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To Win or to Die: A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze

by George Manville Fenn · English · Gutenberg #21377 · 376,941 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: To Win or to Die: A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze

Author: George Manville Fenn

Illustrator: Paul Hardy


        
Release date: May 8, 2007 [eBook #21377]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21377

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO WIN OR TO DIE: A TALE OF THE KLONDIKE GOLD CRAZE ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




To Win or to Die, A Tale of the Klondike Gold Craze, by George Manville
Fenn.

________________________________________________________________________

This is a tough tale about tough men.  Right from the first chapter we
are living with men who are fighting for survival, the enemy being as
often as not other men who would rob them.  Chapter after chapter leaves
the heroes in some new desperate plight, which, when overcome, is almost
at once replaced by yet another one.

It is not a very long book, and it is very well illustrated, but it is a
breathless race from one peril to the next.

I cannot say that you should enjoy or be entertained by reading of other
peoples' misfortunes, but the author intended that you should be so
entertained, and you will be.

________________________________________________________________________

TO WIN OR TO DIE, A TALE OF THE KLONDIKE GOLD CRAZE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE
FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

A BREAK-DOWN.

"It's a lie!  I don't and I won't believe it."

The speaker half whispered that, and then he shouted, "Do you hear?"

There was a pause, and then from the face of a huge white snow-cliff
there came back the word "hear."

"Well done, echo!" cried the speaker.

"Echo," came back.

"Thankye; that's quite cheering; anything's better than that horrible
silence.  What do they say?  When a man gets in the habit of talking to
himself it's a sign that he is going mad?  Once more, it's a lie!  A man
would go mad in this awful solitude if he didn't hear some one speaking.
Snow, snow, snow, and rock and mountain; and ugh! how cold!  Pull up,
donkey! jackass! idiot! or you'll freeze to death."

The speaker was harnessed by a looped rope to a small, well-packed
sledge, after the fashion of one who tracks about along the Thames; but
how different here!  No sunny river, no verdant flowing mead or hanging
summer wood, but winter, stern winter in its wildest, and the heavy
sledge, in answer to the tugging at the rope, now sticking fast amongst
the heaped-up stones frozen together in a mass, now suddenly gliding
down sharp slopes and tripping its owner up, so that again and again,
during an awful day's tramp, he had fallen heavily.  But only to
struggle up, shake the snow from his fur-lined coat, and continue his
journey onward towards the golden land where the nuggets lay in wondrous
profusion waiting the bold adventurer's coming--heaped-up, almost
fabulous riches that had lain undiscovered since the beginning of the
world.

He, the toiler, dragging that sledge, in which were carefully packed his
gun, ammunition, spare clothes, blankets, stores, and sleeping-bag of
fur, had started at daylight that morning from the last outpost of
civilisation--a miserable shanty at the top of the tremendous pass he
had surmounted with the help of the men who occupied the shanty and
called themselves guides; and then, after repacking his sledge and
trusting to the landmarks ahead and a pocket compass, he had boldly set
off, ready to dare every peril, for he was young, sanguine, well-armed,
strong, and nerved by hope and the determination to succeed.

It was only a brave struggle over the mountains, and then down into the
river valley beyond, to leave the winter behind with its pain and
misery, and meet the welcome of the summer sunshine and--the gold.

That morning it was winter indeed; but the adventurer's heart was warm,
and the way through the mountains was plain, while the exertion sent the
blood tingling through his veins till he glowed as the rugged miles were
mastered.

Then there was the halt and a seat on the sledge for a hasty meal upon
the tough provisions; but how delicious every mouthful was!

Then forward again, refreshed for the journey onward, to some snugly
sheltered spot where he could camp for the night and sleep in his fur
bag, regardless of any number of degrees of frost.

But as the afternoon wore on, the sledge seemed to grow more heavy, the
way wilder and more stern, and the stoppages frequent.

He unpacked and rested and refreshed himself.  Then he grew cheery once
more.

"Lightens the load and me too," he said with a laugh, as he thrust his
head through the loop and tugged at the sledge; but it did not seem
lighter.  It grew more heavy, and the obstacles were terrible to
surmount.

But he knew he was in the right track through the pathless waste of
heaped-up snow.  There was no mistaking that awful gorge, with the rocks
piled up like Titanic walls on either side.  He knew that he could not
go wrong.  All he had to do was to persevere, and he plodded on.

"Never mind if it's only yards instead of miles surmounted," he
muttered.  "They are so many yards nearer the winning post."

At last, as he fought his way on, with his unwonted exertions beginning
to tell mentally and bodily, he broke out talking wildly to fight back
the horrible sensation of depression, and was brought to a standstill,
the sledge having jammed between two blocks of ice-covered rock; and he
stood for some minutes gazing round hopelessly at the fast-dimming
scene, which had looked picturesque in the morning, but appeared awful
now.

"I ought to have had a companion," he muttered, "if it had only been a
dog."

He stood still, staring at the precipices on either side, whose chasms
were beginning to look black; then at his jammed-in sledge; and he felt
that he must drag it out and go on again, for night was coming on, and
he could not camp where he was.

Then as he was wearily and slowly stooping down to drag the sledge back,
he made a sudden bound as if electrified, tried to run, tripped, and
fell heavily.

For all at once there was a roar like thunder, a terrible rushing sound,
the echoes of the mountains seemed to have been let loose, and his hair
began to bristle, while a cold perspiration gathered on his face as he
listened to the sounds dying away in rumbling whispers.

"Away up to the right," he said to himself as he gazed in that
direction, realising that it was a snow-fall.  Thousands of tons had
gone down somewhere out of sight; but he was safe, and giving the sledge
a jerk, he set it free, guided it over the snow, and prepared for
another start.

But that avalanche had somewhat unnerved him, for he had been looking
out for a place to camp, and it now seemed madness to think of coming to
a halt there.

"Must find a safer place," he thought; and now fresh dangers began to
suggest themselves.  Would there be wolves in these mountains?
Certainly there must be bears; and dragging off one of his big fur
gloves, he took out and examined his revolver, before replacing it in
its leather holster.  He glanced, too, at his rifle in its woollen case,
bound on the top of the loaded sledge.

"Bah! how cowardly one can turn!" he muttered.  "Of course, there will
be all those troubles to face.  I'm fagged--that's what it is.  Now,
then, old fellow, gee up!  I'll camp in the first sheltered nook I see;
I'm sure to find one soon.  Then supper in the warm bag and a good
night's rest.  Sleep?  I could lie down and sleep here in the snow.
Pull up!  That's the way.  I wonder how much gold I could drag on a
sledge like this?"

For quite another hour he toiled on, and perhaps got over a quarter of a
mile, always gazing anxiously ahead for a suitable shelter, but looking
in vain.

Then he utterly broke down, catching his foot against a block which the
darkness hid from his fast-dimming eyes; and with a sob of misery as he
saved himself from striking his face, at the expense of a heavy wrench
to one wrist, he lay perfectly still, feeling a strange drowsy sensation
creeping over him.

"This will not do," he cried aloud in alarm, for he knew that giving way
to such a feeling in the snow meant resigning himself to death; and he
painfully rose to his knees, and then remained, staring wildly before
him, wondering whether he was already dreaming.  For not far away,
flashing and quivering in reflections from the precipice wall on his
left, there was a light which kept rising and falling.

No dream, but the reflected light of a camp fire.  Others, bound upon
the same mission as himself, must be close at hand; and staggering now
to his feet, he placed his gloved hands to his lips and gave forth a
loud echoing "Ahoy!"

The next moment his heart beat high with joy, and the horrible perils of
frost and darkness in that unsheltered place faded away into
nothingness, for his hail was answered from close at hand.

"Ahoy!  Who is it?" came echoing back.

"Help!" shouted the adventurer; and then he sank upon his sledge with
heart throbbing and a strange giddiness attacking him.



CHAPTER TWO.

FALLEN AMONG THIEVES.

"Hullo, there!" cried a rough voice.  "Why don't you come on?" and the
next minute a couple of figures seemed to start out of the darkness.

"I'm fagged out.  Can you lend me a hand?"

"Lend you a hand?  Yes," said another voice.  "Where's your mate?"

"I'm alone."

"Alone?  No pal with you?"

"No, and my sledge has stuck fast.  Will you help me as far as your
fire?"

"Got a sled, hev you?  All right, mate.  Where's the line?  Lay hold,
Leggy, while I give it a hyste.  That's your sort.  Come on."  It seemed
like a dream, and as if all the peril and horror had passed away, as the
two men dragged the sledge along and the adventurer staggered on beside
them, till they halted in the ruddy light of a great fire, lit at the
foot of a stupendous wall of glistening ice-covered rock.  The fire of
pine-boughs crackled and flashed, and lit up the face of a third man, a
big red-bearded fellow, who was kneeling down tending the embers and
watching a camp kettle slung from three sticks, the contents of which
were beginning to steam.

"Here we are, Beardy," said one of the rescue party.  "Comp'ny gent on
his travels."

The kneeling man scowled at the speaker, and then put his hand behind
him as if from instinct, but dropped it as the other said:

"It's all right, Beardy.  Number four's empty, isn't it?  Because if it
aren't, you'll have to give up your room."

The big red-bearded man showed some prominent yellow teeth in a grin,
nodded, and pushed a blazing brand under the kettle.

"Sit down, youngster," said the first speaker.  "Maybe you'll jyne us at
supper?"

"I shall be very glad."

"Right you are, and welcome!  'Aven't brought anything with you, I
suppose?"

"Yes, I have some cake and bacon."

"Well done, young un.  Get it out," said the red-bearded man, and,
recovered somewhat by his warm reception, the young adventurer began to
unlash the load upon the sledge, the two men who had come to his aid
eagerly joining in, their eyes glistening as they examined the various
objects that were set free.

"Going yonder after the yaller stuff?" said the owner of the red beard,
as they squatted round the fire.

"Yes."

"And all alone, too?"

The traveller nodded, and held his half-numbed hands in the warm glow,
as he furtively glanced round at his companions, whose aspect was by no
means reassuring.

"Well," continued the last speaker, "I dunno what Yankee Leggat thinks,
and I dunno what Joey Bredge has got to say, but what I says is this.
You're a-going to do what's about as silly a thing as a young man can
do."

"Why?"

"Why?" said the man fiercely; "because you're going to try and do what
no chap can do all alone.  You've got a good kit and some money, I
s'pose; but you don't think you're going to get to the gold stuff, do
you?"

