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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 23. Begging Your Bread In Golden Days |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. BEGGING YOUR BREAD IN GOLDEN DAYS "It is the dog's master, Bel," whispered Dallas, springing to the door and beginning to unfasten it, just as the dog raised his head and whined dismally. The disposition was there to help, and as soon as he could get the door open, Dallas dashed out into the whirling snow, which rushed in blinding eddies about the hut, while Abel, awestricken and panting, clung to the post and tried to pierce the black darkness. "It is madness. It means death," he groaned to himself. Even as the thought crossed his mind Dallas staggered back, to stand panting and wiping the snow from his eyes. Then he dashed out again, but was beaten back breathless and exhausted. Again he tried, for Abel had not the heart to stay him, and a good ten minutes elapsed--minutes of anxiety to the watcher, which seemed like hours--before his companion was literally driven in again, to fall completely exhausted upon the floor. "I can't do it, Bel," he said at last feebly. "I never thought the wind and snow could be like this. It's death to go out there, and I felt that I should never get back again." He struggled to his feet once more and made for the door, but Abel seized him by the arm and tried to shut out the blinding snow, which had given the interior of the hut the appearance of winter, and after a hard struggle the door was closed. "Bel, that biggest tree at the side is split right down, and half has fallen this way," said Dallas breathlessly. "It must have been that we heard. I fell over it as I tried to find the door." "You shall not go again," said Abel. "I cannot," replied Dallas sadly; "but I feel sure now that no one is asking for help." The hours passed and the fire was made up again and again, while towards morning the storm lulled. The dog lay perfectly still; but he was not dead when Dallas roused himself up to examine him, for he feebly rapped the floor with his tail. Abel had sunk into the sleep of utter weariness, and Dallas let him lie as he replenished the fire, opened the door softly, plunged through the snow, and, as well as the darkness would allow, satisfied himself that he was right about the riven tree. "It was very horrible to think, though," he said to himself; "but no one could have been travelling on such a night." He returned to the hut, replenished the fire, and the billy was boiling ready for its pinch of tea, and the newly made cake baking, by the time Abel opened his eyes and sighed. "What a useless log I am, Dal," he said. "Are you?" "Yes, I lie here doing nothing. How is the dog?" "Quite dry and fluffy." "But he is not dead?" "No; but are we to give him house room?" "Could we turn him out into the snow?" Dallas began to whistle softly, and turned the cake on the round iron pan which answered for many purposes. "It's the same dog, Bel," he said at last. "Then the intelligent beast has tracked us out." "Been a long time about it." "Dogs are very grateful creatures." "Rum way of showing his gratitude to come and sponge upon two poor fellows who are half starving. Meal bag's awfully low." "You must try for something with the gun. What's the weather like this morning?" "Dark and cold, but clear starlight, and a sprinkle of fresh snow on the ground." "A sprinkle?" "Yes; three feet deep outside the door." "Have you been out?" "Yes; and found I was right about the tree. There must have been lightning, I think. I'm glad it was that." "Yes. I wonder how old Tregelly has got on. It's very lonely where he is." "So it is here." "How snug the fire looks, Dal!" said Abel, after a pause. "Yes; cheery, isn't it? Cake smells good. How does the foot feel?" "Not so painful this morning after the rest. But, Dal!" "Well?" "I lay thinking last night after you had gone to sleep, and you really must not go down to the town." "Must, old chap." "No, no; don't leave me." "But you'll have company now--the dog." "Go round when it's daylight, and try what stores you can get from the men round us." "It isn't reasonable, Bel. Every one is as short as we are." "Starving Englishmen are always ready to share with their brothers in distress." "Yes; but their brothers in distress who are strong and well, and who have enough gold to buy food, have too much conscience to rob them." "How much longer can we hold out?" "I don't know," said Dallas, "and I don't want to know. Stores are getting terribly low, and that's near enough for me. But what do you say to the dog?" "Poor brute! We must keep him." "I meant killing and eating him." "No, you didn't. Dal, I'm better this morning; the coming of that poor dog like a fellow-creature in distress seems to have cheered me up." "That's right. Then, as a reward, I will wait a few days and go round cadging." "No--buying." "The fellows won't sell. They will only let us have some as a loan." "Very well, then; get what you can as a loan, Dal." "All right; but I know what it will be wherever I go: 'We can let you have some tobacco, old man; we've scarcely anything else.'" "Never mind; try." Dallas threw a few small pieces of wood on the fire to make a blaze and light up the rough place, and then the breakfast was partaken of. Not a very substantial meal: milkless tea, with very stodgy hot cake, made with musty meal; but to the great delight of Dallas, his companion in misfortune partook thereof with some show of appetite, and then sat looking on without a word while Dallas took one of their gold-washing pans, poured in some meal, took a piece of split firewood, and stirred with one hand while he poured hot water in from the billy with the other. Neither spoke, but their thoughts were in common, and as soon as the hot mash had cooled a little, the cook turned to the dog. "Now then, rough un," he cried, "as you have invited yourself to bed and breakfast, here is your mess, and you'd better eat it and go." The dog opened his eyes, looked at him wistfully, and beat the floor again, but he made no effort to rise. "Poor brute! He is weak, Bel. Here, let's help you." Passing his arm under the dog's neck, he raised him a little so that he could place the shallow tin of steaming food beneath his muzzle; but the only result was a low whine, and a repetition of the movement of the tail. At last, though, the eyes opened, and the poor brute sniffed, and began to eat very slowly, pausing now and then to whine before beginning again, till at last the effect