A Claim on Klondyke Part 7

Having by this time driven in a tunnel quite twenty feet, and being at least forty from the surface, we were not troubled with frozen ground, and could work more easily, anyway. It was quite dark in there: we burnt candles, of which we had brought with us a quant.i.ty.

We left off work in reasonable time now, we smoked and read and talked and sketched of an evening, and planned what we should do about getting home, and what big things we would do when we had arrived there.

During all this time we had experienced wonderfully good weather. I have no recollection of any rain; we had strong winds and squalls often,--we rather liked them, for they lessened the insect pests, but by the end of August mosquitos had much diminished in numbers.

Although we had nightly frosts, some pretty severe, when the sun was high they came in clouds, and sometimes we thought they were more bloodthirsty than ever. And thus, as the time went by, we began to realise that the day was drawing near when we must depart.

We spent a little time now with our guns, killing several deer close to our den. We often saw bears; we left them alone, having plenty of venison.

We had not seen a human being, or the sign of one, since we had been up there. But one morning early, for there was real day and night now--the sun rose about four--I was awakened by low growls from Patch, who happened to be in with us that night. I motioned the dog to be silent, and, listening, I heard footsteps outside. Pit-a-pat they went; then I heard a bucket being moved.

I reached over and shook my companion gently; when he awoke I whispered, "There's some one about at last."

Meade roused up, listened, and, jumping from his blankets, stepped to our spy-hole. Then, turning to me, he held his finger up for silence, and with a smile motioned me to come and look. I did so; it was a huge bear, the largest I had ever seen, snuffing about, examining things, and it was not ten yards away!

I asked by signs if I should shoot it--for answer Meade handed me my rifle, and I let fly at the beast.

I was altogether too careless, too sure that I should put the ball just where I wanted to. At any rate, I only grazed its skull, and did not even stun it--only aroused its fury, for it turned with a roar of anger, and came at our frail door with a bound.

I jumped back as the door fell inwards, and the huge creature stood for a moment glaring at us. Patch flew at him, barking vociferously.

My other barrel was a smooth-bore, and only held shot; but Meade was ready with his rifle. He fired, hit the bear square between the eyes, and the beast fell p.r.o.ne upon the door. He lifted up his head a time or two, opened his savage mouth, and growled; but he was practically dead and harmless, whilst our good dog mounted on his carcase, howled with excitement, waved his grand tail, proud of victory, probably thinking that he himself had done it.

"By George!" exclaimed Meade, "a splendid fellow, eh? It must be a St Elias grizzly!"

Its fur was brown, long and thick. We took the skin off and stretched it around the b.u.t.t of a tree, fastening Patch near to keep strange beasts away. As for the meat, we found it excellent for a change. We hoisted a lot of it up into adjoining trees. It was very fat.

The scent of it attracted many animals about us, wolves and wolverines, foxes and lynxes. Patch kept them from doing harm.

The woods were seldom altogether silent at night; one often heard the howls and barks of many creatures. Foxes were very numerous. There were many silver grey and black ones. We shot them whenever we had the chance: we skinned and stretched them properly, as we had learnt to do in Ontario.

I don't believe that two fellows were ever better fitted to be companions, under such circ.u.mstances, than Meade and I were. He was a very cheerful man, always looking at the bright side of things, full of resources, an excellent bushman.

He told me much about his English home, spoke often of his mother, for whom he had the greatest love and veneration. His father had been dead for years. Money was not too abundant with his mother and his two sisters; he was often saying what a blessing the gold that he had got would be to them.

I could tell, too, that there was one person in England around whom all his warmest feelings were centred. He did not say very much to me about her, for, as he knew from me that I was perfectly heart-whole, I believe he thought that I could not sympathise with him, nor understand his feelings. Meade was very well read, and his conversation was always very pleasant. As for me, he was kind enough to say that he could not have had a better "mate."

It was in the beginning of September, our health was not good, and the season was hurrying towards winter, when we deemed it wise to begin to carry out some plan for getting away. We had not acted wisely, I must admit; that is, we should have arranged as well for getting out as for getting in. How were we to take our camping gear, our grub, and our gold down to our boat?

We should have brought up two canoes with us--one for Fan and Jim to get away in, another for ourselves.

Meade saw this now, and was always blaming himself for the error, saying that as he knew the lie of the land he should have known better.

These points he and I had discussed again and again, and had not really settled what to do, when this time arrived.

Certainly we could not "pack" our stuff. There was no decent trail, and even if there had been, we knew we were not robust enough to take a dozen journeys to our boat and back, heavily laden, as we should have to be. No! By some means we must float down to the Klond.y.k.e, to the main stream, where our boat was cached.

And about the boat, too, we had some anxiety. Supposing it had been found and carried off, where should we be?

Certainly we had acted most unwisely.