"Of course I do."

The man showed his yellow teeth in an unpleasant grin, and winked at his
companions.

"And all alone, eh?  'Tain't to be done, lad.  You'll be stuck up before
you yet half-way there by Injuns, or some o' they Yankee shacks yonder,
stripped o' everything you've got, and set adrift, eh, Joey?"

The man addressed nodded and grunted.

"What should you say he ought to do, Leggy?"

"Make his hay while the sun shines," said the other.  "He's tumbled into
a bit o' luck, and if he knows what he's about he'll just stop along
with us.  We don't want him, seeing as our party's made up, but we don't
want to be hard on a lad as is a bit hign'rant o' what he's got to go
through."

"That's so," put in the man addressed as Joey.  "You can't do it, mate.
Why, if it hadn't been for us you'd ha' been a hicicle afore morning, if
the bears and wolves hadn't tucked you up warm inside.  You've got to
take a good offer.  Now, Beardy, bring out the tins; that soup's done by
this time."

The traveller made no reply, but leaned a little more over the fire,
wishing that he had braved the dangers of the bitter frost and snow, and
feeling that he had been too ready to break down at the first encounter
with trouble.  For the more he saw of his new companions the less he,
liked them, and he was not long in making up his mind what to do.

By this time three big tin cups, which fitted one into the other, had
been produced, and filled from the steaming contents of the kettle.

"We didn't expect company," said the cook, "so two of us'll have to do
with one tin, and have it filled twice.  You and me'll join, Joey, and
let squire have my tin."

"No, thank you," was the reply, made quietly and firmly.  "I will not
intrude on your good nature farther.  I was a bit done up, but the fire
has set me right again, and I'm quite ready to take the risks of the
journey alone."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said the man gruffly.

"I'll get you to let me rest here by the fire for an hour to eat my bit
of bread and meat, and then I'll camp near you and go on again as I
came.  I shall manage, I daresay."

"Are we going to stand this, mates?" cried the red-bearded man fiercely.

"No!" came in answer, as all sprang up as if by a preconcerted signal.

"You misunderstand me, gentlemen," said the adventurer quietly, though
his heart beat fast with the knowledge that the suspicions which had
haunted him were correct.  "I am much obliged for your kindness, and I
want to save you trouble, that is all."

"Hear that, lads?  We aren't good enough for the likes of him.  All
right, then, off he goes."

"Our company aren't good enough, eh?  Then off you goes."

"Very well," said the young man, rising quickly; "but there is no need
for a quarrel.  I will go at once, and I thank you for what you have
done."

"But we haven't done yet," cried the man addressed as Leggy.  "Now,
boys."

There was a sudden rush, and in an instant the young fellow was seized
and thrown upon his face; then, in spite of his desperate struggles, he
was turned over, his weapon seized, and everything of value dragged from
his pockets.

"Quiet!" snarled the leader in the attack, "or I'll soon quiet you."

"You dogs!  You scoundrels!  Help!  Thieves!"

"Louder, my lad, louder.  Call police: there's some over yonder in
Canady.  Haul off that fur coat, lads.  It'll just fit me, and I'll have
his cap and gloves.  That's right.  Now then, my whippersnapper, off you
go!"

Set free, the young man, in spite of his bubbling rage, felt the madness
of further resistance, and the uselessness of wasting breath; so he
sprang to his sledge, to begin lashing it fast with the rope.

"Hands off there!" roared the chief scoundrel, taking aim at him.  "Now
then, run for it, and get yourself warm before we begin to shoot."

"I'm going," panted the victim, "but I must fasten up my traps."

"You ain't got no traps.  They're ourn," cried the man.  "We give you a
chance for your life, so cut at once."

"What!  Send me away like this?" cried the young man, aghast.  "It's
murder!  Let me have my blankets, man."

"Run!" shouted the scoundrel, and he shook his pistol.

"You coward!" cried the victim.

"Run!" was roared again.

Feeling that the gang into whose hands he had fallen probably meant to
hide their crime by silencing him for ever, the victim turned and ran
for his life, and as he ran he felt a sharp pang in the arm.

A heavy fall checked the victim's panic flight, and as he lay panting
and wet with the perspiration which had started from every pore, he
realised that one of the bullets had taken effect, ploughing his left
arm, which throbbed as if being seared with a red-hot iron.

But the bodily agony was as nothing to the mental anguish which he
suffered.  Death was before him if he lay there--death in a painless,
insidious form, no doubt; but still, death in all its horror to one so
young and strong.

He knew that he must rise and keep moving if he wished to prolong his
existence, and he rose to his feet, raging now against the cowardly
gang, and more against himself.

"I was a fool and a coward," he groaned.  "Why didn't I fight for my
life?  Great heaven!  What shall I do?"

He paused for a moment, meaning to turn back and make an attack upon his
enemies.

But, unarmed as he was, he knew it was madness, and he tramped on
through the darkness in the faint hope of finding help, but with his
heart sinking as he grasped the fact that fate or the management of the
gang had driven him onward farther into the defile, and away from the
aid he might have found if he had made his way back to his morning's
starting-place.

Fully satisfied that death would be his portion, he struggled on
aimlessly till utterly exhausted; and then he paused, breathless, to go
over once more the scene by the glowing fire, and ask himself whether he
had not been to blame for displaying his distrust after the way in which
he had been rescued.  But he could only come back to his old way of
thinking--that he had fallen among thieves of the worst type, and that
he owed his life to the prompt way in which he had escaped.

Recovering his breath somewhat, he stood listening as he gazed back
through the darkness; but all was still.  There were no signs of
pursuit, so, taking out his handkerchief, he folded it into a bandage,
and with one hand and his teeth contrived to bind and tie it tightly
round his wound so as to stop the bleeding, which was beginning to cause
a strange sensation of faintness.

He had been hot with exertion when he stopped, but now the feeling of
exhilaration caused by his escape died out as rapidly as the heat.  A
deadly chill attacked mind and body, for his position seemed crushing.
It was horrible beyond bearing, and for the moment he was ready to throw
himself down in his despair.  The intense cold would, he knew, soon
bring on a sensation of drowsiness, which would result in sleep, and
there would be no pain--nothing but rest from which there would be no
awakening; and then--

Then the coward feeling was driven back in a brave effort--a last
struggle for life.

The cold was intense, the darkness thicker than ever, for the sides of
the ravine had been closing in till only a narrow strip of faintly
marked sky was visible, while at every few steps taken slowly the poor
fellow stumbled over some inequality and nearly fell.

At times he struck himself heavily, but he was beyond feeling pain, and
in his desperation these hindrances acted merely as spurs to fresh
effort, for he was on the way to safety.  At any minute he felt that he
might catch sight of another gleam of light, the camp fire of some other
adventurer, and he knew that some of those on the way to the great
Eldorado must be men who would help and even protect a fellow-creature
in his dire state of peril.

But he knew that this intense feeling of energy could not last, that he
was rapidly growing weaker, and that ere many minutes had elapsed he
would once more stumble and fall, and this time the power to rise again
would have passed away.

Was it too late to return to his enemies and make an appeal for his
life? he asked himself at last.  They might show him mercy, and life was
so sweet.

But as these thoughts flickered through his brain in the half delirium
fast deadening his power of thinking coherently, he once more saw the
scene by the fire, and the faces of the three scoundrels stood out
clearly with that relentless look, that cruel bestial glare of the eye,
which told him that an appeal would but hasten his end.

"Better fall into the hands of God than men like them," he groaned, and
setting his teeth hard he tottered on a few yards farther, with the snow
growing less deep, the ground more stony.

Then the end came sooner than he expected, for his feet caught against
something stretched across his way, and he fell heavily, uttering a cry
of horror as he struggled to his knees.

For it was no block of stone, no tree-trunk torn from some shelf in the
precipice above; he grasped the fact in an instant that he had tripped
over a sledge similar to his own, to fall headlong upon the ghastly
evidence of what was to be his own fate; for stiff and cold in the
shallow snow, his fingers had come upon the body of some unfortunate
treasure-seeker, and as, half-wild with horror, he forced himself to
search with his hands to discover whether some spark of life might yet
be burning, it was to find that whoever it was must have laid calmly
down in his exhaustion, clasping his companion to his breast to give and
receive the warmth that might save both their lives.

Vain effort.  The man's breast was still for ever, and the faithful dog
that had nestled closely with his muzzle in his master's neck was stiff
and stark.

"God help me!" groaned the adventurer, clasping his hands and letting
them fall softly on the dead; "is this the ending of my golden dream?"



CHAPTER THREE.

IN THE DARK.

The horrible chill of impending death, the bright light of reason, and
the intense desire to live, roused the half-stunned adventurer to
action.

Die?  Like that?  No!--when salvation was offered to him in this way.

It was horrible, but it was for life.  There, close by him, slightly
powdered with snow, was the unfortunate's sledge, and in an instant he
was tearing at the rope which bound its load to the framework.

He could hardly believe his good fortune, for as the rope fell from the
packages the first thing he set free was a fur-lined coat, possibly one
which the dead man was too much exhausted to assume.

Suffering keenly from the cold, this was put on at once; and then,
continuing the search, it was to find that a rifle was bound along one
side, balanced by tools on the other.  Then there were blankets and
stores similar, as far as he could judge, to those with which his own
sledge had been laden.

The warmth afforded by the thick garment and the exertion increased the
thrill of returning energy.  For he was no longer helpless to continue
his journey.  It could be no act of injustice to the dead to take
possession of the means of saving his own life; and now all thought of
giving up without making a desperate struggle was completely gone.

Soon after a fresh thrill of returning energy swept through him, and,
turning quickly back to where the dead were lying, he knelt there,
hesitating for a few moments before, with his determination increasing,
he softly thrust the dog aside, and felt about the dead man's waist.

He shuddered as his hands came in contact with the icy feeling of cold,
but it was for life, and a feeling of joy shot through him, for it was
as he had hoped.  In a few minutes he had unfastened a buckle, turned
the body over slightly, and that which he sought to obtain yielded to
the steady pull he gave.

He had drawn free the dead man's belt, bringing with it his revolver in
its little holster and the pouchful of cartridges.

That seemed to give new life to him as he buckled the belt about his
waist.  Then, taking out the pistol, he felt it in the dark, to find
that it was loaded in every chamber, and that the lock worked easily and
well.

