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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 22. A Night Alarm |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. A NIGHT ALARM "There's a deal in make-believe, Bel, old chap," said Dallas one day, as they sat together in their rough hut of fir-trunks, brooding over the fire lit in the centre of the floor, the blinding smoke from which escaped slowly out of an opening in the roof, when the fierce wind did not drive it back in company with the fine sharp snow, which was coming down in a regular blizzard. "Oh, yes, a deal, if you have any faith," said Abel bitterly; "but mine's all dead." "Gammon!" cried Dallas. "You're out of sorts, and that makes you disposed to find fault. But I must confess that during this blizzardly storm the Castle hall is a little draughty. These antique structures generally are." "Months and months of wandering, slavery and misery, and to come to this!" "Yes, you are not at your best, old man. How's the foot?" "Rotting off as a frozen member will." "My dear Bel, you want a tonic!" said Dallas cheerily. "Think you will be able to live through this awful winter, Dal?" "Live! I should think we will," said the young man, carefully picking up and laying some of the half-burned brands on the centre of the crackling fire. "So will you." "No, I shall never see home again." "Bel, you're a lazy beggar, with a natural dislike to cold," said Dallas. "It always was so, and you always used to have the worst chilblains, and turn grumpy when they itched and burned. You don't make the best of things, old chap." "No, Dal, I haven't got your spirit. How many days longer will that meal last?" "That depends, dear boy, on whether we are frugal, or go on banqueting and gorging." "It is dreadfully low, isn't it?" "Well, the supply is not great, but there is a morsel of bacon and a frozen leg-bone of our share of the moose, whose roasted marrow will be delicious. No; the larder is not well stocked, but the supply of fuel is unlimited, and we have our gigantic bag of gold in the bank cellar." "Curse the gold!" "No, I will not do that, my dear boy, because, you see, I can take out a handful, tramp down to the store, and come back laden with corn and wine and delicacies in the shape of bacon and tinned meat." "Dal, it's of no use; we must give up and go back." "No, we must not, old chap; and even if I said the same, we couldn't get away this winter time." "You could. I'm doomed--I'm doomed!" "Here, I say," cried Dallas, "don't begin making quotations." "Quotations?" "Yes; that's what the despairing old chap says in Byron's comedy, 'I'm doomed--I'm doomed!' and the other fellow says, 'Don't go on like that; it sounds like swearing when it ain't.'" "Dal," cried Abel passionately, "how can you be so full of folly when we are in such a desperate state?" "Because I believe in 'Never say die!'" cried the young man cheerily. "You are cold, man. Allow me, my lord, to spread this purple robe gracefully over your noble shoulders to keep off the draught. I say, Bel, these blankets are getting jolly black." "Thanks, Dal." "And with your lordship's permission I will hang this piece of tapestry over the doorway to enhance the warmth of the glow within. Haven't got a couple of tenpenny nails in your pocket, have you? Never mind; these pegs'll hold it up. Whoo! it does blow. We shall be quite buried in the snow by morning." "Yes, once more," said Abel gloomily. "So much the warmer for it, Bel, and save the wood. I say, old chap, we ought to be thankful that we have such a snug den. It would be death to any one to be out to-night." "Yes; and they would have ceased hunting for that golden myth, and be at rest." "Well, you are a cheerful chap to-night! I say, I wonder what has become of old 'My son,'--Tregelly, the Cornishman?" "Dead or broken-hearted over this weary search." "Dead? Why, that fellow wouldn't die a bit. Broken-hearted? His heart's made of stuff much too tough. He'll turn up some day to tell us he has made a big find." "Never. He's dead by now." "Don't you prophesy until after the event." "Dal," said Abel, as he sat, gaunt of visage, darkened by exposure, and totally different from the bright, eager fellow of a few months earlier. "Yes?" "You will not go away and leave me?" "I must, old fellow. The coals for the human grate are nearly out, and I must fetch some more." "If you go you will find me