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To Win or to Die: A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 9. Under Pressure |
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_ CHAPTER NINE. UNDER PRESSURE The fit of delirium which once more attacked Abel Wray was merciful, inasmuch as it darkened his intellect through the long hours of that terrible night, and he awoke at last with the level rays of the sun showing him his position in a hollow of a tremendous waste of snow, while fifty yards away the sides of the rocky valley towered up many hundred feet above his head. But it was daylight, and instead of the ravine seeming a place of horror and darkness, the snow-covered mountains flashed gloriously in the bright sunshine, whose warm glow brought with it hope and determination, in spite of the terrible sense of imprisonment, and the inability to move from the icy bonds. The great suffering was not bodily, but mental, and not selfish, for the constantly recurring question was, how was it with Dallas? But the sunshine was laden with hope. Dallas was shut in again, but he had the tools and provisions with him, and he would be toiling hard to tunnel a way out, _if_-- Yes, there was that terrible "if." But Abel kept it back; for it was quite possible that he might still be getting a sufficient supply of air to keep him alive. How to lend him help? There was the face of the vast cliff some fifty yards away, and it was close up to it that they had been first buried, the fresh collapse, when the snow had fallen away and borne him with it, having taken him the above distance. It was probable, then, that Dallas would not be now very far below the glittering surface of the snow. How to get at him? Abel's first thought was to free one arm. If he could do that he might possibly be able to get at his knife, dragging it from the sheath at his waist. Then the work would be comparatively easy, for he could dig away the partly consolidated snow in which he was cased, and throw it from him. He set to, struggling hard, but without effect, for it seemed to him that he was only working with his will, his muscles refusing to help; and by degrees the full truth dawned upon him, that the absence of pain was due to the fact that his body was quite benumbed, and a horrible sensation of fear came over him, with the belief that all beneath the snow must be frozen, and that he could do absolutely nothing to save his life. Even as he thought this the benumbed sensation seemed to be rising slowly towards his brain. "In a short time all will be over," he groaned aloud, "and poor Dal will be left there, buried, thinking I have escaped and have left him to his fate. Is there no way to escape from this icy prison?" He wrenched his head round as far as he could, first on one side, and then on the other; but it was always the same--the narrow valley with its stupendous walls, no longer black and horrible with its unseen horrors in the darkness of the night, but a wondrous way to a city of towers and palaces gorgeous to behold. His eyes ached with the flashing beauties of the scene. It was not the golden Klondike of his dreams, but a land of silver, whose turrets and spires and minarets were jewelled with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds; whose shadows were of sapphire blue or darker amethyst; and whose rays flashed and mingled till he was fain to close his eyes and ask himself whether what he saw was part of some dazzling dream. He looked again, to see that it was no vision, but a scene of beauty growing more and more intense as the sun rose higher. The darkness had fled to display these wonders; there was not a chasm or gully that was not enlightened--everywhere save within the sufferer's darkened soul. There all was the blackness of despair. But black despair cannot stay for long in the breast of youth. Hope began to chase it away, and inanimate though the body was, the brain grew more active, offering suggestion after suggestion as to how he might escape. The sun was growing hotter minute by minute, and the reflections from the pure white ice almost painful. Already, too, its effects were becoming visible. Just where the warm rays played on the edge of a gap whose lower portions were of an exquisite turquoise blue, tiny crystal-like drops were forming, and as Abel Wray gazed at them with straining eyes he saw two run together into one, which kept gradually increasing in size till it grew too heavy for its adhesion to last, and it fell out of sight. Only a drop of water, but it was the end of May; the snows would be melting, and before long millions of such drops would have formed and run together to make trickling rivulets coursing along the snow; these would soon grow into rushing torrents, and the snow would fall away, and he would be free. "What madness!" he groaned. "It will thaw rapidly till the sun is off, and then freeze once more, and perhaps