsense;" and Chance,whose spirit was about two sizes too big for his body, got up and busiedhimself about making a fire and a rough bed for his sick comrade, as ifhe himself had just come out for a pic-nic.

  Now you may rail at Fortune, and the jade will only laugh at you: youmay pray to her, and she will turn a deaf ear to your prayers: you maytry to bribe her, and she will swallow your bribes and give you nothingin return: but if you harden your heart and defy her, in nine cases outof ten she will turn and caress you.

  Thus it was in Steve's case.

  He was as it were fighting upon his knees, half dead but cheery still,and the woman-heart of Fortune turned towards him, and from the timewhen he set himself to help his blind comrade things began to mend. Inthe first place, when he tried the creek for trout, he found nodifficulty in catching quite a respectable string of fish in a littleover an hour, although for the last two days he and Ned had almost givenup fishing as useless outside Phon's pool. Then on the way back from hisfishing he met a stout old porcupine waddling off to winter quarters.Stout as he was, the porcupine managed to move along at quite a livelypace until he reached a pine, up which he went as nimbly as a monkey;but Steve was ready to do a good deal of climbing to earn a dinner, anddid it (and the porcupine, too, "in the eye").

  Thanks to these unhoped-for supplies of fish and fresh meat the twocompanions were able to camp and rest for a couple of days, during whichthe inflammation in Ned's eyes abated considerably, although he stillremained totally blind, in spite of the rough-and-ready poultices ofchewed rose-leaves constantly prepared for him by Steve.

  "Do you feel strong enough to walk, Ned, if I lead you?" asked Steveafter breakfast, on the third morning in the hornet's-nest camp.

  "Yes, I'm strong enough, but you can't lead a blind man through thiscountry."

  "Cain't I? I've been looking round a bit, and it's pretty clear ahead ofus. I've caught a good lot of trout now, and if you will carry the rifleand the axe, Ned, I'll try if I cain't find a way out for both of us."

  "And how about blazing the trail?"

  "Oh, I reckon we must let that slide. We can go by the creek when wewant to get in again. My blazing don't amount to much so far, anyway."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, it's no good raising Cain now, old man, because the thing isdone. I said 'any fool could blaze a trail,' and I was wrong; seems asif I'm a fool who cain't blaze one. Anyway, I blazed all those trees forthe first two days as _they came to me_, not as they passed me, and Ireckon my blazes won't show much from this side of the trees."

  A moment's reflection will make the whole significance of Steve'sadmission plain even to those who have never seen a blazed tree. Inmaking a new trail through a thickly-timbered country it is customary toblaze or chip with the axe a number of trees along the trail, so thatanyone following you has only to look ahead of him and he will see asuccession of chipped trees clearly defining the path.

  If the trail is to be a permanent one, the man blazing it chips bothsides of the marked tree, so that a man coming from either end of thetrail can see the blazes. If, however, you only want to enable a friendor pack-train to follow you, you save time and blaze the trees as youcome up to them, on the side facing you as you advance. This of courseaffords no guidance to you if you want to return along your own trail,and this was exactly what Steve had done. But bad as his mistake was, itwas too late to set it right, and realizing this Ned made light of it,hoping against hope that whenever his eyes should be opened again hewould be able to recognize the country through which they had passed,and so find his way back to Phon.

  But in his heart Ned never expected to see Phon or the Golden Creekagain. As he trudged along in the darkness, holding on to the end ofSteve's stick, he could hear the refrain of that old song following him;and though his eyes were shut he could see again both those camps in thewoods, the one in which he had found Roberts dead, and the one in which,as he now believed, he had left Phon his servant to die.

  As a rule Ned's mind was far too busy with the things around him toindulge in dreams and forebodings, but now that his eyes were shut hishead was full of gloomy fancies and prophesies of evil.

  "I can't hear the creek any longer, Steve," he said at length, as heand his guide paused for breath.

  "No, and I'm afraid, old fellow, that you won't hear it again. I've lostit somehow or other, trying to get round those dead-falls."

  "Are you sure that you can't hit it off again?"

  "Sure! You bet I'm sure. What do you suppose that we have been goinground and round for the last half hour for? I've tried all I know tostrike it again."

  "That's bad, but it can't be helped; steer by the sun now and the wind.The Frazer is down below us, to our left front."

  For an hour leader and led blundered on in silence. Following Ned'sadvice Steve took his bearings carefully, and then tried to steer hiscourse by the sun and the way the wind blew upon his cheek. But in anhour he was, to use an Americanism, "hopelessly turned round." Youcannot go straight if you want to in the woods unless you have a gang ofmen with you to cut a road through live timber and dead-fall alike; youmust diverge here to escape a canyon, there to avoid a labyrinth ofyoung pines, and even if you try to cut across a dead-fall you will beobliged to achieve your object by tacking from point to point, just asthe fallen trees happen to lie. When he took his bearings, Steve wasconfident that nothing could make him mistake his general direction: aquarter of an hour later, when he had sunk out of sight of the sun, in aperfect ocean of young pines, he began to doubt whether his course layto his right or to his left. The sun was hidden from him, no wind at alltouched his cheek, and in that hollow amongst the pines he could nottell even which way the land sloped. He felt like a drowning man overwhom the waves were closing, and in his helplessness he became more andmore confused, until at last he was hardly certain whether the sun rosein the east or in the west.