The pistol replaced in the belt, the young man remained thinking, with
all his energy seeming to have returned.  What was he to do next?  There
was food of some kind on the sledge, and he must eat.  There were
blankets, and with them and the sledge for shelter he must rest and
sleep.

There was the dead man and his faithful dog, but their near presence
brought no feeling of horror.  He felt that he could kneel down by the
poor fellow and offer up a prayer for His mercies, and then lie down to
sleep in perfect trust of awakening at daybreak, for he was no longer
suffering from exhaustion, and hardly felt the cold.

"But not yet--not yet," he muttered, and a faint sound broke the silence
as he stood there, his teeth grinding softly together, while his next
words, uttered half aloud, told the direction his thoughts had taken.

"The cowardly dogs!" he exclaimed.  "Three to one, and him unarmed.  But
not now--not now."

A brief search brought his hands in contact with a canvas satchel-bag,
in which were ship's biscuits, and one of these he took.  It would
suffice.

Breaking it and beginning to eat, he set off at once on the back track
to execute his daring project, one which made him glow to his
finger-tips.

"Better go on," he said with a mocking laugh.  "Yes, but not yet.
They're cowards--such scoundrels always are--and the darkness will
magnify the number of the attack.

"Bah! talking to myself again; but I'm not going mad.  I can't go on
without letting them taste something of what they have given me."

He tramped on slowly, but the return journey seemed less difficult, and
he wondered now that he should feel so fresh and glowing with a
spreading warmth.  It was as dark as ever, but he had no fear of not
finding his way; and sooner than he expected, and just as he was
finishing the last scrap of hard biscuit, he caught sight of the faint
light of the fire from which he had been driven.

The sight of it sent fresh vigour through his limbs, and his plan was
soon made.  He would keep on till there was the risk of being heard, and
then creep closer till well within shot, and his sleeping enemies thrown
up by the fire, which they had evidently made up well before settling
themselves down for the night.

He felt sure that at the first report they would spring up and run for
their lives, and he meant to fire at each if he had time, and scare
them, for he felt disposed to show as much mercy as he would to a pack
of savage wolves.

But matters were not to fall out exactly as he had calculated.  He
tramped steadily on, with the fire growing brighter, and at last he took
out the revolver to examine it by touch once more, as he walked on more
swiftly now, meaning to go forward a hundred yards or so and then
proceed more cautiously, so as to make sure the enemy was asleep.

All at once he stopped short, startled.

The enemy was not asleep, for he saw a dark shadow pass before the
glowing light.

The adventurer stopped short for a few moments, but not in hesitation.
It was merely to alter his plan of attack; but the next minute all
planning was cast to the winds, for there rang out on the night air a
wild cry for help--such an appeal as he had himself uttered so short a
time before.

The cry was repeated, sending a thrill of excitement through the
listener, and telling its own tale.  To the hearer it was as plain as if
he had been told that the gang of ruffians had waylaid another
unfortunate, who was about to share his own fate.

He rushed forward at once, and as he ran and stumbled he could see that
a desperate struggle was going on, figures in fierce contention passing
in front of and once trampling through the fire, whose embers were
kicked and scattered in all directions.

Suddenly two figures stepped aside into the full light, leaving two
others wrestling together; and this was the opportunity needed.  Their
first victim could see plainly that the former were enemies, and
stopping short when about twenty yards away, he fired.  Both turned to
gaze in the direction from which the flash and report had come.

They were in time to see another flash.  Another report raised the
echoes, and they turned and fled.

Then the struggle ceased, and the adventurer saw another figure
disappearing into the darkness after his two companions.

As he dashed off the young fellow rushed up in time to seize the victim,
who staggered helplessly, trampling among the burning embers, among
which he would have fallen but for the willing hands which dragged him
aside, and lowered him down, before their owner began to kick about and
scatter the fire, which hissed and smoked and steamed, as snow was
heaped over, and raised a veil to hide the pair from their enemies while
the bright light was dying out.

The next act was to find out whether the enemy were yet in the vicinity.
The adventurer advanced for some distance into the darkness, but all
was still.

Satisfied that he could not be seen, the young man went on for some
little distance; but it was evident that the sudden attack had done its
work, and the party had fled for their lives.

"The question is, will they recover themselves and come back?" he
muttered.  "Well, we must be on our guard.  Two in the right against
three in the wrong.  Those are fair odds.  _Two_ in the right!  Suppose
it is only one."

He hurried back towards the scene of the encounter, guided by the
faintly glowing embers lying here and there, and the dark, blinding
wood-smoke which was borne towards him by the light icy wind which came
down the defile.

"Suppose they have killed him!"

"Who are you?  But whoever you are," came in a hoarse whisper, "if it
hadn't been for you those ruffians would have settled me."

"Thank heaven, then, I was in time.  Can you help me trample out the
rest or this fire?"

"Hadn't we better escape?  You might help me drag my sled into a place
of safety."

"There is no place of safety near," was the reply; "and it's cold enough
to freeze us to death.  We had better stay here."

"But we dare not light a fire; they would see us, and come and pick us
off."

"I don't think the cowardly hounds will dare to come back."

"But they might, and I dare not risk it."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not seriously, but wrenched and strained in the struggle.  Can you
understand what I say?  I don't know my own voice."

"Yes, I can hear you.  What is it--a cold?"

"No; I was right enough an hour ago.  That red-bearded dog caught me by
the throat.  He was trying to strangle me.  I fired at random, and then
my senses were going, but I heard your shots.  He has quite taken away
my voice.  Where is your hand, sir?"

"Here: what do you want?"

"Just to make mine speak to it in a friendly grip.  God bless you, sir!
you've saved my life.  I can't say more now."

"Don't.  There: we have no light to betray us now."



CHAPTER FOUR.

NATURE'S MISTAKE.

"But hadn't we better go on?"

"No: warmth is everything here.  The ground is hot where the fire was,
and we'll camp there till morning.  I saw you had a sledge.  We'll drag
that to one side for shelter."

"And there is theirs, too," was said huskily.

"Mine!" was the reply.  "The scoundrels inveigled me into staying with
them, and I had a narrow escape."

"Hah!  Just as they served me.  I saw their light and came up, and they
professed to be friends.  I didn't like the look of them, but one can't
pick one's company out here, and a good fire was very tempting."

"Hist!"

The warning was followed by the clicking of pistol locks, after which
the pair listened patiently for some minutes.

"Nothing.  Here, let's get the two sledges one on either side of the hot
ground.  One will be a shelter, the other a breastwork to fire over if
the scoundrels come back.  Besides, the breastwork will keep in the
heat.  We are bound to protect ourselves."

"All right," was the reply, in an answering whisper, and the pair
dragged the two sledges into position, and then, allowing for the dank
odour of the quenched wood, found that they had provided themselves with
a snugly warm shelter, adding to their comfort by means of blankets and
a waterproof sheet, which they spread beneath them.

This took time, for every now and then they paused to listen or make a
reconnaissance in search of danger; but at last all was done, and the
question was who should keep the first watch.

"I'll do that," said the last comer.  "I couldn't lie down to sleep if I
tried; my throat gives me so much pain.  It feels swollen right up.
I'll take the first watch--listen, one ought to say.  Why, I can't even
see my hand."

"It is terribly dark here in this gulch," was the whispered reply.  "The
mountains run up perpendicularly on either side.  But I couldn't sleep
after all I've gone through to-night.  My nerves are all on the jar.
I'll watch with you."

"Listen."

"Well, listen, then.  Watch with our ears.  Can you hear me when I
whisper?"

"Oh, yes."

"But they will not come back, I'm sure."

"So much the better for them; but I hope that the miserable, treacherous
hounds will meet their reward.  So they attacked you just in the same
way?"

"Not till I told them I would not stay; and I was sorry afterwards,
feeling that perhaps I had insulted them by my suspicions.  Of course, I
did not know their character then."

"No.  Well, we know it now.  It is a specimen, I suppose, of the scum we
shall find yonder."

"I am afraid so."

"You are going after gold, of course?"

"Who would be here if he were not?"

"Exactly.  I hope the game is going to be worth the candle.  Suppose we
two stick together.  You won't try to choke me the first time you see me
nodding off to sleep for the sake of my sledge and stores?"

"Oh, I'll promise you that."

"It was a startler.  I was dog tired."

"Eh?"

"I was dog tired, and dropping off in the warmth of the fire into a
golden dream of being where the nuggets were piled up all around me; and
I was just going to pick up one, when a great snake darted at me and
coiled itself round my throat.  Then I was awake, to find it was a real
devil snake in the shape of that red-bearded ruffian."

"That was the one the others called Beardy.  But don't you talk so much:
your voice is growing worse."

"Can't help it, old fellow.  I must talk.  I'm so excited.  Feel the
cold?"

"Oh, no.  I'm quite warm with the glow which comes up through the sheet.
A good idea, that was, of bringing it on your sledge."

"Yes, but it's heavy.  I say, though, what an experience this is, here
in the pitchy darkness.  Ah!  Look out!"

The pistols clicked again, for from somewhere close at hand there was a
faint rustling sound, followed by a heavy thud, as if some one had
stumbled and fallen in the snow.

The pair listened breathlessly in the black darkness, straining their
eyes in the direction from whence the sound had come; but all was
perfectly still.

They listened again minute after minute, and there was a dull throbbing
sound which vibrated through them; but it was only the heavy beating of
their own hearts.

Then they both started violently, for there was another dull heavy thud,
and some one hissed as if drawing in his breath to suppress the strong
desire to utter a cry of pain.

It was horrible in that intense blackness to crouch there with pistols
held ready directed towards the spot where whoever it was had fallen,
for there could be no doubt whatever.  There had been the fall, not many
yards from where they knelt, and they listened vainly for the rustling
that must accompany the attempt to get up again.

At last the faint rustling came, and the temptation to fire was almost
too strong to be resisted.  But they mastered it, and waited, both
determined and strung up with the desire to mete out punishment to the
cowardly miscreants who sought for their own gain to destroy their
fellow-creatures.

"Don't fire till you are sure it is they," each of the two young men
thought.  "It is impossible to take aim in this darkness."

And they waited till the rustling ended in a sort of whisper.

Once more all was silent, and the suspense grew maddening, as they
waited minutes which seemed like hours.

But the enemy was evidently astir, for there was another whisper, and
another--strange warning secretive whispers--and a sigh as of one in
pain.

