A Claim on Klondyke Part 14

Patch had already disappeared. I hastened after him, but had to halt again: the declivity was very steep, the way was enc.u.mbered with fallen timber and scrub, it was difficult to descend; so what with the thin cold air and my hurry, I made slow progress, and had to rest frequently.

At one of these rests I saw against the light of the open door my dog crouched at the feet of the person there, who was stooping to caress him.

I hurried on again, and soon could understand what the woman cried; it was, "Help! oh, help! White man or Indian, come and help us!"

I shouted in reply--the distance was very short between us now--"I'm Englis.h.!.+ You may trust me! I'll come to you as speedily as possible!"

And, as I began to flounder on again, I heard her exclaim most eagerly, "Thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!"

It was not long after this before I reached her and the dog. As I approached she stood up and gazed at me.

She was so enveloped in rugs and clothing that it was impossible to make out from her figure what she was; only two piercing eyes were visible, intently fixed on me. We stood thus, looking at each other for several seconds, then she exclaimed, "Oh! I'm so grateful that you're an Englishman! I'm sure you'll help me if you can."

Her voice thrilled me; I knew instinctively that she was a young woman; moreover, her tone, her accent, a.s.sured me that she was no rough and common one. Was I in a dream? I could not realise what had come to pa.s.s; I merely said, "Most certainly, I'll help you; what is the matter?"

Then she begged me to come inside the dwelling: I followed her, Patch entering with us. Shutting the door closely, and drawing a curtain across it, she pointed to a rough stool, asked me to remove my snow-shoes and be seated.

I glanced around; I was in a fair-sized log shanty, one end of which appeared to be the fireplace, which, being piled up with blazing logs, filled the low room with light and most welcome warmth. There were two nooks curtained off with coloured blankets. Behind one of them my conductress disappeared, but only for a few moments, when she appeared again. I was greatly embarra.s.sed, for she had removed her wraps, and stood before me a tall and graceful girl, who impressed me instantly with the feeling that I was in the presence of a saint, for the glow from the fire, s.h.i.+ning on her fair hair, which was in disorder round her head, formed a halo, an aureole.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHEN SHE APPEARED AGAIN I WAS GREATLY EMBARRa.s.sED."]

Her face, indeed, was thin, drawn, and bore a most distressed expression, but for all that my first glance showed me that it was a beautiful, a supremely beautiful, girl in whose presence I stood.

When I had removed my capote and outer clothing, she glanced at me, and I noticed she gave a sigh of relief when she saw that I was a young man--rough, unkempt, and anything but clean, certainly--but not a ruffianly bushman, as she no doubt had feared I would prove to be; then sitting down by her fire, I asked, "Now, what can I do to help you?

What is wrong?"

She looked at me very sorrowfully, tears filled her eyes, she sobbed, she strove to reply to me; it took same time for her to attain the power of speech, whilst I regarded her with extreme interest and sympathy. At length she murmured, "I am not alone here--my father is lying in there," and she pointed to the other curtained place. "He is lying there very ill--dying, I'm afraid; it is for him that I want help."

I told her that I was greatly grieved for her, but that, unfortunately, I knew little or nothing about illness. I asked if there were no others camped about there--were they entirely alone?

She a.s.sured me that, so far as they knew, there was no human being within a hundred miles of them, and that the great trouble was, they had no food,--that they were actually starving!

"Do you mean," I asked, horrified, "that you really have nothing here to eat? How long have you been like this?"

She told me that for weeks they had had nothing but salmon and a little tea; no bread, no meat--nothing but what she had mentioned. "And for a sick man," she went on, "what are they? I have tried to cook this fish in various ways, to get him to eat, but it is useless; he has had nothing but tea for many days--he's dying of starvation!"

"And you," I said; "how have you managed? Have you had nothing but salmon?"

She replied reluctantly, "Oh, I've done well enough. I can eat the fish, and have done so all the time; but now, alas! that too is consumed! We are just peris.h.i.+ng for want of food--it is dreadful.

What am I to do? Can you help us?"

I was unbuckling my bag now. "Come," said I; "cheer up, then. If that is all that's wrong, I can soon make it right;" and when I put the piece of bread and meat upon the rough table, and unfolded the cake of chocolate, her eyes dilated with eagerness. She glared at the provisions as a half-starved dog would do, which completely upset my equanimity.

"My dear lady!" I exclaimed, "I have plenty. By G.o.d's good providence I put these things into my bag when I started. Why, I don't know, but there they are; pray eat, and let me a.s.sure you that I have ample provisions; eat, and then we'll talk further about what is to be done."

She took the chocolate and sc.r.a.ped some into a tin can, saying, "Ah!

it's not myself I care so much about, it's my poor father: with this and with this bread he'll recover, I trust--it will save his life, please G.o.d! And oh! I bless and thank Him for this, and you for coming to our aid."

Then she took it behind the other curtain, and I heard her endeavouring to awaken her father, who appeared to be in a kind of swoon, out of which she was unable to arouse him.