dead when you come back. To die alone! Horrible!" "Nonsense! Old Norton will come in every day and have a look at you if I ask him. He's a good old chap, Bel; I wish he had had better luck. I say, though, this is a rum game. You and I are now living in this rough dog-kennel, and bad as our luck has been, we have been turning out gold at the rate of, say, five hundred a year. Not bad that for beginners." "And it takes all we get to barter for the wretched food," groaned Abel. "The prices are horrible." "Well, things are dear, and bad at that, as our American friends say. But we only have to double our turn-in and we shall grow rich." The wind was whistling and shrieking about the lonely cabin, the tattered blanket over the rough wood doorway was blown in, and the smoke eddied about the corners of the tent as a quantity of snow came through the opening, and made the fire hiss angrily. "It won't take me long, old fellow," said Dallas; "and, by the way, I had better buy a tin of powder and some cartridges. Think you'll be well enough to-morrow to clean and oil the guns while I'm down the shaft?" "I'll try; but the shaft will be full of drifted snow." "If it is, I'll drift it out." "What's that?" cried Abel, as a faintly heard howl came from the distance. "Sounds like wolves. No dog would be out in a night like this." "Think they will come here and attack us?" "Don't know. I hope so." "What!" cried Abel, with a horrified look. "Give me a chance to do a little shooting if they come in at the chimney hole. Glad of a bit of sport. Supply us with some fresh meat, too." "What, eat wolf?" "My dear Bel, I get so hungry that I would eat anything now. But they may taste good. Wolf's a kind of dog; they eat dog in China, and I've heard that the bargees do so on the Thames." "What?" "Don't you remember the chaff at Oxford--the fellows asking the bargees, 'Who ate puppy pie under Marlow Bridge?'" "There it is again." "Then I'll take the guns out of the cases if they come nearer. They'll be able to walk up the snow slope right on to the roof." But the sounds died away, and Dallas opened a tin and took out a couple of pieces of roughly made damper, whose crust was plentifully marked with wood ashes. "I can't eat," said Abel. "I can, and I'll set you an example. Sorry there is no Strasburg pie or other delicacy to tempt you; and the cook is out, or she should grill you some grouse." Abel sat nursing his piece of unappetising bread, while Dallas rapidly disposed of his, the smaller piece. They had been sitting in silence for some time, with Dallas gazing wistfully at his companion. "Try and eat the damper, old fellow," he said. "You must have food." "I can't, Dal. I say, how much gold is there in the hole?" "I daresay there's five-and-twenty ounces." "You must take it, and contrive to get away from here, Dal," said Abel suddenly. "And you?" "Get back home again. She'll break her heart if she loses us both." _Thud_! There was a heavy blow at the rough door, and then another. "Norton come to look us up," whispered Dallas. "No; he would not knock like that," whispered back Abel--needlessly, for the roar of the storm would have made the voices inaudible outside. There was another blow on the door as if something had butted against it, and then a scratching on the rough wood. "A bear?" whispered Dallas, rising softly. "Be quiet. Bear's meat is good, but a bear would not be out on a night like this." There was another blow, and then a piteous, whining howl. "A dog, by Jove!" cried Dallas. "Then his master must be in trouble in the snow." "Dal, it would be madness to go out in this storm. It means death." Dallas did not reply, but lifted the blanket, from which a quantity of fine snow dropped, and took down the great wooden bar which, hanging in two rough mortices, formed its fastening. As he drew the door inward a little, there was a rush of snow and wind, and the fire roared as the sparks and ashes were wafted about the place, threatening to fire the two rough bed-places; and with the drifting fine snow a great lump forced its way in through the narrow crack, rushing towards the blaze, uttering a dismal howl. Dallas thrust the door to and stared at the object before them, one of the great Eskimo dogs, with its thick coat so matted and covered with ice and snow that the hairs seemed finished off with icicles, which rattled as the poor brute moved. "Hullo, here!" cried Dallas. "Where's