  To the man who sits quietly at home and reads this it may seemincredible that a level-headed man, and no mean woodsman as woodsmen go,should ever entirely lose his head and distrust h
is memory of the commonthings which he has known all his life. And yet in real life thishappens. Men will get so confused as to doubt whether the needle oftheir compass points to the north or _from_ the north, and so muddled asto their landmarks as to be driven to the conclusion that "something hasgone wrong" with the compass, making it no longer reliable.

  As for Steve he had lost confidence in everything, and was wandering atrandom amongst woods which seemed endless--woods which shut out all lifeand stifled all hope, which laid hold of him and his comrade with cruelhalf-human hands, stopping and tripping their tired feet and tearingflesh as well as clothes to ribands.

  "Are we getting near the bench country yet, Steve?" asked Ned at length."We don't seem to me to be going very straight."

  "How can you tell, Ned? Are you beginning to see a little?"

  "Devil a bit, but it feels as if we were scrambling along side-hillsinstead of going steadily downhill all the time, though I daresay it isonly my fancy. I'm not used to going about with my eyes shut."

  "And _I_ am," said Steve bitterly. "That is just what I've been doingall my life, and now we shall both have to pay for it. We may as wellsit down and die here, Ned. I cain't keep this farce up any longer. I'mclean turned round and have been all day;" and with a great weary sighSteve Chance sank down upon a log and buried his head in his hands. Hewas utterly broken down, physically and mentally, by the difficulties offorest travel.

  Even to the hunter these British Columbian forests are full ofdifficulties, but to a man like Steve they are more full of dangers thanthe angriest ocean. For an hour or two hours, or for half a day, apatient man may creep and crawl through brush and choking dead-fall,putting every obstacle aside with gentle temperate hand, and hoping forlight and an open country; but even the most patient temper yields atlast to the persistent buffets of every mean little bough, and the mostenduring strength breaks down when dusk comes and finds the foresttangle growing thicker at every step.

  To Steve Chance every twig which lashed him across the eyes, every logagainst which he struck his shins, had become a sentient personal enemy,whose silence and apathy only made his attacks the harder to bear, untilbefore the multitude of his enemies and the darkness of the tracklesswoods, the young Yankee's strength and courage failed him, and he satdown ready if need be to die, but too thoroughly exhausted to makeanother effort for life. Had there been a ray of hope to cheer him hewould have kept on, but a day's wandering in the dark labyrinths of amountain forest, where the winds have built up barriers of fallen pines,and where the young trees rise in dark green billows above the bodies oftheir unburied predecessors, is enough to kill hope in the most buoyantheart.

  "Don't throw up the sponge, Steve," said a voice at his elbow. "We'llreach the Frazer yet."

  The speaker was blind, and though he had never opened his mouth tocomplain all through that weary day, be sure that the led man had bornemany a shrewd buffet which his leader had escaped. If the forest wasdark to Steve, it was darker to blind Ned Corbett, but he at any ratewas unbeaten still.

  "I think that I shall be able to see a little to-morrow, Steve," he wenton; "and I believe that I can put your head straight now."

  "I don't see how even you can do that, Ned," replied Chancedespondently.

  "Don't you? Well, let's try. Are there any deer tracks near us?"

  "Yes, here's an old one leading right past the log we are sitting on."

  "That's good. Now follow that downhill, and if you lose sight of it lookfor another and follow that downhill too. The stags may go a long wayround, but it is long odds that they will go at last to water, and allwater in this country leads to the Frazer."

  Ned's reasoning seemed so sound to Steve that for a time it inspired himwith fresh energy, and although at nightfall he had not yet reached thepromised stream, he rose again next day with some faint hope to renewthe search.

  But the stags of Chilcotin were neither blind nor lame nor tired, sothat a journey which occupied more than a day at the pace at which tiredmen travel, was but an afternoon's ramble for them. For the men, theirfollowers, the end was very near. At mid-day upon the fourth day ofCorbett's blindness, he and Steve were slowly picking their way throughlogs and over boulders which seemed to everlastingly repeat themselves,when Ned felt a jerk at the stick by which Steve led him, and the drysal-lal bushes crushed and the stick hung limply in his hand. There wasno one holding on to the other end of it!

  "What, Steve, down again?" he cried. "Hold up, old man!" But there wasno answer.

  "Steve," he cried again, "are you hurt?" but not even a rustling bushreplied. Whatever was the matter, Steve Chance lay very still.

  "Great heavens, he can't be dead!" muttered the poor fellow; and thehorror of the thought made the cold perspiration break out upon hisbrow.

