by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XVI DOWN WITH THE AVALANCHE
The sun was setting over a wilderness of snow and winter-washed, bleak,bare land, as late next day the three travelers, rounding a toweringgranite crag, came at last into full view of all that lay beyond. It wasthe promised land, the valley of green gold.
For a full moment they stood there, motionless. The scene that lay beforethem, glistening snow turned to a rosy hue by the setting sun, crags,torrents, mists, rushing little streams, all that go to make mountains,valleys and rugged hills, all that is the spring break-up in a land ofice and snow was here. Many days before they had started for this divide.Weeks of toilsome travel, weeks of perils and adventure had come intotheir lives since Gordon Duncan had said, "There is the knife. The trailleads up this ridge."
Now they were at the divide, ready to descend into a wild valley. Andwhy? Perhaps Gordon Duncan knew all. Johnny and Faye knew little enough.Yet, with the tender feeling of youth for an old man who was perhaps onhis last long journey, his final joyous adventure, they had followed hislead. Now here they stood.
"There's a great river yonder," said Johnny, lifting his field glasses tohis eyes. "Wouldn't be surprised if it were the headwaters of the Yukon."
"But look!" he exclaimed. "There's something moving down there. Here,tell me what it is. It seems to be marooned on that little island inmidstream. Water's overflowing the ice. Water must be rising. May floodthe island."
The girl took the glasses and with steady gaze studied the spot hepointed out.
As for Gordon Duncan, he stood there erect, motionless, seeing all thatlay before him, mountains, rivers, hills and valleys. He appeared tosearch for that which he did not see.
"Should be to the right down there," he mumbled once. "Can it be that Ihave mistaken the pass? No. That could not be. Yet if it were there onewould see a curl of smoke. It is growing dusk. Time for the eveningmeal." He shaded his eyes to look again.
"There _is_ something moving there," the girl said to Johnny. "I can'tmake out what it is. Might be caribou; might be Indians. Can't tell. Inthe morning light we can tell."
"Indians." The thought gave Johnny a start. Even today in this wildout-of-the-way corner of the world, Indians were not to be trusted toofar. In a fit of anger, in a moment of greed, they might kill. And whowould be the wiser?
"We can't camp here," Johnny said as a cold wind, sweeping across theperpetual snow of the mountain side chilled him to the bone. "Have to goon down. May find a sheltering ledge." He slung his pack over hisshoulder, then motioned the older man to guide them on.
"The way is down," Gordon Duncan said huskily. "That's all I know. Youngman, your foot is surer than mine. Lead on."
So Johnny took up the task of trail blazer, and even as his eyes workedout a passage here and a detour there, his mind went back to that daywhen he first met Faye Duncan, the day on which they killed their firstcaribou. Woven with his thoughts of that which had happened then werewonders regarding the creatures moving about on the river island, andGordon Duncan's purpose in bringing them on this wild chase into theunknown.
An hour later in a sheltered nook they pitched their small tents andbuilt a crackling fire of scrub fir trees. Over the fire they cooked thelast of their goat's meat, and boiled coffee.
After that for a time they sat over their crude table of rocks to stareaway over the moonlit mountains. Johnny and the girl were wondering aboutmany things. The great river, the island with living creatures movingupon it, their strange mission in this stranger land, all these came infor their share of perplexing thought.
It was quite wonderful as they sat there thinking of all that had gonebefore, and that which lay about them. On the far side was a storm, onthe crest a wild tumult, but down here was quiet and peace.
There were no clouds. The moon came up. Everywhere were purple shadows,silent and deep. Not a breath of air stirred. Not a wild creature in allthat land but appeared to be at rest.
"It's like all of life," Gordon Duncan said solemnly. "At times we findourselves in the midst of terrible trouble, storms of life. We may havecompanions in these troubles, or they may be hidden away, our own secrettroubles. In any case, it is quite wonderful to feel that about us,standing shoulder to shoulder with us, are friends ready at an instant'snotice to reach out a helping hand.
"Much of the meaning of life is just here." His tone became morethoughtful. "Life, after all, is a storm and in a way the worst ofstorms, for many of us haven't the faintest notion whither we are bound.One thing alone we know, we must struggle on. The one thing that makesthe struggle far more than worth while is the splendid humancompanionship we enjoy while we are in the midst of the storm. As wetravel on, it seems there is always a hand outstretched to guide ushome."
"A hand outstretched," Faye said, thinking out loud. Before her mind'svision she saw again the glistening slope down which she had been aboutto glide when Johnny seized her and drew her back.
"Back from what?" she asked herself.
As if in answer, Johnny said, "Look!"
Her eyes followed the direction of his arm. Then her cheeks went white.
The moon, rising higher and higher, had brought out the upper ridges ofthe mountain they had crossed. At the point where she had lost herfooting and had been saved from a sudden plunge by the boy, the snow,blown over and beaten down by countless storms, had taken on the form ofan inverted saucer. The edge of this great saucer hung more than ahundred feet over the edge of a gigantic precipice. From the outer rim ofthis snow saucer to the rocky ridges below was thousands of feet. Thegirl's head whirled, her heart went sick at thought of that which she hadescaped by so little. One second more of downward glide over thatglistening saucer, and she would have been lost forever.
"An arm reaching out to one during the storms of life," she said in atone that was deep with emotion.
"Let's not think of it," said Johnny. "See how the moonlight plays on theriver far below. It has painted a path of gold, a path that leads beyonddoubt to home and the little cottage you love."
