A Claim on Klondyke Part 24

Indeed it was no wonder the good soul was perplexed, for we were dressed pretty much alike, if dressing could be called the furs and blankets in which we were enveloped.

May's skirt of serge, reaching to her knees, was so torn and ragged, very much as my frieze wrapper was, which I think reached nearer to my ankles than hers did to hers. I wore a cap with ears, and round my neck some fox-skins were m.u.f.fled. She had a hood, a capote, a part of her outer garment: it was then drawn so closely round her face that nothing but her sweet eyes were visible. We had taken off our snow goggles as we entered.

As our hostess spoke, we drew off our fur gauntlets; this gave her the clue. I suppose she knew at once by the hands which was the woman of us, for she immediately took May by the shoulder, crying, "Ay! come you in here, I'll tend ye; and Tam," to her husband, "you see till him.

I'll no be lang awa'."

Then I threw off my wrappings and overalls, drew up to the fire, and gazed around me. I noted that I was in a good-sized shanty, rough, certainly, but it was light, for it had a large window by the side of the door, and there were pots and pans and crockery about, clean and brilliant, and to my unaccustomed eyes all looked luxuriant.

Our host was busily making up the fire, adjusting the tea-kettle, fetching in buckets of snow which he emptied into a huge iron pot hanging in the chimney, muttering as he did so, "She'll be wantin'

water to wash her, my certie--for neither o' them looks to hae seen soap for a wee while."

I heard him and smiled. "You're right," said I; "it is some months since we saw soap, and weeks since we could wash even our hands properly--this is an awfully dirty country."

"Eh! but it is, man," he forcibly replied; "but I wonder at ye, takin 'a wife wi' ye prospectin'. Ye're tenderfeet, I daur wager--so are we for that maitter--but I wouldna tak' my wife into such wark, nay, nay.

It's bad eneuch for her to stop here in this wee hoose, but to tak' a woman rampagin' through these woods and mountains is no' richt."

He spoke so vehemently, almost angrily, that I could not stop him, but when he halted for breath, "Hold on! Hold on!" I cried; "that is not my wife, nor have I taken her out prospecting. Hers is a sad strange story, so is mine. I found her away back. I'll tell you all about it by-and-by. I can only tell you this now, that Miss Bell--that's her name--Mary Bell--I must take to Dawson and to England as soon as possible. Can you help us?--will you?"

As I spoke my host gazed at me, amazed. "To Dawson! and hame to England! Noo?--the noo?" he cried. "Is the man daft? Gude sakes!

d'ye no' ken that it's just impossible to win awa' frae here the noo?

It's too late, or too airly, at this time."

"If money can induce you to aid us--we have some with us, and we'll pay you almost anything you like to get us to Dawson at least," said I; but before I was half through the sentence I knew I had made a mistake.

"It's gold, I suppose you mean," the man exclaimed,--rather angrily, I thought. "Gold! well, we've got a wee bit oorsels here, and a tidy claim up this burn. We'll hae a decent pickle washed out before long; sae, ye ken, we're no' in need o' yer gold. If ye'd said grub, now, that would been o' far mair value, but gold or grub it's a' one, ye'll no get awa' frae here, my man, till the water opens in June."

"Grub!" I cried; "we've got a bit in our sled outside there, and up stream there's quite a heap of it yet: if that's all that's needed, you'll find that right."

"Man, I'm glad to hear it, for grub's mair valuable than gold in these parts the noo; but I say again, grub or gold, you'll no' get off to Dawson for a wee!"

"But why can't we get on?" I demanded. "We've got here; why can't we get farther? My companion is just as good as a man; what I can stand, she can, I believe."

"Man, man, I wonner at ye!" he exclaimed, with lifted hands and eyes.