At this one of the listeners thrust out a hand, and the other joined in
an earnest grip, which told of mutual trust and determination to stand
by each other to the death, making them feel that the terrible emergency
had made them, not acquaintances of an hour's length, but staunch
friends, both strong and tried.  Then they loosened the warm, manly
grip, and were ready for the worst.

For there was no longer any doubt: the enemy was close at hand, waiting
the moment for the deadly rush.  The only question was whether they
should fire at once--not with the thought of hitting, but to teach the
scoundrels how thoroughly they were on the alert, and in the hope of
driving them into taking to flight once more.

But they doubted.  A few shots had done this once, but now that the
miscreants had had time to recover from their panic, would it answer
again?

Thud! thud! in front, and then a far heavier one behind them.  They
could not hold out much longer.  The enemy was creeping towards them.

At this moment there was a tremendous crack, a hissing roar, and a
terrific concussion, the defenders of the tiny fort being struck down
behind their little breastwork.

But this onslaught was not from the enemy they awaited.  The
ever-gathering snow from far above, loosened by the hot current of air
ascending from the fire, had come down in one awful charge, and the
marauders' camp was buried in an instant beneath thousands of tons of
snow.



CHAPTER FIVE.

HAND IN HAND.

There was the sense of a terrible weight pressing the sufferers down,
with their chests against the soft load bound upon the sledge in front;
and utterly stunned, they lay for a time motionless, and almost
breathless.

Then one began to struggle violently, striving to draw himself back, and
after a tremendous effort succeeding, to find that beneath him the snow
was loose, there being a narrow space along by the side of the sledge,
and that though his breath came short he could still breathe.

He had hardly grasped this fact when the movement on his right told of a
similar action going on, and he began to help his companion in
misfortune, who directly after crouched down beside him, panting
heavily, in the narrow space, which their efforts had, however, made
wider.

"Horrible!" panted the second at last.  "An avalanche.  Surely this does
not mean death."

There was no reply, and in the awful darkness a hand was stretched out
and an arm grasped.

"Why don't you say something?" whispered the speaker hoarsely.

"What can I say, man?  God only knows."

"But it is only snow.  We must burrow our way out.  Wait a moment.  This
way is towards the open valley."

"No, no; this.  Beyond you is the wall of rock.  Let me try."

For the next ten minutes there was the sound of one struggling to get
through the snow, and then it ended with the hoarse panting of a man
lying exhausted with his efforts.

"Let me come and try now," came in smothered accents.

"It is of no use.  The snow was loose at first, but farther on it is
pressed together hard like ice.  Try your way."

The scuffling and tearing commenced now to the right.

"Yes; it's quite loose now, and falls down.  Ah! _no good_; here is the
solid rock running up as far as I can reach."

"I can hardly breathe.  It is growing hotter every moment."

"No; it is cooler here.  I can reach right up and stand against the
rock."

The speaker's companion in the terrible peril crept over the snow to his
side and rose to his feet, to find the air purer; and, like a drowning
man who had raised his head for the moment above water, he drank in deep
draughts of the cold, sweet air.

"Hah!" he gasped at last hoarsely, after reaching up as high as he
could, "the rock has saved us for the moment.  The snow slopes away from
it like the roof of a shed."

"Yes; if we had been a few feet farther from it we should have been
crushed to death.  Let's try and tear a way along by the foot of the
rock."

They tried hard in turn till they were utterly exhausted and lay
panting; but the only result was that the loose snow beneath them became
trampled down.  No, not the only result; they increased the space within
what was fast becoming a snow cavern, one of whose walls was the solid
rocky side of the ravine.

"Are we to die like this?"

"Is this to be the end of all our golden hopes?  Oh, heaven help us!
What shall we do?  The air is growing hotter; we have nearly exhausted
it all, and suffocation is coming on fast.  I can't, I won't die yet.
Help! help! help!"

Those three last words came in a hoarse faint wail that sounded
smothered and strange.

"Hush!" cried the other; "be a man.  You are killing yourself.  The air
is not worse.  I can breathe freely still."

There was a horrible pause, and then, in pitiful tones: "I am fighting
down this fearful feeling of cowardice, but it is so hard--so hard to
die so soon.  Not twenty yet, and the bright world and all its hopeful
promise before one.  How can you keep like that?  Are you not afraid to
die?"

"Yes," came in a low, sad whisper; "but we must not die like this.  Tell
me you can breathe yet?"

"Yes," came in the husky, grating tones; "better and better now I am
still."

"Then there is hope.  We are on the track; others will come after a
time, and we may be dug out."

"Hah!  I dare not think it.  I say."

"Yes?"

"Do you think those wretches have been caught by the fall as well?"

"If they were near they must have been."

"Yes, and we heard them."

"No, no," sighed the other; "those were patches of snow falling that we
heard."

There was silence then, save that twice over a soft whisper was heard,
and then a low, deep sigh.

"I say."

"Yes?"

"I feel sure that air must come to us.  I can breathe quite easily
still."

"Yes."

"Then we must try and bear it for a time.  I'm going to believe that we
may be dug out.  Shall we try to sleep, and forget our horrible
position?"

"Impossible, my lad.  For me, that is.  You try."

"No; you are right.  I couldn't sleep.  But, yes, I can breathe better
still.  There must be air coming in from up above.  Well, why don't you
speak?  Say something, man."

"I cannot talk."

"You must--you shall, so as to keep from thinking of our being--oh,
help! help! help!"

"Man, man! don't cry out in that horrible way;" and one shook the other
fiercely, till he sobbed out, "Yes; go on.  I am a coward; but the
thought came upon me, and seemed to crush me."

"What thought?  That we must die?"

"No, no," groaned the other in his husky voice; "that we are buried
alive."

Once more there was silence, during which the elder and firmer grasped
the hand of his brother in adversity.  "Yes, yes," he whispered, "it is
horrible to think of; but for our manhood's sake keep up, lad.  We are
not children, to be frightened of being in the dark."

"No; you are right."

"Here, help me sweep away the snow from under us.  No, no.  Here is the
waterproof sheet.  We can drag it out--yes, I can feel the sledges.
Let's drag out those blankets."

"No, no, don't stir; you may bring down the snow roof upon our heads.  I
mean, yes.  I'll try and help you."

They worked busily for a few minutes, and then knelt together upon what
felt like a soft couch.

"There's food, and the snow for water; it would be long before we should
starve.  Why are you so silent now?  Come, we must rest, and then try to
cut our way out when the daylight comes."

"The daylight!" said the other, with a mocking laugh.

"Yes; we may see a dim dawn to show us which way to tunnel."

"Ah, of course!"

"Could you sleep now?"

"No, no; we must talk, or I shall go off my head.  That brute hurt me
so, it has made me rather strange.  Yes, I must talk.  I say: God bless
you, old fellow!  You saved my life from those wretches, and now you're
keeping me from going mad.  I say!  The air is all right."

"Yes; I can breathe freely, and I am not cold."

"I am hot.  I say, let's talk.  Tell me how you came to be here."

"Afterwards; the words would not come now.  You tell me how you came."

"Yes; it will keep off the horrors; it's like a romance, and now it does
not seem to be true.  And yet it is, and it happened just as if it were
only yesterday.  I never thought of coming out here.  I was going to be
a soldier."

He spoke in a hurried, excited way, and the listener heard him draw his
breath sharply through his teeth from time to time, as if he shivered
from nervous dread.

"I was not fit for a soldier.  Fate knows best.  See what a coward I
am."

"I thought you brave."

"What!"

"For the way in which you have fought and mastered the natural dread;
but go on."

"Oh, no; it seems nonsense to talk about my troubles at a time like
this."

"It is not.  Go on, if you can without hurting yourself more."

"I'll go on because it will hurt me more.  It will give me something
else to think of.  Can you understand my croaking whisper?"

"Oh, yes."

"An uncle of mine brought me up after father and mother died."

"Indeed?"

"Dear old fellow!  He and aunt quite took my old people's place; and
their boy, my cousin, always seemed like my brother."

The listener made a quick movement.

"What is it?  Hear anything?"

"No; go on."

"They were such happy times.  I never knew what trouble was, till one
day poor uncle was brought home on a gate.  His horse had thrown him."

There was a pause, and then the speaker continued in an almost inaudible
whisper:

"He was dead."

The listener uttered a strange ejaculation.

"Yes, it was horrible, wasn't it?  And there was worse to come.  It
nearly killed poor dear old aunt, and when she recovered a bit it was to
hear the news from the lawyers.  I don't quite understand how it was
even now--something about a great commercial smash--but all uncle's
money was gone, and aunt was left penniless."

"Great heavens!" came in a strange whisper.

"You may well say that.  Bless her!  She had been accustomed to every
luxury, and we boys had had everything we wished.  My word! it was a
knockdown for poor old Dal."

"Who was poor old Dal?" said the listener, almost inaudibly.

"Cousin Dallas--Dallas Adams.  I thought the poor chap would have gone
mad.  He was just getting ready for Cambridge.  But after a bit he
pulled himself together, and `Never mind, Bel,' he said--I'm Bel, you
know; Abel Wray--`Never mind,' he said, `now's the time for a couple of
strong fellows like we are to show that we've got some stuff in us.
Bel,' he said, `the dear old mother must never know what it is to
want.'"

It was the other's turn to draw in his breath with a low hissing sound,
and the narrator's voice sounded still more husky and strange, as if he
were touched by the sympathy of his companion, as he went on:

"I said nothing to Dal, but I thought a deal about how easy it was to
talk, but how hard for fellows like us to get suitable and paying work.
But if I said nothing, I lay awake at nights trying to hit on some plan,
till the idea came--ah! is that the snow coming down?"

"No, no!  It was only I who moved."

"But what--what are you doing?  Why, you've turned over on your face."

"Yes, yes; to rest a bit."

"I'm trying you with all this rigmarole about a poor, unfortunate
beggar."

"No, no!" cried the other fiercely.  "Go on--go on."

The narrator paused for a few moments.

"Thank you, old fellow," he whispered softly, and he felt for and
grasped the listener's hand, to press it hard.  "I misjudged you.  It's
pleasant to find a bit of sympathy like this.  I've often read how
fellows in shipwrecks, and wounded men after battles, are drawn together
and get to be like brothers, and it makes one feel how much good there
is in the world, after all.  I expect you and I will manage to keep
alive for a few days, old chap, and then we shall have to make up our
minds to die--like men.  I won't be so cowardly any more.  I feel
stronger, and till we do go to sleep once and for all we'll make the
best of it, like men."