your master?" The dog looked at him intelligently, then opened its mouth and howled. "Come along, then. Seek, seek." The young man made for the door as if to open it, but the dog crept closer to the fire, crouched down, and howled more dismally than before. "Well, come and find him, then. Your master. Here, here! Come along." The dog lifted its head, looked at the glowing fire, and then at first one and then the other, howled again, and made an effort to raise itself, but fell over. "What's he mean by that, poor brute? He's as weak as a rat. What is it, then, old fellow?" cried Dallas, bending down to pat him. "Why, the poor brute's a mere skeleton." The dog howled once more, struggled up, and fell over sideways. "He doesn't act as if any one was with him," said Abel. The dog howled again, made a fresh effort, and this time managed to sit up on his hindquarters, and drooped his fore-paws, opening his great mouth and lolling out the curled-up tongue. "Starving--poor wretch!" said Dallas. "No, no, Bel, don't. It's the last piece of the bread." "I can't eat it," replied Abel. "Let the poor brute have it. I can't see it suffer like that." He broke up the cake and threw it piece after piece, each being snapped up with avidity, till there was no more, when the poor brute whined and licked Bel's hand, and then turned, crawled nearer to the fire, laid his great rough head across Dallas's foot, and lay blinking up at him, with the ice and snow which matted his dense coat melting fast. "Poor beggar!" said Dallas. "He has been having a rough time." The dog whined softly, and the unpleasant odour of burning hair began to fill the place as his bushy tail was swept once into the glowing embers. "Give him part of the moose bone, Dal," said Abel. "If this blizzard keeps on we have only that to depend on, old fellow. I want to help the dog, but I must think of you." "Give it up," said Abel gloomily, as he laid a hand on his bandaged foot. "Give him what there is, and then let him lie down and die with us. The golden dream is all over now. Look! the poor brute just managed to struggle here. He's dying." "No, settling down to sleep in the warm glow. Look how the water runs from his coat." "Dying," said Abel positively. And the poor brute's actions seemed to prove that the last speaker was right, for he lay whining more and more softly, blinking at the fire with his eyes half-closed, and a shiver kept on running through him, while once when he tried to rise he uttered a low moan and fell over on to his side. "Is he dead, Dal?" said Abel hoarsely. His cousin bent over the dog and laid his hand upon his throat, with the result that there was a low growling snarl and the eyes opened to look up, but only to close again, and the bushy tale tapped the floor a few times. "Knows he is with friends, poor fellow!" said Dallas. "But he did not show much sense in coming to Starvation Hall." "It was the fire that attracted him." "Perhaps," said Dallas. "But I have a sort of fancy that we have met before." "What!" cried Abel, brightening up, "you don't think--" "Yes, I do. Did you notice that the poor brute limped with one of his hind-legs?" "Yes, but--oh, impossible. A dog would not know you again like that. You mean the one you saved from the ice." "Yes, I do; but we shall see by daylight, such as it is. I say, though, if we do get home again, you and I, after our experience of this Arctic place, ought to volunteer for the next North Pole expedition." Abel heaved a deep sigh. "Look here, old fellow; you were brightening up, now you are going back again. Let's go to bed and have a good long sleep in the warm. What about the dog?" "Yes, what about him?" "I suppose we mustn't turn him out again on a night like this." "Impossible." "But you know what these brutes are. He'll be rousing up and eating our candles and belts--anything he can get hold of; but I suppose we must risk it." The door now being rattled loudly by the tremendous wind, was once more made secure, the blanket replaced, and then, after well making up the fire with a couple of heavy logs, the weary pair were about to creep into their skin sleeping-bags when they were startled into full wakefulness again, for a fierce gust seemed to seize and shake the hut, and then, as the wind went roaring away, there was a wild moaning cry, and a sharp report from close at hand. _ |
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