"D'ye no ken that the river is breaking up fast at this present moment?--half a mile below here it's a' under water; in a wee while it'll be just a grindin' ma.s.s o' ice and slush, no breathin' thing can live in it, the strongest boat that's built 'd be groon to powther in a meenute--and there's nae trail beside the stream. In the deep o'

winter it's a' richt--ye can pull yer sleds along the ice well eneuch; and in summer, when the water's open, ye can get along fine; but just the noo! nay, it's no' possible."

"This is bad hearing," I said; "I don't know what Miss Bell will think.

We did so reckon of being able to reach Dawson, to be in time for the first boat going down the Yukon: when will that be? D'ye know, sir?"

"Dawson! Dawson! what for d'ye want to take your lady freend to Dawson? D'ye no understan' that it's no' place for decent folk at a'--let alane a woman. But be easy, man, ye're weel aff here, and ye'll get awa' doon to Dawson lang before the first boat gangs doon, for ye ken the ice breaks up in these small streams lang before it does in the big river. I doot if there'll be a boat leave Dawson till the end o' June, and some say the middle o' the month o' July! Be easy then, and bide a wee; ye're well aff here, and if ye'll let us hae the grub ye spoke o' the noo, ye'll be far better aff, ay, very far better than in Dawson waitin'. But let's see what the mistress and the young leddy says."

Just then the mistress came in to us for hot water. As she lifted a tin of it from the pot she said to me, "Maister Singleton, yer freend in bye has tell't me o' some o' yer doings and what ye want to do.

Just bide a wee while; we'll tak' time to settle a'. Ye're a' richt here; and as for me, I'm pleased eneuch and thankful tae to hae sae braw a la.s.sie's company, I warrant ye."

"Ay, ay," said Tam, her husband; "that's what I'm sayin'. Bide a wee."

Patch was at the door, howling for admission. Said my host, "Well hae him in, the mistress 'll no' mind," for I had told him a little about the dog, and the good fellow bounded to me and was happy.

When May returned how changed she was! Soap and water, comb and brush, a few simple feminine touches, a fresh handkerchief round her neck, and behold a figure that fairly dazzled me.

As for me, I gazed at my hands and dress with shame and horror. Mr Bain, as I found his name was, saw my discomfiture. "Come awa' ben, then!" he laughingly exclaimed; "we'll tak' some hot watter inby, and see what we can mak' o' you, my freend!"

Part of the shanty was divided off by a screen of blankets, behind it was their sleeping-place, and here I obtained what I needed very sadly--a wash. The sorting of my locks, though, as Bain called it, was a business: they hung down to my shoulders, and a comb had not been through them for many days. Bain lent me a change of clothes, and I returned to the living-room shortly, to be struck still more at my love's sweet looks, my darling's loving presence. Quite a spread of good things was on the table. We had of late lived well, thanks to my stores, but we were hungry now, and our hostess heaped our plates--earthenware plates, how nice they felt--with all the good things she had. There did not seem to be much lack either.

We were joined now by two other men, decent fellows. One was a Scotchman, Bain's brother; the other a Canadian from Peterborough, Ontario.

After this, as we sat around the fire smoking, I told our story. I did not say much about the gold; I admitted that we had got some, but made light of the quant.i.ty. May here and there put in a word or two of explanation when I came to her entry on the scene, and was not silent, though I tried to make her so, in praise of me.

It was late, quite late, when I had finished. May was to have a bed by the fire; I was to accompany the two young fellows to their shanty and turn in with them. "And, d'ye mind," said Mr Bain, as we parted, "ye'll no be turnin' oot sae verra early the morn's morning. Yon la.s.sie 'll tak a lang rest, ye ken, sae sleep sae lang's ye're able, Mr Singleton, and sae gude nicht."

Patch accompanied me to my quarters, and thereafter made them his.

CHAPTER XII.

"Hae ye ony gold on yer sledge ootby, Mr Singleton?" asked Bain, next morning; "because, if ye hae," he continued, "I'm thinkin' ye'd better bring it ben the hoose. My brither, here, and the other fellow's a'

richt; but ye ken there's a wheen queer characters here aboot, and there's nae tellin'."