There was a bear track along the creek which it was possible to traverse, and as the existence of our boat was of first importance, we arranged to take a small pack each and go down to ascertain if all were well.

I shall not easily forget that tramp. We were three days reaching the mouth of our creek, but we found our boat safe. We rested there a day, and then marched home again; and such a march that was too! The path was quite narrow, and seldom along level ground--indeed it appeared that the bears preferred to climb boulders, creep along logs, or tramp through the softest sleughs. Bad as the trail was, however, it would have been impossible to get through those woods at all if we had left it.

We saw at least twenty bears on this journey, besides hearing many scooting through the bush. They did not approve of other travellers along their road. They showed no disposition to dispute with us though. They blew and snorted, but fled.

We thus realised how utterly impossible it would be to even carry what gold we had that way, to say nothing of other things we must have with us. Hours were spent discussing these important questions.

When we reached our place we searched the adjacent forest for a cedar or a pine tree big enough to make a dug-out canoe. We felt certain we were axemen enough for that; but, alas! there were no large trees there.

So then, at last, we had to come down to the plan I had favoured from the first. It was that we should build a raft. I knew that we could construct one which we could navigate. The stream was not too rapid, although crooked, much enc.u.mbered with boulders, logs, and snags. I had traversed it in the canoe three times; with good luck I believed I could take a raft down too.

We did not intend to take many of the stores we still had with us, for it was our determination to return in the spring of '98. All tinned things and many others would keep good in that climate if we protected them from bears and other beasts.

The first idea was to stow them in our den, making all secure with rocks and timber, but we found this would be too difficult and risky.

So we made a cache, as the Indians do to preserve their salmon--that is, high up between two suitable trees near. We built a huge box or safe of logs, large enough to hold all we proposed to leave behind.

The trees we chose were not large. Bears cannot climb small ones, unless there are plenty of branches to hold by. We took care to remove all such helps as we came down from our task, and so felt secure.

Next we turned seriously to building the raft.

Selecting trees for the purpose, we felled and rolled them to the water, notched and pinned them together, fitted others across and across again, carefully las.h.i.+ng all in such a way that we felt would be safe. To do this we were working up to our waists in water often, and it was icy cold.

I think it was on the third day we had been at this job when Meade took really ill. I know we reckoned that we only had two or three hours more work to complete it when he gave in.

There was only one heavy log to get into position. I said to him that if he could give me a hand with that, I could do the rest alone. Then we would pack up and be off, for I hoped and believed that the change of scene and work, and the actually having started on the long journey out and home, would soon set him to rights.

We were talking thus, and the poor fellow was doing all he could to aid me. He was lifting one end of the log which was to complete the structure; then, whilst I was finis.h.i.+ng, he was to go inside, turn in, and try if sleep would help him--when, putting out all his strength to lift, his foot slipped upon a barked stick under water, and he came down heavily, the log he had been lifting falling sharply across his legs!

I shall never forget the look on his face as he sank back slowly in the water, which rippled over him to his waist.

He turned deathly pale, then red; his eyes were dilated, his expression was terrible. "Bertie, Bertie," he groaned, "it is all up with me, my leg is broken!"

As for me, I was appalled; for a few moments I was dumb with fear. I thought my friend would drown!

I suppose I simply stared at him with open mouth; I don't really know what I did, or thought. There was my poor friend pinned to the bottom of the creek by a heavy piece of timber, his head and shoulders only out of water, his hands pressing against that awful log to keep it from rolling farther on to him.

Thank G.o.d, though dazed, I was not idle long. I leapt ash.o.r.e, seized a handspike, got it under the end of the stick, and prised it up quite clear of him. Then I called to him that he was free, and begged him to move away.

But he could not. He repeated that his leg was broken, and that he was jammed there; that if I could not help him he must there lie--there die! He spoke in such a despondent manner, he looked so dreadful; his teeth were chattering with the cold. It was awful.

I was all this time exerting my power to keep the log up, and off him.

I realised that I could not do that for long, and if I let go it would go down on him and hurt him worse perhaps. It was a horrible fix to be in. I suppose it lasted hardly twenty seconds, but it seemed to me an hour.

What could I do? How could I, in the first place, get that log entirely clear of him? That was the question. I looked round in despair; would no clever thought come to me? I think in those few seconds I lifted up my heart to G.o.d Almighty very earnestly.

Thanks be to Him, He did show me a way. The handspike, or lever, I had was a pole of considerable length. I found that by moving to the end farthest from the log I could with very little pressure keep it up.

There were branches and sticks about; with one hand I put enough of them upon the end of the lever to keep it down, when I let go entirely, and wading into the creek beside my friend, who had fainted--he was insensible at any rate--I put out all my strength and pushed the log clear.

As it fell it splashed the water over Meade and brought him to. He looked at me despairing. "Come, come, dear friend!" I cried, "the log is off you; make an effort, let us get you out of this!"