"If you'll excuse me," he said a moment later, "I think I'll take astroll along the ledge. Sort of want--want to think a little."
For a considerable distance the shelving rocky ledge led upward. Johnnyfollowed it, to find himself at last standing upon a natural platformtwenty feet square.
From this point the whole world seemed spread out before him in themoonlight. White stretches of snow, black piles of rock, gleaming ribbonsof water that were creeks and rivers, all these he saw as in a dream.
Throwing back his shoulders, he took in three breaths of fresh air. Awhirring of wings told that wild ducks were passing. Spring was here. Andwith spring a young man dreams of work, success, power. The life he hadlived during the past few weeks seemed, as he looked at it now, quitepurposeless.
He had been helping someone else solve mysteries and run down one or twofor himself. But one who spends his life running down mysteries getsnowhere. One must think of his future. True, no one was dependent uponhis earnings. Yet, sometime, someone was likely to be. He meant to have ahome of his own. Money earned and saved paved the way to such a future.
"And yet--" He saw the face of Gordon Duncan, and the eager, anxious lookof the girl who, without perhaps knowing it, had come to depend upon hiswisdom, skill and strength.
"Huh!" he grunted. "What's the good of having a purpose to your everyact? What's youth for if not for adventure?"
Turning his back upon the moon and the shimmering valley below, he wenttramping back toward camp.
As he rounded a rocky point he came in sight of the cheery glow of theircampfire. He saw a short cut back.
"Right over there," he said to himself, "straight across that broadstretch of winter packed snow. What could be sweeter? I'll use my bow asan Alpine staff. Not a bit of danger. Be there in no time."
Having been raised on the plains, Johnny knew little of the mountains.The great broad bank of snow he was to cross
, ten feet deep here, twentythere, was indeed hard packed by beating winter winds. But beneath it,forces of nature had long been at work. Little trickles of melted snow,working from pebble to pebble, had worn narrow beds beneath the bank.These tiny trickles had become rushing rivulets. The great snowbank,clinging there to the steep mountain side, was gradually beingundermined.
Totally unconscious of all this, Johnny marched blithely along down thewhite incline.
Here the grade was steeper and he was obliged to move with care. Therethe surface was like a great broad pavement. Here he paused to admire thereflection of the moon in a dark pool of water, and there stood staringaway at a wavering light far out and below.
"Might be on that river island. May be Indians," he thought.
Faint and from some distance down came a disturbing sound. It was likesome heavy body plunging down.
"What could that have been?" He quickened his pace.
Coming to a broad break in the snow, he gripped his bow securely andleaped the chasm.
Was it the shock of his landing that loosened the avalanche? Who can say?Enough that at this precise moment there came a solemn threateningrumble, and the boy felt himself moving downward.
With one last effort, he threw himself flat, gripped his bow, thencommitted his spirit to the great Father of all. The next instant thecutting of cold air across his face told him he was going down, down,down--to what?
This lasted for a space of seconds that seemed years. Then came a suddenshock; after that silence and darkness.
Faye Duncan and her grandfather, as was their custom before retiring forthe night, were partaking of a cup of tea when the sudden thunder of theavalanche reached their ears. A serious, questioning look passed from thegirl to her grandsire as they sprang to their feet. The glance wasreturned. Not a word was spoken.
As they stood there listening, intent, motionless, a swift cold breath ofair fanned their cheeks, a thin film of snow gathered on their garments.That was all.
It was all over in a moment. Once more the vast silence of the wildernessat night settled about them.
Gordon Duncan was by nature a silent man. Suspense only served to deepenthat silence. For a full hour he sat there beside his granddaughter whilethe firelight played across his immobile face.
"If he comes to-night," he said at last, rising slowly, "he'll be late.We'll heap the fire high. It will serve as a beacon. We--we can look inthe morning," he added slowly. "By night the mountain is treacherous.Nothing is to be gained."
Faye Duncan lay beneath her blankets a long time before sleep came. Inher mind many questions revolved themselves like the turn of a heathenprayer wheel. Where was Johnny Longbow? Why did he not return? What wasit that had brought them so far into the wilderness? An old man's dreamof treasure. Her grandfather had said it should be near here. Was it? Wastheir search to end so soon? Would Johnny return? If not, what then? Whatof those moving creatures on the river island?
"The river is rising," she told herself. "Soon that low island will beflooded. They must leave it. If they are human beings, I hope they have aboat."
Then a thought struck her all of a heap. Her grandfather would find inthe need of these people, if need there was, a mission. Would this delaytheir search, their return? She hoped not. Of late the wilderness hadseemed to be closing in upon her, shutting her from the world she hadknown. She longed for the return to their cozy cabin where the firstsnowdrops would be blooming and all the air fragrant with spring.
"But I must see this through," she told herself stoutly. "One can not--"
Her thoughts broke off. Gordon Duncan was talking in his sleep.
"We found it together." His words were distinct. "I was sure it was agreat discovery. I urged him to help me bring it out. I talked of money,of the name he would have. But he would not listen. He was a recluse. Hewould not come. I went for food. He's there still--out there in the hillsalone. For long years I could not recall the way. But now I know. It allcame to me there by the tree of the knife. I shall see him soon. He willstill be there. He is a recluse--a recluse--he--" His voice trailed offinto nothingness, and again the oppressive silence of the mountainsbrooded over all.