"What! are there more people near?" I asked, surprised, for I had not noticed other habitations; but I went on, replying to his question about the gold, and told him that we had some, about fifty pounds'

weight of it, but that May had it with her in her pack.

"Ech!" he exclaimed; "I thocht it was a heavy kin' o' bundle when I carried it in till her yestreen. But, man, fifty pounds' wecht! why, that's worth more than twa thoosan' punds. Ye have been on to't rich; we've no got to that here yet. (I wondered what he would say if he knew all.) Ye're askin' are there mony people hereaboot; indeed, then, there's a good number on the creek--there's twenty camps and more--maybe fifty men o' a' kinds workin' on their claims; mostly decent folk eneuch--mony like oorsels, frae the auld country; but there's a wheen suspicious bodies. But come awa' in; the la.s.sie's a'

richt, and we'll hae oor parritch."

May was lovely; she and Mrs Bain were evidently the best of friends already, but she was so greatly changed in appearance that I hardly dared to address her familiarly. I don't know that I thought her any prettier; my admiration of her beauty had been so intense whilst she was alone with me in rags and squalor, that it could not be very much increased; but I certainly now regarded her with some awe, and it was with difficulty I called her May.

I, too, no doubt, was presenting an improved appearance. Soap is indeed a great civiliser, and Sandy Bain had shorn off some of my rough thatch that morning, and May looked at me, smiled, and called out, "Why, what have you been doing, Bertie? you are looking different!"

"Not so much changed as you are, May," I replied with a laugh. "You look just splendid."

She blushed as she said, "Well, come, come to breakfast."

We sat long over our food, talking and planning.

We made out that Bain, his wife, and the other two came up to Dawson by way of St Michael's. They had lived a while previously in Ontario, farming. They reached Dawson early in the season; their idea being for Mr and Mrs Bain to start storekeeping there, whilst the other two were to work at mining, for they had heard that gold was being found in Alaska, and although the rush had not set in, they had somehow learned that large finds were very probable, and they had planned to be amongst the first to profit by the expected excitement. But a few weeks in that queer town satisfied them that they were not suited for that business or life, and when Bain's brother, Sandy, and the Canadian, Frank Fuller, who had been up the river looking into the mining, returned in August, reporting that they had found and secured a claim which they believed would pay, and described the life up there as much quieter and easier than in Dawson, they all determined to go and live together on this claim, and so came up in boats, bringing a good outfit with them, and some furniture.

They built a couple of shanties apart from the other miners, rigged themselves up in some degree of comfort, and here they were, doing pretty well, they believed, but anxious for the waters to open, so that they could wash their heap of pay-dirt and know exactly what it was worth.

These were very good people, May and I were sure,--quite trustworthy, and of the friendliest description; their welcome had been so extremely warm, and we were indeed thankful that our first encounter with our fellows had been so fortunate.

Mrs Bain was evidently delighted to have a companion of her own s.e.x: she told us that, hard as the life was, her greatest trouble had been that she had no woman near her, and she said things which showed us that she was quite sure we had come to stay.

Perceiving this to be the case, I knew I had better explain. "But we must be moving on, my friend and I," I began. "We are indeed grateful for your kind welcome, but we must get on to Dawson, then to England--we must, indeed. I know all that you have said, Bain--I believe that you are correct; still we cannot stay on here. We must get on to Dawson; surely there's a hotel, or boarding-house, or something of the kind there, where we can stay till the river opens."

They held up their hands in amazement. "Why, what kin' o' daft folk are ye? Hoot, toot!" cried Bain; "gae doon to Dawson! gae hame to England! it's just no' possible, as I've already tell't ye, Mr Singleton. It's no' possible for a man to do it; and for a bairn like you," turning to May, who certainly just then did not look much like battling through that wilderness, "it'd be clear shuicide--that's what it would be. Nay, nay; ye'll just bide here wi' us till the waters open."