After a while she called me in, and there on a rough couch he lay, quite insensible. He was a handsome, grey-bearded man, having an air of refinement I could see, although he was now so terribly thin and emaciated, with face and hands so white and bloodless, that he was a pitiful sight.

His daughter had contrived to raise him on a heap of clothes used as pillows. I saw he breathed, but beyond that he looked to be already dead.

She looked up as I entered, perplexed and alarmed. "I cannot make him understand!" she cried, and with a gasp she fell p.r.o.ne upon his bed herself, and I suppose she fainted.

I was bewildered now; it looked as if they were both in a very serious state, and I neither knew which to attend to first, or what to do for either.

I first endeavoured to bring him to consciousness, then I begged his daughter to try to rouse herself; but for some minutes I called to both in vain, and I thought they were dead.

There I was, completely at a loss,--I could do nothing but stare at them. Was this another horror added to what had occurred to me already? I asked myself. Had I found companions in my solitude only to see them die before my eyes? What could I do?

At length the girl stirred, gave a heart-rending sigh or two, and turning, saw me. I believe she did not at once understand what I was doing there; but I spoke gently to her, saying, "I think you are as nearly famished as your father; let me persuade you to leave him a while; drink some of this stuff yourself, eat some bread and meat. I hope it is only want of sustenance that affects you. Do as I ask, and I will stay here and try to bring him to his senses, and to take some food."

She appeared willing, but unable to move. I offered her my hand; she took it, and I helped her into the outer room. When I saw that she was trying to take some food I left her.

I had much difficulty in dealing with her father, I tried in many ways; but at last I forced some chocolate into his mouth with a spoon. He swallowed it, and after a little he too revived; intelligence came to him. He opened his eyes, gazed wonderingly at me, and asked faintly, "Who are you? Where do you come from? Where is May?"

She was by his side instantly. "Father! father, dear!" she cried, "we are saved; this good man has found us. He has plenty of food, and he will help us."

At which he, looking alive at last to the state of affairs, muttered, "Food, did you say, May--food? Ah! there's plenty to pay for it; give the man gold, any amount of it, for food--that is worth more than gold to us, my love!"

"Hush--hus.h.!.+" she whispered to him, "this is a friend; I know he is a friend. Say nothing about gold!"

But he would not be suppressed. He was taking spoonful after spoonful of the chocolate now, and munching a piece of bread, and between the mouthfuls he said to her, "It is delicious, darling. I am better already; it is only food I needed, you see? Get more, dear girl--get plenty of it; pay this man what he asks for it, only get us food."

I spoke up then. "Don't trouble, sir," I said, "I have plenty not so very far from here, plenty of gold too; don't trouble about that, only eat all you can, and get up your strength for your daughter's sake--she needs food as much as you do. What I have fortunately brought with me will sustain you for a few hours whilst I go for more."

"But where do you live? how did you find us?" he asked, looking at me fiercely with dark, brilliant, hungry eyes. "To think what we have suffered, May, and there was food close to us."

Perceiving that it was useless to discuss this with him, and seeing that he was taking food and gradually coming to himself, I thought it as well to leave him.

The girl soon followed, and we drew stools near the fire, where Patch had been all along stretched out luxuriously.

He came up at once and laid his head upon her lap, showing very plainly that he approved of her.

As for me, I was in a position hard to describe. I who had been for many months away from all refined female society, and for some time past had been utterly alone, a dog my sole companion, now sat beside a lovely girl in dire distress, a girl who was without doubt a lady. I was sure of that, and was shy accordingly.

Her dress was serge, it was worn and soiled and shabby, a shawl was round her shoulders, a fox's pelt was round her neck, and she wore heavy, clumsy moca.s.sins, the beadwork and decorations torn and tarnished. Her hands were small and shapely, but they were cut and bruised, wretchedly discoloured and black with bad usage and neglect.

Her hair was in spite of all lovely, although it was touselled and dishevelled, looking as if a comb had not been used to it for many a day.

This girl was very fair, her hair was golden, her eyes were beautifully blue, she was tall, and though then borne down with toil and trouble, I could not help remarking that when in health and happiness she would be a rare specimen of a lovely English girl, than whom not one on earth is handsomer.

Now here she was, away back in the Yukon territory, surely the most inhospitable, the most unsuitable, for a refined woman, in the wide, wide world, many miles from all her fellow-creatures, practically alone and starving, with a dying father, and not much hope of rescue. It was an awful situation, hard enough to describe, impossible to realise.

And here was I, a young fellow with precious little experience of civilised life, for I had left England when little more than a lad. I was diffident, too, with ladies, yet here I was, thrown into her company, and, as it seemed, looked at by her as her saviour and her hope!

I saw all I have described, thought all I have said, in a moment, and I considered at the same time what I was and what this fair lady must think of me! I remembered my dress, my dreadfully dirty dress. My face was black with soot and grease; I knew my hands were.