  "Steve! Steve!" he cried, and falling upon his knees he groped among thebushes until his hand rested upon his comrade's quiet face. There was noblood upon either brow or cheek (Ned's questioning hand could tell thatmuch), so no stone had struck him in his fall, and as he pressed hishand against Steve's chest a faint fluttering told Ned that life was notyet extinct. But if not extinct it was at a very low ebb, and when hehad raised his comrade's head and made a rough pillow for it of logs,Ned Corbett sat down in the silence and in the darkness to wait alonefor death.

  He could do no more for Steve. If he wanted water he could not get it,indeed if he dared to move a yard or two away it was ten to one but thathe would never find his way back again. There was food enough in hispack for one more slender meal, and probably the food in poor Chance'spack would never be wanted by him, but when that was gone, unless Godgave him back his sight, strong man though he was, Ned Corbett couldonly sit there day by day in the darkness and starve to death. Hewondered whether a death by starvation was painful, whether in suchstraits as his it would be unmanly to kiss the cold muzzle of his goodWinchester and then go straight to his Maker and ask Him what he haddone amiss that all these troubles should have come upon him.

  But Ned Corbett put the thoughts away from him. Suicide was after allonly a way of sneaking out of danger and away from pain--it was a formof "funking;" and though ill luck might dog him, and bully him, andeventually kill him, Ned ground his teeth and swore that it should notmake him "funk."

  But it did seem hard to think of Steve's sanguine hopes as they sat intheir tent by Victoria's summer sea, to think of the weary pack-trail toWilliams Creek, the worthless claims, old Roberts' stony face gazingpiteously to heaven, the gold in piles at Pete's Creek, and all the restof it; and then to think that their share in the play must end here,drowned in a forest of pines, lost in the dark and forgotten, whilstthat thief would return to the light and live out his days amongst hisfellow-men in wealth and honour.

  Just at this point the bushes at Ned's feet stirred, and a faint voicemurmured:

  "Ned--are you there, Ned?"

  In a moment Cruickshank was forgotten, and the whole pageant of theunsuccessful past vanished. Steve lived, that was enough for Ned.

  "Yes, old man, of course I am. What is it?"

  "Where am I, Ned, and what has happened?"

  "You've tumbled down and stunned yourself, I think, Steve; but lie stilla little and you'll come round all right."

  "I don't think that's it, old man. I'm not in any pain, but I think(don't get riled at me)--I think I am going to send in my chips!"

  "Nonsense, Steve. Don't make a blessed school-girl of yourself." Corbettspoke roughly to rouse his comrade to fresh effort, but his own voicewas very husky in spite of himself.

  "It's no good, Ned, you cain't get another kick out of me; and itdoesn't much matter, anyway. Do you remember that Indian superstitionabout the owls hooting when a chief is going to die?"

  "One of poor Rob's yarns, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, one of Rob's. There! do you hear the owls now? There must be adozen of them at least."

  "What rubbish, Steve; and anyway you aren't a chief, and the owls onlyhoot for a chief's death."

&n
bsp; Chance did not answer, but instead, from somewhere high up in themountain forest, came a deep hollow "Whoo, whoo!" answered almostimmediately from the pines just below where the white men lay.

  Again and again the cries reverberated through the forest, and Chanceshuddered as he heard the hollow prophecy of death, whilst Corbett, whohad started to his feet, stood straining every muscle and every sense tocatch each note of that weird hooting.

  Suddenly a smile spread over his swollen features as he said: "Do youhear that, Steve?" and at the same moment a sharp "thud, thud" seemed tocome through the forest and stop suddenly at the very edge of theclearing in which Ned stood, and Steve turning feebly on his elbow saw abeautiful black and gray face, out of which stared two great eyes, andabove it were ears, long twitching ears, which seemed to drink in everyforest whisper. For a moment Steve saw this, and noted how the shadow ofthe fluttering leaves played over the deer's hide, and then there came asudden flash of white, and in a few great bounds the apparitionvanished, clearing six-foot logs as if they had been sheep hurdles.

  "A mule deer, wasn't it?" asked Ned, who in spite of his blindnessseemed to have understood all that was happening.

  "Yes, a mule deer, and a rare big one too. Of course I was too slow andtoo weak to get the rifle;" and with a groan Steve sank back upon hisside and shut his eyes again.

  "No matter, Steve, the owls will get him, and we shall have our share.Did you hear that?"

  As Ned spoke a rifle-shot woke the mountain echoes, followed by anotherand another, each shot lower down the mountain than the one precedingit.

  "Great Scott, how infamously they shoot!" muttered Ned. "The firstfellow wounded him and he isn't down yet. Ah, there--at last!" he added,as a fourth shot was followed by an owl's cry, differing somewhat fromthose which had preceded the advent of the deer.

  "What do you mean, Ned?" asked Chance, who had been sitting up watchingand listening open-mouthed to his comrade's soliloquy.

  "Mean? Why, Indians, of course. 'Whoo, whoo' means 'where are you?' and'he, he' means 'I've killed, come and help me pack him home;'" and Nedput his hands to his mouth, and drawing a deep breath sent the deepsepulchral call-note of the owl echoing through the forest.

  "It's life or death, Steve," he remarked; "if the Indians aren'tfriendly it's death, but it will be a better death anyway than starvinghere in the dark."