"Yes, yes, yes!  Go on--go on!"



CHAPTER SIX.

A STRANGE MADNESS.

It was some time, though, before the narrative was continued, and then
it was with this preface.

"Don't laugh at me, old chap.  The shock of all this has made me as weak
and hysterical as a girl.  I say, I'm jolly glad it's so dark."

"Laugh at you!"

"I say, if you speak in that way I shall break down altogether.  That
fellow choked a lot of the man out of me, and then the excitement, and
on the top of it this horrible burying alive--it has all been too much
for me."

"Go on--go on."

"Yes, yes, I will.  I told you the idea came, but I didn't say a word to
my cousin for fear he should think it mad; and as to hinting at such a
thing to the dear old aunt, I felt that it would half kill her.  I made
up my mind that she should not know till I was gone.

"Well, I went straight to the `Hard Nut'--that's Uncle Morgan.  We
always called him the nut that couldn't be cracked--the roughest,
gruffest old fellow that ever breathed, and he looked so hard and sour
at me that I wished I hadn't gone, and was silent.  `Well,' he said, `I
suppose you two boys mean to think about something besides cricket and
football now.  You've got to work, sir, work!'"

"Hah!" sighed the listener.

"`Yes, uncle,' I said, `and I want to begin at once.'

"`Humph!' he said.  `Well, that's right.  But what do you want with me?'

"`I want you to write me a cheque for a hundred pounds.'

"`Oh,' he said, in the harsh, sneering way in which he always spoke to
us boys; for he didn't approve of us being educated so long.  He began
work early, and made quite a fortune.  `Oh,' he said, `do you?  Hadn't I
better make it five?'

"`No,' I said.  `I've thought it all out.  One hundred will do exactly.'

"`What for?' he said with a snap.

"`I'm off to Klondike.'

"`Off to Jericho!' he snarled.

"`No, to Klondike, to make a fortune for the poor old aunt.'

"`Humph!' he grunted, `and is Dallas going with you to make the second
fool in the pair?'

"`No, uncle,' I said; `one fool's enough for that job.  Dal will stop
with his mother, I suppose, and try to keep her.  I'm nobody, and I'll
take all risks and go.'

"`Yes, one fool's enough, sir,' he said, `for a job like that.  But I
don't believe there is any gold there.'

"`Oh, yes, there is, sir,' I said.

"`What does Dallas say?'

"`Nothing.  He doesn't know, and he will not know till aunt gets my
letter, and she tells him.'

"`As if the poor old woman hadn't enough to suffer without you going
off, sir,' he said.

"`But I can't stop and live upon her now, uncle.'

"`Of course you can't, sir.  But what about the soldiering, and the
scarlet and gold lace?'

"`Good-bye to it all, sir,' I said with a gulp, for it was an awful
knockdown to a coxcomb of a chap like I was, who had reckoned on the
fine feathers and spurs and the rest of it.

"`Humph!' he grunted, `and you think I am going to give--lend you a
hundred pounds to go on such a wild goose chase?'

"`I hope so, uncle,' I said.

"`Hope away, then; and fill yourself with the unsatisfactory stuff, if
you like.  No, sir; if you want to go gold-digging, shoulder your swag
and shovel, pick and cradle, and tramp there.'

"`How?'  I said, getting riled, for the old nut seemed harder than ever.
`I can't tramp across three thousand miles of ocean.  I could hardly
tramp over three thousand miles of land, and when I did reach the
Pacific, if I could, there's the long sea journey from Vancouver up to
Alaska, and another tramp there.  No, uncle,' I said, `it isn't to be
done.  I've gone into it all carefully, and cut it as fine as I might,
it will take fifty pounds for outfit and carriage to get to Klondike.'

"`Fifty!  Why, you said a hundred,' he growled.  `That's coming down.
Want the other fifty to play billiards and poker?'

"`No, I don't,' I said, speaking as sharply as he did; `I want that
fifty pounds to leave with poor old aunt.  I can't and won't go and
leave her penniless.'"

"Ah!" sighed the listener--almost groaned.

"Well, wouldn't you have done the same?"

"Yes, yes.  Go on--go on."

"There isn't much more to tell.  I'm pretty close to the end.  What do
you think the old boy said?"

"I know--I know," came back in a whisper.

"That you don't," cried the narrator, who, in spite of their horrible
position, burst out into a ringing laugh.  "He just said `Bah!' and came
at me as if he were going to bundle me out of the door, for he clapped
his hands on my shoulders and shook me fiercely.  Then he banged me down
into a chair, and went to one of those old, round-fronted secretary
desks, rolled up the top with a rush, took a cheque-book out of a little
drawer, dashed off a cheque, signed and blotted it, and thrust it into
my hand.

"`There, it's open,' he said.  `You can get it cashed at the bank, and
send your aunt the fifty as soon as you're gone.  Be off at once, and
don't say a word to a soul.  Here; give me back that cheque.'

"I gave it back to him.

"`Now, swear you won't tell a soul I lent you that money, nor that you
are going off!'

"`I give you my word of honour, uncle.'

"`That'll do,' he said.  `Catch hold, and be off.  It's a loan, mind.
You bring back a couple of sacks full of nuggets, and pay me again.'

"`I will, uncle,' I said, `if I live.'

"`If you live!' he said, staring at me.  `Of course you'll live.  I'm
seventy, and not near done.  You're not a score.  Be off.'

"And I came away and never said a word."

"But you sent the fifty pounds to your poor old aunt?"

"Why, of course I did; but I shall never pay old `Hard Nut with the
Sweet Kernel' his money back.  God bless him, though, and I hope he'll
know the reason why before he dies."

"God bless him! yes," said the listener, in a deep, low voice that
sounded very strange, and as if the speaker could hardly trust himself
to speak.

Then they lay together in the darkness and silence for a time, till Abel
Wray made an effort and said in his harsh, husky voice:

"There, that's all.  Makes a fellow feel soft.  Think it's midnight
yet?"

"No, no," was whispered.

"I'll strike a match and see."

"No.  We want every mouthful of air to breathe, or I should have struck
one long ago."

"Of course.  I never thought of it once.  Sleepy?"

"No."

"Then fair play.  Tell me your story now."

"There is no need.  But tell me this; am I awake?  Have you told me all
this, or have I dreamed it?"

"I've told you it all, of course."

"Am I sane, or wandering in my head?  It can't be true.  I must be mad."

"Then I am, too.  Bah! as Uncle Morgan said.  Come, play fair; tell me
how you came here?"

"The same way as you did, and to get gold."

"Well, so I supposed.  There, just as you like.  I will not press you to
tell me."

"I tell you there is no need.  For your story is mine.  We thought as
brothers with one brain; we made the same plan; we travelled with the
same means; we supplied the dear old aunt and mother from the same
true-hearted source.  Bel, old lad, don't you know me?  It is I, Dal,
and we meet like this!"

"Great heaven!" gasped Abel, in his low, husky whisper.  "It has turned
his brain.  Impossible!  Yes, that is it; the air is turning hot and
strange at last, and this has driven me mad.  It is all a wandering
dream."



CHAPTER SEVEN.

FEVERED DREAMS.

"It is _no_ wandering dream, Bel.  I tell you I seem to have been
inspired to do exactly the same as you did, and I went to Uncle Morgan,
who treated me just as he treated you."

"Yes, a dream--off my head," said Abel Wray, in his harsh whisper.

"No, no, old fellow," cried Dallas; "it is all true.  Uncle was never so
strange to me before.  It was because you had been to him first.  It is
wonderful.  Your voice is so changed I did not know it, and in the
darkness I never saw your face."

"Yes--delirious," croaked Abel.  "They say it is so before death."

"Nonsense, nonsense, lad!  I came back just in time to save you, and now
we have been saved, too, from a horrible death.  After a bit we shall be
stronger, and shall be able to see which way to begin tunnelling our way
out to life again.  Cheer up; we have got through the worst, and as soon
as we are free we'll join hands and work together, so that we can show
them at home that we have not come out in vain.  How are you now?"

A low rumbling utterance was the reply, and Dallas leaned towards him,
feeling startled.

"Don't you hear me?" he cried.  "Why don't you answer?"

"Dear old Dal--to begin dreaming of him now," came in a low muttering.

"No, no; I tell you that it is all true."

"All right, uncle," croaked Abel.  "Not an hour longer than it takes to
scrape together enough.  Ha, ha, ha! and I thought you so hard and
brutal to me.  Eh?  But you're not.  It was a dreadful take in.  I say!"

"Yes, yes, old fellow.  What?"

"Don't say a word to dear old Dal.  Let him stop and take care of aunt,
and let them think I've shuffled out of the trouble.  I'll show them
when I come back."

"Bel, old fellow," cried Dallas, seizing his cousin's hand, "what is it?
Don't talk in that wild way."

"That's right, uncle," croaked Abel.  "We two used to laugh about you
and call you the Hard Nut.  So you are; but there's the sweet white
kernel inside, and I swear I'll never lie down to sleep again without
saying a word first for you.  I say, one word," cried the poor fellow,
grasping his cousin's hand hard: "you'll do something for old Dal,
uncle?  I'll pay you again.  I don't want to see him roughing it as I
shall out there for the gold--yes, for the gold--the rich red gold.  Ah,
that's cool and nice."

For in his horror and alarm Dallas had laid a hand upon his cousin's
temples, to find them burning: but the poor fellow yielded to the gentle
pressure, and slowly subsided on to the rough couch they had made, and
there he lay muttering for a time, but starting at intervals to cough,
as if his injured throat troubled him with a choking sensation, till his
ravings grew less frequent, and he sank into a deep sleep.

"This is worse than all!" groaned Dallas.  "Had I not enough to bear?
His head is as if it were on fire.  Fever--fever from his injury and the
shock of all he has gone through.  I thought he was talking wildly
towards the last."

As he spoke he was conscious of a sharp throbbing pang in his shoulder,
and he laid a hand upon the place that he had forgotten; while now he
woke to the fact that when he tried to think what it would be best to do
for his cousin, the effort was painful, and the sensation came back that
all this must be a feverish dream.

He clapped his hands to his face.  It and his brow were burning hot, and
he knew that he was growing confused; so much so that he rose to his
knees, then to his feet, and took a step or two, to stand wondering, for
his senses left him for a moment or two, and then a strange thing befell
him.  A black veil seemed to have fallen in front of his eyes, and he
was lost, utterly lost, and he had not the least idea where he was or
what had been taking place during the past twenty-four hours.