another avalanche will come. Yes, I shall be thawed out some day, and some one may come along in the future and find my bones." He shuddered, for it was getting black within once more, and a delirious feeling of horror began to master him, bringing with it thoughts of what might come. Bears would be torpid in their snow-covered lairs; but wolves! He felt as if he could shriek aloud, and he had to set his teeth hard as his eyes rolled round and up and down the gorge in search of some wandering pack that would scent him out at once, and in imagination he went through the brain-paralysing horror of seeing them approach, with their red, hungry, glaring eyes, their foam-slavered lips and glistening teeth. There they were, five, seven, nine of them, gliding over the snow a hundred yards away, their shadows cast by the sun upon the dazzling white surface, and he uttered a hoarse cry and his head sank sideways as he closed his eyes in the reaction. No wolves, only the few magnified shapes of a covey of snow grouse, the ryper of the Scandinavian land, which, after running for a while, rose and passed over him with whirring wings, seeking the lower part of the valley, where the snow was swept away. Abel drew a long, deep breath, and then set his teeth once more as he upbraided himself for his cowardice. For was he not on the highway--the main track to the golden land; and was it not a certainty that before long other adventurers would pass that way? What was that? The prisoner listened, with every nerve on the strain, and it was repeated. So great was the tension, that as soon as the sound came for the second time the listener uttered a wild shriek of joy. It was hardly a cry. He had struggled to free himself from his icy bonds to go to his cousin's help, and awakened to the fact that he was helpless, and he had dared to despair, when all the time Dallas was alive and toiling hard to come and free him. The sensation of joy and delight was almost maddening, and he listened again. There it was--a dull, low, indescribable sound which appealed to him all through, for he felt it more with his chest than with his ears. It was a kind of a jar which came through the snow, communicated from particle to particle, telegraphed to him by the worker below, and it told that Dallas was strong and well, and striving hard to get free. How long would it take him to dig his way through? Not long, for he could not be so deep down now. He waited, counting every stroke of the shovel, and a fresh joy thrilled the listener, for those light jars sent fresh hope in waves, telling him as they did that though he was so benumbed, his body must be full of sensation. It could not be deadened by the cold. "Bah! I must naturally be a coward at heart," the poor fellow said to himself. "Dal's worth a dozen of me. _I_ think of helping him? Pooh! it is always he who takes that _role_." But his mind went back again to the one thought--How long would it take Dallas to dig his way out in spite of his wound? Not so very long--the strokes of the shovel came so regularly. But what an escape for both! "Not free yet, though," muttered the prisoner. "That's right, work away, Dal. Your muscles were always stronger than mine. Get out and we'll reach the gold yet, and win the prize we came for.--I wonder whether he could hear me if I shouted!" He bowed his head as far as he could, nearly touching the snow with his lips. "Dal, ahoy! ahoy!" he shouted; and a few moments after came the answer, "Ahoy--ahoy-oy-oy!" from the icy rocks up the valley. "Only the echoes," muttered Abel, as the sounds died away. Then he started, for the hail came again, loud and clear, "Ahoy! Ahoy-- ahoy-oy-oy!" and then once more the echoes. But the hail was from down the narrow valley, and these echoes were from above. "Hurrah! Help coming!" cried Abel wildly. "Ahoy, there! Help!" He wrenched his head round to utter the cry, and was conscious of a heavy pang in his injured throat. But what of that at such a time, when the cry was answered by another? "Ahoy! ahoy!" No deceiving echo, for in addition came, "Where are yer?" and that was echoed too. Abel's lips parted to reply, but a chill of despair shot through every nerve once more, and he uttered a bitter groan. There they were--there could be no doubt of it. The three cowardly, treacherous ruffians had escaped, and he was calling them to his help. Not four hundred yards down the valley, plainly to be seen in the broad sunshine, all three of them, two dragging a heavily laden sledge, the other, the big-bearded ruffian, a short distance in front, in the act of putting his hands to his mouth to shout again: "Where away, O?" "Will they see me with just my head out like this? Yes, they are certain to, for they must come by here. Oh, Dal, Dal, old man, don't dig now. For heaven's sake, keep still: they're coming to finish their horrid work." _ |
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