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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 13. Making The Best Of It |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. MAKING THE BEST OF IT "You're quite right, my son," said the Cornishman coolly, after lighting his pipe and carefully examining the ground. "I'm not much of a hand at this kind of thing, but it looks plain enough. Here's all our footmarks quite fresh, and here's a lot more that look as if they were made last night." "Last night?" cried Dallas. "Ay, that they do." "But those may be ours." "Nay; not one of us has got a hoof like that," cried the Cornishman, pointing with the stem of his pipe. "I've got a tidy one of my own, but I aren't pigeon-toed. Look at that one, too, and that. Yonder's our marks, and, hullo! what's that lying in the water?" The others gazed in the indicated direction, and Dallas leaped into the shallow water, to stoop down and pick out a knife. "Some one must have dropped this," he cried. "Unless one of us has lost his," said the big fellow. "Any one own it?" There was a chorus of negatives. "Well, I'm sorry," cried the Cornishman. "Poor chap! How savage he'll be to find he has lost his toothpick. Look here," he continued grimly, "if you all don't mind, I'll take care o' this bit of steel. We may meet the chap as lost it, and I should like to give it him back." "Oh," cried Dallas passionately, "how can you laugh and make a joke of such a misfortune as this?" "What's the good o' crying about it, my son?" said the man, smiling. "There's worse disasters at sea. Who says light a fire and have a good breakfast?" "Breakfast!" cried Abel; "nonsense! We must go in pursuit at once." "And leave our traps for some one else to grab? Why, dear boy, we couldn't get through the forest empty-handed." "No," said Abel, gazing along the bank of the lake disconsolately. "He's right, Bel," said Dallas, after shading his eyes and looking down the lake. "They've got right away." "Hang 'em, yes," said the Cornishman, smiling merrily. "I say, I wish we hadn't taken quite so much pains with that there raft. If we'd known we'd ha' saved all those six-inch spikes we put in it." "The scoundrels, whoever they are!" cried Dallas. "It's beyond bearing." "Nay, not quite, my son," said their new friend good-humouredly, "because we've got to bear it. Cheer up. Might have been worse. You see, it was a fresh lot come along while we were asleep and out of sight. 'Hullo!' says one of 'em, 'now I do call this kind; some un's made us a raft all ready for taking to the water. Come along, mates,' and they all comed." "I wish I'd heard them," cried Dallas. "Well, if you come to that, so do I, my sons. But there, we've got our tackle, and they haven't taken all the wood, so we must make another." "Yes, and waste two more days," cried Abel angrily. "Well, we're none of us old yet," said the Cornishman good-humouredly; "and I don't suppose those who have gone before will have got all the gold." "But it is so annoying to think that we lay snoring yonder and let whoever they were steal the raft," said one of the men. "So it is, my son," cried his companion; "and I can see that you two are chock full o' swear words. Tell you what: you two go in yonder among the trees and let 'em off, while we three light the fire and cook the rashers. It'll ease your minds, and you'll feel better. I say, what's about the value of that there raft?" "I wouldn't have taken twenty pounds for my share of it," cried Abel. "Humph! Twenty," said the Cornishman musingly. "Well, seeing it's here, we'll say twenty pound. There's five of us, and that makes a hundred. All right, my sons; we shall come upon those chaps one of these days, and they'll have to pay us about a pound and a harf o' gold for our work; and if they don't there's going to be a fight. Now then, gentlemen, fire--breakfast--and then work. We shall be a bit more handy in making another. Wish we'd had a bit o' paint." "Paint! What for?" cried Dallas and Abel in a breath. "Only to have touched it up, and made it look pretty for 'em." "Never mind!" said Dallas, through his teeth. "We'll make it to look pretty for them when we find them." "So we will, my son," cried the Cornishman, and as he gathered chips and branches together he kept on indulging in a hearty laugh at the prospect of the encounter; and as the two young adventurers glanced at the man's tremendous arms, they had sundry thoughts about what would happen to the thieves. The Cornishman was right; they were much more handy over making the second raft, and worked so hard that by the end of the following day a new and stronger one was made and loaded ready for the next morning's start. But this time a watch was kept, one of the party sitting on board until half the night had passed, when he was relieved by another; and as the sun rose, breakfast was over, and they cast off the rope from the pine-stump which had formed the mooring-post. The morning was glorious, and the sun lit up the snow-covered mountains, making the scene that of a veritable land of gold. A light breeze, too, was blowing in their favour, so that their clumsy craft was wafted down the lake, which here and there assumed the aspect of a wide river of the bluest and purest water, the keen, elastic air sending a thrill of health and strength through them, and it seemed as if the tales they had heard of the perils they were to encounter were merely bugbears, for nothing could have been pleasanter than their passage. "Let's see," said Dallas, who was well provided with map and plan; "when we get to the bottom of this lake there are some narrows and rapids to pass along." "So we heard," said the Cornishman. "Well, so much the better. We shall go the faster. I suppose they're not Falls of Ni-agger-ray.--I say, can you gents swim?" "Pretty well," was the reply. "Can you?" The big fellow scratched his head and screwed up his face into a queer smile. "You ask my two mates," he said. "No, I asked you," said Dallas. "Not a stroke, my son. If we get capsized I shall trust to being six foot three and a half and walk out. I don't s'pose it'll be deeper than that. If it is, I dessay my mates'll lend me a hand." "Then we mustn't capsize," said Abel. "Well, it would be as well not," said one of the other party drily, "on account of the flour and sugar and tea. I always said you ought to swim, Bob, old man." "So you did, mate," said the big fellow, with a chuckle. "And as soon as it gets warm enough I'm going to learn." That night they reached the foot of the lake where the rocky walls closed in, forming a narrow ravine, through which the great body of water seemed to be emptying itself with a roar, the aspect of the place being dangerous enough to make the party pole to the shore at the first likely landing-place and camp for the night. The evening was well upon them by the time they had their fire alight, and after a hearty meal their couch of pine-boughs proved very welcome. "Sounds ominous, Dal," said Abel. "I hope we shall get safely through in the morning." "We must," was the reply. "Don't think about it; we ought to be hardened enough to do anything now. How's your head?" "A bit achey sometimes. And your shoulder?" There was no reply, for, utterly wearied out with poling the raft, Dallas was asleep, leaving only one of the party to watch the expiring embers of the fire, and listen to the rapids' deep humming roar. Abel did not keep awake, though, long. For after getting up to satisfy himself that the raft was safe, he lay down again, meaning to watch till the fire was quite out, though there was not the slightest danger of their being attacked. The only way an enemy could have approached was by water, and it was with a calm, restful sense of satisfaction that the young man stretched himself out on the soft boughs as he said to himself, "There isn't a boat on the lake, and it would take any party two days to make a raft." _ |
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