He stretched out his hands and touched the compressed snow, which was
dripping with moisture; but that gave him no clue, for his mind seemed
to be a perfect blank, and with a horrible feeling of despair he leaned
forward to try and escape from the black darkness, when his burning brow
came in contact with the icy wall of his prison, and it was like an
electric shock.

His position came back in a flash.  Self was forgotten, and he sank upon
his knees to feel for his cousin, horror-stricken now by the great dread
that the poor fellow might die with him by his side quite unable to
help.

He forgot that but a short time back he was advocating a brave meeting
of their fate.  For since he had awakened to the fact that his boyhood's
companion was with him, hope had arisen, and with it the determination
to wait patiently till morning and then fight their way back to the
light.  Now all seemed over.  Abel was terribly injured, fever had
supervened, and he would die for want of help; while he, who would
freely have given his life that Abel might live, was utterly helpless,
and there was that terrible sensation of being lost coming on again.

He pressed his head against the snow, but there was no invigorating
sense of revival again--nothing but a curious, worrying feeling.  Then
he was conscious for a few moments that Abel was muttering loudly, but
the injury to his shoulder was graver than he had imagined, and the
feverish symptoms which follow a wound were increasing, so that before
long he too had sunk into a nightmare-like sleep, conscious of nothing
but the strange, bewildering images which haunted his distempered brain;
and these were divided between his vain efforts to flee from some
terrible danger, and to drag the heavily laden hand-sledge between two
ice-covered rocks too close together to allow it to pass.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE FIGHT FOR LIFE.

"Yes!  Yes!  What is it?"  Somebody had spoken in the black darkness,
but it was some minutes before Dallas Adams could realise the fact that
the words came from his own lips.

Then he heard a faint whisper from somewhere close by, and he was this
time wide awake, and knew that he was answering that whisper.

"Where am I?  What place is this?"

The question had come to him in his sleep, and for a few moments, so
familiar were the sounds, he felt that he must have the tubes of a
phonograph to his ears, and he listening to the thin, weird, wiry tones
of his cousin's voice.

Then, like a flash, all came back, and he knew not only that he had been
asleep, but everything that had happened some time before.

"Bel, old lad," he said huskily, and he winced with pain as he tried to
stretch out his left hand.

"Ah!" came again in the faint whisper, "That you, Dal?"

"Yes, yes.  How are you now?"

"Then it isn't all a delirious dream?"

"No, no; we have been brought together almost miraculously."

"Thank God--thank God!" came feebly.  "I thought I had been off my head.
Have I been asleep?"

"Yes, and I fell asleep too.  My wound made me feverish, and we must
have been lying here ever so long in the dark."

"Your wound, Dal?"

"Yes; I had almost forgotten it in what we had to go through, but one of
the scoundrels shot me.  It is only a scratch, but my arm seems set
fast."

"Ah!  Do you think they were buried alive too?" came in an eager
whisper.

"Who can say, old fellow?  But never mind that.  How do you feel?  Think
you can help me?"

"Tie up your wound?"

"No, no.  Help me try and dig our way out."

"I think so.  My head feels a bit light, but it's my throat that is
bad--all swollen up so that I can only whisper."

"Never mind your throat so long as you can use your arms."

"Think we can dig our way out?"

Dallas uttered a little laugh.

"Why not?" he said.  "There is a pick and shovel on my sledge."

"Ah, yes, and on mine too."

"We were out of heart last night," continued Dallas, encouragingly, "and
in the scare thought we were done for.  But we can breathe; we shall not
suffer for want of food; the melted snow will give us drink; and once we
can determine which way to dig, what is to prevent our finding our way
to daylight again?"

"Our position," said Abel, in his faint whisper.  "Where are we to put
the snow we dig out?"

Dallas was silent for a few moments.

"Yes," he said at last; "that will be a difficulty, for we must not fill
up this place.  But never mind that for the present.  We must eat and
drink now, for we shall want all our strength.  Pressed snow is almost
like ice.  Ah, here is the sledge--mine or yours.  My head is too thick
to tell which.  Bel, lad, we are going to dig our way out, if it takes
us a month."

"Yes," came rather more strongly; and the next minute Dallas Adams was
feeling about the sledge for the tin which held the traveller's food.

It was hard work fumbling there in the dark, for parts of the sledge
were pressed and wedged down by snow that was nearly as hard as ice; but
others were looser, and by degrees he managed to get part of the tin
free, when he started, for something touched his arm.

"Can I help you, Dal?"

"How you made me jump, lad!  I don't know.  Feel strong enough?"

"I think so; but I want to work.  It's horrible lying there fancying the
top of this hole is going to crumble down every time you move some of
the snow."

"Lay hold here, then, and let's try and drag this tin out."

They took hold of it as well as their cramped position would allow, and
tugged and tugged, feeling the tin case bend and grow more and more out
of shape; but it would not come.

"No good," said Dallas.  "I'll cut through the tin with my knife."

"But it's looser now.  Let's have one more try."

"Very well.--Got hold?--Now then, both together."

They gave a sudden jerk, and fell backward with the once square tin case
upon them, lying still and horrified, for there was a dull creaking and
crushing noise as if the snow was being pressed down to fill up the
vacancy they had made, and then _crick, crack_, sharply; there was the
sound of breaking, as portions of the sledge gave way from the weight
above.

Abel caught his cousin's hand to squeeze it hard, fully expecting that
their last moments had come; but after a minute's agony the sounds
ceased, and the prisoners breathed more freely.

"It's all right, Bel," said Dallas; "but it did sound rather creepy."

"Hah!" ejaculated Abel.  "I thought--"

"Yes, so did I, old fellow; but it's a mistake to think at a time like
this.  We only frighten ourselves.  Now then, let's see what we've got."

"See?" said Abel bitterly.

"Yes, with the tips of our fingers.  It's all right, I tell you; rats
and mice and rabbits don't make a fuss about being in burrows."

"They're used to it, Dal; we're not."

"Then let's get used to it, lad.  I say, suppose we were getting gold
here, instead of a biscuit-tin; we shouldn't make a fuss about being
buried.  Why, it's just what we should like."

"I suppose so," replied Abel.

"It's what we shall have to do, perhaps, by-and-by.  This is a sort of
lesson, and it will make the rest easy."

"If we get out."

"Get out?  Pish!  We shall get out soon.  The sun and the rain will thaw
us out if we don't dig a way.  Hullo!  The lid's off the tin, and the
biscuits are half of them in the snow.  Never mind.  Set to work and
eat, while I pick up all I can find.  I'm hungry.  Peck away, lad, and
think you're a squirrel eating your winter store.  I say, who would
think one could be so warm and snug surrounded by snow?"

Abel made no reply, but tried to eat, as he heard the cracking and
crunching going on at his side.  It was hard work, though, and he went
on slowly, for the effort to swallow was accompanied by a good deal of
pain, and he ceased long before Dallas gave up.

"How are you getting on?" the latter said in an encouraging tone.

"Badly."

"Yes, they are dry; but wait till we get our gold.  We'll have a banquet
to make up for this.  By Jove!"

"What is it?"

"I forgot about your throat.  It hurts?"

"Horribly.  But I can manage."

Dallas said no more, but thought a great deal; and after placing the tin
aside he turned to the sledge to try whether he could not get at the
shovel bound to it somewhere, for the package was pressed all on one
side by the snow.

After a long search he found one corner of the blade, and drawing his
big sharp knife, he set to work chipping and digging with the point,
with the result that in about an hour he dragged out the tool.

"Now," he said, "we can get to work turn and turn.  The thing is, where
to begin, for I have not seen the slightest glimmer of light."

"No; we must be buried very deep."

"Say pretty deep.  Which way shall we try?"

"Up by the rock, and slope upward where the air seems to come."

"That's right.  Just what I thought.  And, look here, Bel, there's room
for a couple of cartloads of snow or more about us here, and my plan is
this: one will dig upward, and of course the snow will fall down of its
own weight.  As it comes down the other must keep filling that
biscuit-tin and carrying it to the far end yonder and emptying it."

"And bury the sledge and the food."

"No: we can get a great deal disposed of before we come to that.  Look
here--I mean, feel here.  We have plenty of room to stand up where we
are.  Well, that means that we can raise the floor.  So long as we have
room to lie down, that is all we want."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"After a while we must get out all the food we want and take it with us
in the tunnel we make higher and higher as we go."

"Yes, that sounds reasonable," said Abel thoughtfully.  "We shall be
drawing the snow down and trampling it hard beneath our feet."

"And, I believe, be making a bigger chamber about us as we work up
towards the light."

"Keeping close to the face of the rock, too," said Abel, "will ensure
our having one side of our sloping tunnel safe.  That can never cave
in."

"Well done, engineer!" cried Dallas laughingly.  "Here were we thinking
last night of dying.  Why, the very remembrance of the way in which
animals burrow has quite cheered me up."

"That and the thought that we may have to mine underground for our
gold," replied Abel.  "Shall I begin?"

"No; you're weak yet, and it will be easier to clear away my workings."

Without another word the young man felt his way to the end of their
little hole, tapped the rock with the shovel, and then stood perfectly
still.

"What is it?" asked Abel.

"I was trying to make out where the air comes from, and I think I have
hit it.  I shall try and slope up here."

Striking out with the shovel and trying to cut a square passage for his
ascent, he worked away for the next hour, the snow yielding to his
efforts much more freely than he had anticipated; and as he worked Abel
tried hard to keep up with him, filling the tin, bearing it to the other
end beyond the sledges, and piling up the snow, trampling down the loads
as he went on.

Twice over he offered to take his cousin's place; but Dallas worked on,
hour after hour, till both were compelled to give up from utter
exhaustion, and they lay down now in their greatly narrowed cave to eat.

This latter had its usual result, and almost simultaneously they fell
asleep.

How long they had been plunged in deep slumber, naturally, they could
not tell.  Night and day were the same to them; and as Dallas said, from
the hunger they felt they might have been hibernating in a torpid state
for a week, for aught they knew.

They ate heartily of the biscuits, Abel's throat being far less painful,
and once more the dull sound of the shovel began in a hollow, muffled
way.

A couple of hours must have passed, at the end of which time so much
snow had accumulated at the foot of the sloping shaft that Dallas was
compelled to descend and help his fellow-prisoner.