of the hot mess seemed magical, and the latter half was eaten with avidity, the tin being carefully licked clean. A few minutes later the dog was asleep again, but in a different attitude, for he had, after a few efforts, curled himself up as close to the fire as he could get without burning, his muzzle covered over by his bushy tail. "Dallas Adams, Esquire, gold medal from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Bow from Dallas Adams, Esquire, and loud cheers from the audience at the annual meeting." "And well deserved," said Abel, smiling. "Oh, I wish I had your spirits." "Get your frozen foot well, and then you will," was the reply. "Look here, I'll take a sack and go begging at once, and then come back and get in some wood, for there will not be time to work in the shaft, only get out the snow." "Go on, then, and you will succeed." "Doubtful," was the reply. Soon after, Dallas, with a sack fastened across one shoulder like a scarf, and his gun over his shoulder, opened the door. "Cheer up, old chap!" he cried. "I shan't be long," and forcing his way out, he closed the door, plunged forward, and struggled waist deep through the snow which had drifted up against the hut. Farther on it lay less heavy, and pausing for a few moments to take a look round beneath the starlit sky, he made his way along the border of the creek--carefully on the look-out for pine-stumps, the remains of the dense scrub which had been cut down by the gold-seekers--in the direction of one of the lights dotting the creek here and there, those nearest being lanterns, but farther on a couple of fires were burning. "Morning, mate," said a cheery voice, as he came upon two men busily shovelling snow from a pit beneath a rough shelter of poles, while a hut was close by. "You've got plenty of this, I s'pose?" "Nearly buried. I say, we're awfully short of meal and bacon. Can you sell us some?" The two men leaned on their shovels. "We're so desp'rate low ourselves, mate," said the one who had not spoken. "We don't like to say no. But look here, go and try round the camp and see what you can do. Some of them's a deal better off than we are. Get it of them. If you can't, come back here and we'll do what we can. Eh, mate?" "Of course," came in a growl; "but no humbug, Mr Adams." "What do you mean?" "Why, this. When it comes to eating we, as it says in the song, you must play fair and draw lots with the rest of us." "Never fear," said Dallas merrily, joining in the laugh; "but we've got the dogs to eat first if we can't get any moose. There ought to be some tracks seen after this." "So plaguy dark, mate, for hunting and shooting; but talk about dogs, did you hear that brute howling during the storm?" "Oh, yes, I heard him," said Dallas. "He soon gave in, though. I believe some of the others hunted him down and didn't stop to draw lots. What hungry beggars they are!" Dallas trudged on slowly, calling at claim after claim on his way down the creek, but always with the same result--friendly willingness, but want of means. Then he reached the spot where one of the fires had been burning, but which had died out, nothing being left but wood, smoke, and steam, while two men were scraping away the snow from a heap while they waited till a shaft about six feet deep beneath a roofed shed was cool enough to descend. "Morning, mate," was his salutation. "Nearly got our roof on fire. Were you coming to help?" "No, to ask for help," said Dallas, and he made his request. One of the men went to the edge of the pit and descended a roughly made ladder, prior to beginning to fill a bucket with the gravelly bottom which had been thawed by the fire, ready for his companion to haul up and empty on the heap ready for washing when the spring time came. "Tell him," he said gruffly. "Well, mate," said the man at the top, "it's like this. We've got about a couple of pound of strong shag and a few ounces o' gold we can loan you. If that's any good, you're welcome; but grub's awful short. Try further down, and if you can't get what you want, come back." "All right, and thank you, mates," said Dallas. "Morning." "I say, we'll show you the flour-tub and the bare bone if you like." "No, no," cried Dallas; "I believe you." And then to himself, "I must fall back on Tregelly." He had the burning wood fire for guide to where the big miner was thawing the shaft in his claim, to make the frozen gravel workable, and in addition there were faint signs coming of the short-lived day. "Morning, Tregelly." "What, you, Mr Adams! Glad to see you, my son. Come inside and have a mouthful of something and a pipe." "I don't want to hinder you," said Dallas to his cheery friend. "You won't hinder me, my son. I like letting the fire have a good burn out, and then for it to cool down before I begin. Come along; but how's your cousin?" "Better this morning, but very low-spirited last night, with his frost-bitten foot." "Poor lad! It is hard on him." "The fact is, we are terribly short of provisions." "You are? Same here, my son; but why didn't you come down and tell me? I haven't got much, but you're welcome to what I can spare. There you are; sit down by the fire and I'll see what we can do. Bacon's horribly close, and I've only two of those mahogany salt solids they call 'Merican hams; but I can let you have a tin or two of meal and some flour." "If you can," cried Dallas, "it will be a blessing to us now, and as soon as ever--" "Yes, yes, all right, my son: I know. But how's the gold turning out?" "The gravel seems fairly rich, but somehow I'm afraid we shall do no good." "That's how it seems with me," said the miner. "One just gets enough to live upon and pay one's way; and one could do that anywhere, without leading such a life as this." Dallas thought of his friend's words as he tramped back through the snow with his sack of provender on his back, for the life they were leading was that of the lowest type of labourer, the accommodation miserable, and the climate vile. "It will not do--it will not do," he said sadly; but he returned, all the same, in better spirits with the results of his foraging, to find Abel waiting for him anxiously, and the dog curled-up by the fire sleeping heavily. The stores obtained were carefully husbanded, and during the next few days, in spite of intense frost, Dallas worked hard in the shaft on their claim, heating it with the abundant wood till a certain amount of gravel was thawed, and then throwing it out ready for washing when the next summer came. _ |
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