"This will not do," he said.  "We must get out some more provisions
before we bury the sledges entirely."

"There is enough biscuit to keep us alive for a couple of days," replied
Abel.  "Let us chance getting out, and not stop to encumber ourselves
with more provisions."

"It is risky, but I fancy that I am getting nearer the air.  Go up and
try yourself."

Abel went up the sloping tunnel to the top with ease, Dallas having
clipped steps out of the ice, and after breathing hard for a few minutes
the younger man came down.

"You must be getting nearer the top.  I can breathe quite freely there."

"Yes, and the snow is not so hard."

"Chance it, then, and go on digging," said Abel eagerly.  "I will get
the snow away.  I can manage so much more easily if I may put it down
anywhere.  It gets trampled with my coming and going."

Dallas crept up to his task once more and toiled away, till, utterly
worn out, both made another meal and again slept.

Twice over this was repeated, and all idea of time was lost; still they
worked on, cheered by the feeling that they must be nearing liberty.
However, the plan arranged proved impossible in its entirety, the rock
bulging out in a way which drove the miner to entirely alter the
direction of his sap.  But the snow hour after hour grew softer, and the
difficulty of cutting less, till all at once, as Dallas struck with his
spade, it went through into a cavity, and a rush of cool air came into
the sloping tunnel.

"Heavenly!" cried the worker, breathing freely now.  "I'll slip down,
Bel.  You must come up and have a mouthful of this."

He descended to the bottom, and Abel took the spade and went to his
place.

"The shovel goes through quite easily here," he said excitedly.

"Yes, and what is beyond?" shouted Dallas.  "Can you see daylight?"

"No; all is black as ink.  It must be a hole in the snow.  We must get
into it, for the air comes quite pure and fresh, and that means life and
hope."

In his excitement he struck out with the shovel twice, and had drawn it
back to strike again, when there was a dull heavy crack, and he felt
himself borne sidewise and carried along, with the snow rising up and
covering his face.

The next minute, as he vainly strove to get higher, the movement ceased,
and he felt himself locked in the embrace of the snow, while his
breathing stopped.

Only for a moment, before the hardening crystal which surrounded his
head dropped away, and a rush of pure air swept over him and seemed to
bring back life.

Then the sliding movement entirely ceased, and he wildly shouted his
cousin's name.

His voice echoed from somewhere above, telling him that, though a
prisoner, he was free down to the shoulders, though his arms were
pinned.

But there was no other reply to the call, and he turned sick and faint
with the knowledge that Dallas must be once more buried deep, and far
below.

Around all was black darkness, and in his agony another desperate effort
was made; but the snow had moulded itself around him nearly to the neck,
and he could not stir a limb.



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."



CHAPTER TEN.

A HUMAN FOSSIL.

"You be blowed!" cried a bluff cheery voice.  "Eckers be jiggered!
Think I don't know the difference between a hecker an' a nail?"

"No."

"Don't I?  I heered some one holloa, and as I don't believe in ghosts, I
say some one must be here.  Ahoy! where are you, mate?"

The speaker turned from his two companions, who were dragging the sledge
up the slope of the snow-fall, and then smote one thigh heavily with the
palm of his great hand.

"I'm blest!" he shouted, as he ran a few steps and dropped on one knee
by Abel's head.  "No, no; don't give in now, my lad.  Hold up, and we'll
soon have you out o' this pickle.  Here, out with shovels and pecks,
lads.  Here's a director of the frozen meat company caught in his own
trap.  Specimen o' Horsestralian mutton froze hard and all alive O.
Here, mate, take a sup o' this."

The speaker unscrewed the top of a large flask, and held it to Abel's
lips, trickling a few drops between them as the head fell back and the
poor fellow nearly swooned away.

"That's your sort.  Never mind its being strong.  I'd put some snow in
it, but you've had enough of that.  Coming round, you are.  What's it
been--a heavy 'lanche?"

"Yes, yes," gasped Abel; "but never mind me."

"What!  Want to be cut out carefully as a curiosity--fly-in-amber sort
of a fellow?"

"No, no--my cousin!  Buried alive, man.  Hark! you can hear him digging
underground."  The great sturdy fellow, who bore some resemblance to
ruddy-haired Beardy, sufficient in the distance and under the
circumstances of his excitement to warrant Abel's misapprehension,
stared at the snow prisoner for a few moments as if he believed him to
be insane.

"He's off his 'ead, mates, with fright," he said in a low voice to his
companions, who were freeing the shovels; but Abel heard him.

"No, no," he cried wildly.  "I know what I am saying.  Listen."

The great, frank-looking fellow laid his ear to the snow, and leaped up
again.

"He's right," he roared excitedly.  "There's some one below--how many
were with you, my lad?"

"Only my cousin--we were buried together--but don't talk--dig, dig!"

"Yes, both of you, slip into it.  Just here," cried the big man, "while
I get the pick and fetch this one out."

"No, no, not there," cried Abel frantically.  "Dig yonder, there by the
rock wall."

"What, right over yonder?  Sound's here."

"Go and listen there," cried Abel.

"Can you hold out?"

"Yes, yes; hours now.  Save my cousin; for heaven's sake, quick!"

One of the men had gone quickly to the rocky wall, knelt down and
listened, and shouted back.

"He's right," cried this latter.  "You can hear some one moleing away
quite plain."

"Dig, dig!" shouted Abel, and two of the new-comers began at once, while
the leader of the party went to their sledge and dragged a sharp-pointed
miner's pick from where it was lashed on.

"No, no," cried Abel imploringly, as the man returned to his side; "save
him."

"You keep quiet, my lad.  I'm a-going to save you."

"But I can breathe," cried Abel.

"So can he, or he couldn't go on working.  Two heavy chaps is quite
enough to be tramping over his head.  Don't want my sixteen stone to
tread it hard.  Have a drop more o' this 'fore I begin?"

"No, no!  It is burning my mouth still."

"Good job too: put some life into you, just when you looked as if you
was going to bye-bye for good.  Now then, don't you be skeart.  I know
how to use a pick; been used to it in the Corn'll tin-mines.  I could
hit anywhere to half a shadow round you without taking the skin off.
I'll soon have you out."

He began at once, driving the pick into the compressed snow; but after
the first half-dozen strokes, seeing how the fragments flew, he took off
his broad-brimmed felt hat and laid it against Abel's head as a screen.
Then commencing again he made the chips fly in showers which glittered
in the sunshine, as he walked backward, cutting a narrow trench with the
sharp-pointed implement, taking the prisoner's head as a centre and
keeping about thirty inches distant, and so on, round and round till the
channel he cut was as deep as the arm of the pick, and quite clear.

"Feel bad?" he said, pausing for a few moments.

"No, no," cried Abel.  "How are they getting on?"

"Better'n me.  If we don't look sharp your mate--what did you say he
was--cousin?--'ll be out first."

"I hope so," sighed Abel.

"Now then, shut your eyes, my son," cried the miner.  "I'm going to cut
from you now.  Lean your head away as much as you can.  I've cut the
tire and felloes of the wheel; your head's the nave; now I'm going to
cut the spokes."

_Click, click, click_, went the pick.

"Don't you flinch, my son," cried the man.  "I won't hit you."

Abel had winced several times over, for the bright steel tool had
whizzed by him dangerously close; but he grew more confident now, and,
as much as he could for the sheltering hat, he watched the wonderful
progress made by his rescuer, who at the end of a few minutes had deeply
cut two more channels after the fashion of the spokes running from the
centre to the periphery of the imaginary wheel.

After this, a few well-directed blows brought out the intervening snow
in great pieces, and upon these being cleared out another clever blow
broke the gathered snow right up to the young man's left arm, leaving
seven or eight inches below the shoulder clear.

"That's your sort, my son," cried the miner cheerily, chatting away, but
keeping the pick flying the while.  "The best way to have got you out
would have been with a tamping iron, making a nice hole, dropping in a
dynamite cartridge, and popping it off.  That would have sent this stuff
flying, only it might have blowed you all to bits, which wouldn't have
been pleasant.  This is the safest way.  How are you gettin' on, mates?"

"All right.  He's 'live enough, Bob."

"Work away, then.  Look here, my son, I did think of spoking you all
round, but I'm beginning to think it'll be better to keep on at you this
side, and then take you out of your mould sidewise like.  There won't be
so much cutting to do, and you'll have one side clear sooner.  What do
you say?"

"I want you to go and help your companions," replied Abel faintly.

"Then I'm sorry I can't oblige you," cried the man cheerily.  "Look at
that now!  This fresh stuff hasn't had time to get very hard.  After a
few thawings and freezings it would be like clear solid ice.  It's
pretty firm, but--there's another.  Soon let daylight down by your ribs.
I want to get that hand and arm clear first so as you can hold the hat
to shade your face."

And all the time he chatted away, coolly enough, the pick was wielded so
dexterously, every blow being given to such purpose, that he cut out
large pieces of the compressed snow and hooked them out of the rapidly
growing hole.

It was the work of a man who had toiled for years amongst the granite
deep down in the bowels of the earth, and experience had taught him the
value of striking so as to save labour; but all the same the task was a
long one, and it grew more difficult the deeper down he went.

"'Bliged to make the hole bigger, my son," he said; "but you hold up; I
sha'n't be long now.  I say, how deep down do you go?  Are you a
six-footer?"

"No, I'm only about five feet eight," said Abel, whose face looked
terribly pained and drawn.

"Aren't you now?" said the man coolly.  "I should ha' thought by the
look of your head and chest that you were taller.  Been a longer job
with me.  I'm over six foot three, and good measure.  There, now that
arm's clear, aren't it?  Can you lift it out?"

Abel shook his head sadly.

"There is no use in it," he said faintly.

"Might ha' knowed it.  Bit numb like with the cold.  But you keep a good
heart, and I'll have you out.  It's only a bit o' work, and no fear of
caving in on us.  Just child's play like.  There's one arm clear, and a
bit of your side, and the rest'll soon follow."

The man paused in the act of getting the the top off the spirit-flask,
and shouted to his companions, "Hoi!  Here, quick, lads, and help me
here.  My one's going out."

For a ghastly look crossed Abel's face, his eyes grew fixed, as they
half-closed, and his head fell over on one side.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A COWARD BLOW.

The two men who had been fighting hard to reach Dallas, the sound of
whose strokes seemed nearer than ever, rushed to their companion, who
had begun chafing the buried man's face and temples, with the result
that Abel raised his head again and looked wildly round.

"I thought he was a goner, my sons," whispered the big fellow.  "Go on
back to your chap; I'll manage here."

The two men, who were excited by their task, rushed back again, and
their companion moistened Abel's lips.

The man began to work his pick again with wonderful rapidity, enlarging
the hole, and every now and then giving a furtive glance at the prisoner
and another in the direction where his companions were tearing out the
icy snow.

The great drops stood on the big Cornishman's face as he toiled away,
enlarging the hole down beside Abel Wray, and all the time he kept up a
cheery rattle of talk about how useful a tool a pick was, and how the
lad he was helping--and whom he kept on calling "my son"--ought to have
brought one of the same kind for the gold working to come; but the look
in his big grey eyes looked darker and more sombre as he saw a grey
aspect darkening the countenance of the prisoner--the air he had seen
before in the faces of men whom he had helped to rescue after a fall of
roof in one of the home mines.

"He'll be a goner before I get him out if I don't mind," he said to
himself, and the pick rattled, and the icy snow flashed as he struck
here and there, only ceasing now and then to stoop and throw out some
big lump which he had detached.

"Better fun this, my son," he said with a laugh, "if all this was rich
ore to be powdered up.  Fancy, you know--gold a hundredweight to the
ton.  Rather different to our quartz rock at home, with just a sprinkle
of tin that don't pay the labour.

"Hah!" he cried at last, from where he stood in the well-like shaft he
had cut, and threw down his pick on the snow.  "Now you ought to come."

He rose, took hold of Abel as he spoke, and found that his calculations
were right, for very little effort was required to draw him forward from
out of the snowy mould in which he was belted; and the next minute the
poor fellow lay insensible upon the snow, with his rescuer kneeling by
him, once more trickling spirit between the blue lips.

"Can't swallow," muttered the man, and he screwed up the flask, and set
to work rubbing his patient vigorously, regardless of what was going on
beneath the rocky wall, till there was a loud cheer, and his two
companions came towards him, each holding by and shaking hands heartily
with Dallas Adams.  For they had mined down to where they could meet him
as he toiled upward to escape; and the first words of Dallas, when he
was drawn out hot and exhausted, were a question about his cousin.

The pair set at liberty joined in now in the endeavour to resuscitate
the poor fellow lying on the snow.  Their sledge was unpacked, double
blankets laid down, and the sufferer lifted upon them, friction
liberally applied to the limbs, and at last they had the satisfaction of
seeing him unclose his eyes, to stare blindly for a time.  Then
consciousness returned, there was a look of joy flashing out, and he
uttered the words hoarsely:

"Dal!  Saved!"

"Yes, yes, all right, old lad, thanks to these true fellows here.  How
are you?"

"Arms, hands, and legs burning and throbbing horribly.  I can hardly
bear the pain."

The big Cornishman laughed.

"Only the hot-ache, my son," he said merrily.  "That's a splendid sign.
You're not frost-bitten."

"God bless you for all you have done," cried Abel, catching at the big
fellow's hand.  "I couldn't hold out any longer."

"Of course you couldn't.  Why, your pluck was splendid."

"Thank him, Dal," cried Abel.  "He has saved my life."

"Yah!  Fudge!  Gammon!  Stuff!  We don't want no thanking.  You two lads
would have done the same.  We don't want to be preached at.  Tommy
Bruff, my son, what do you say to a fire, setting the billy to boil, and
a bit o' brax'uss?"

"Same as you do, laddie.  Cup o' tea'll be about the right thing for
these two."

There was plenty of scrub pine at hand, swept down by the snow-fall, and
sticking out here and there.  Axes were got to work, and soon after the
two sufferers were seated, covered with fur-lined coats, and revelling
in the glow of the fire, over which a big tin was steaming, while their
new friends were busy bringing out cake, bread, tea, and bacon from
their store in the partly unpacked sledge.

The big, bearded Cornishman had started a black pipe, and while his
companions replenished the fire and prepared for the meal, he sat on a
doubled-up piece of tarpaulin, and wiped, dried, and polished picks,
shovels, and axes ready for repacking.  Every now and then he paused to
smile a big, happy, innocent-looking smile at the two who had been
rescued, just as if he thoroughly enjoyed what had been done, and then,
suddenly dropping the axe he was finishing, caught up a little measure
of dry tea, and shouting, "There, she boils!" tossed it into the tin
over the fire, lifted it off, and set it aside, and then laid the
freshly polished tools on the sledge.

Soon after, refreshed by the tins of hot tea, the rescued pair were able
to give an account of their adventures, the new-comers listening eagerly
and making their comments.

"Ho!" said the big Cornishman, frowning.  "I expected we should come
across some rough 'uns, but I didn't think it was going to be so bad as
that.  Scared, mates?"

"No," said one of his companions; "not yet."

"Nor yet me," said the other.

"Nor me neither," said the big fellow.  "If it's going to be peace and
work, man and man, so much the better; but if it's war over the gold, we
shall have to fight.  What's mine is mine, or ourn; and it'll go awkward
for them as meddles with me.  I'm a nasty-tempered dog if any one tries
to take my bone away; aren't I, my sons?"

The two men addressed bent their heads back and burst into a roar of
laughter.

"Hark at him," said the man spoken to as Tommy.  "Don't you believe him,
my lads.  He's a great big soft-roed pilchard; that's what he is.  Eh,
Dick Humphreys?"

"Yes; like a great big gal," assented the other.

"Oh, am I?" said the big fellow.  "You don't know, my sons.  But I say,
though," he continued, tapping the snow with his knuckles, "then for
aught we know them three blacks is buried alive just under where we're
sitting?"

"I'm afraid so."

"'Fraid?  What are you 'fraid on?"

"It is a horrible death," said Abel, with a shudder.

"Well, yes, I suppose it is," said the Cornishman thoughtfully.  "I say,
we ought to get digging to find 'em, oughtn't we?"

"We are not sure they are there," said Dallas.

"Of course you are not," continued the miner, "and I don't believe they
are.  You see, your mate here took us for 'em.  I believe Natur' made a
mistake and buried you two instead of them.  If they are down below I
haven't heard no signs of them, and they must be dead.  Why, it would
take us a couple of years to clear all this stuff away, and we mightn't
find 'em then.  I say, though, what about your tackle?"

"Our sledges?  They're buried deep down here."

"We shall have to get them out, then.  You two won't be able to get
along without your traps."

Soon after an inspection of the position was made; one of the men
descended into the hole they had dug close up to the rock wall, and he
returned to give his opinion that by devoting a day to the task the
shaft could be so enlarged that they could drive a branch down straight
to the spot, and save the stores and tools, even if they could not get
the sledges out whole.

It took two days, though, during which no fresh comers appeared, the
report of the snow-fall having stopped further progress.  At the end of
the above time, pretty well everything was saved by the help of the
miner and his companions, who gallantly stood by them.

"Oh, we've got plenty of time," said their leader, "and if these sort o'
games are going to be played, it strikes me that you two gents would be
stronger if you made a sort o' co. along of us.  Don't if you don't care
to.  What do you say to trying how it worked for a bit?"

This was gladly acceded to, and on the third day a move was made as far
as the spot where the grim discovery had been made.

Here the party halted, and the corpse of the unfortunate was reverently
covered by a cairn of stones, along with his faithful dog; after which a
discussion arose as to what should be done with the poor fellow's
implements and stores.

"Pity to leave 'em here," said one of the men.  "Only spoil.  Hadn't we
better share 'em out."

"Perhaps so," said Dallas.  "You three can."

"Oh, but there's five on us, sir."

"No, only three."

"What do you say, Bob?" said the first speaker.

"I says bring the poor chap's sled along with us.  If we're hard pushed
we can use what's there; if we're not we sha'n't want it; and--well, I
don't kind o' feel as if I should like any one to nobble my things like
that.  Same time, I says it is no use to leave 'em to spoil."

The next morning, with the young men little the worse for their
adventure, they started onward, and for a couple of days made pretty
good way, leaving the snow behind in their downward progress, till all
further advance was stopped by the change for which they had been
prepared before starting.  The watershed had been crossed, and they had
reached the head waters of one of the tributaries of the vast Yukon
River of the three thousand miles flow.

The spot they had reached was a long, narrow lake, surrounded at the
upper end by fir-woods.  The rest of the route was to be by water, and
here a suitable raft had to be made.

"Fine chance for a chap to set up boatbuilding," said Big Bob.  "What do
you say?  I believe we should make more money over the job than by going
to dig it out."

"Let's try the gold-digging first," said Dallas; and with a cheer the
men set to work at the trees selected, the axes ringing and the
pine-chips flying in the bright sunshine till trunk after trunk fell
with a crash, to be lopped and trimmed and dragged down to the water's
edge ready for rough notching out to form the framework of such a raft
as would easily bear the adventurers, their sledges and stores, down the
lake and through the torrents and rapids of the river in its wild and
turbulent course.

The sledges were drawn up together in a triangle to form a shelter to
the fire they had lit for cooking, for the wind came down sharply from
the mountains.  Rifles and pistols lay with the sledges, for the little
party of five had stripped to their work, so that, save for the axes
they used, they were unarmed.

But no thought of danger occurred to any one present; that was postponed
in imagination till they had finished the raft and embarked for a
twenty-mile sail down to where the river, which entered as a shallow
mountain torrent, rushed out, wonderfully augmented, to tear northward
in a series of wild rapids, which would need all the strength and
courage of the travellers to navigate them in safety.

A hearty laugh was ringing out, for the big Cornishman had rather
boastingly announced that he could carry one of the fallen trees easily
to the lake, put it to the proof, slipped, and gone head first into the
water after the tree, when a sharp crack rang out from near at hand.

Abel uttered a loud cry, clapped his hands to his head, and fell
backward.

For a moment or two the men stood as if paralysed, gazing at the fallen
youth.  Then Dallas looked sharply round, caught sight of a thin film of
smoke curling up from the edge of the forest, and with a cry of rage ran
toward the sledges, thrusting the handle of his axe through his belt,
caught up his revolver from where it lay, and dashed towards the spot
whence the firing must have come.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

WHOLESALE ROBBERY.

"Keep together--keep together!" shouted the big Cornishman; but no one
heeded, and he followed their example of seizing the first weapon he
could reach and following.

The pursuit was short, for it seemed madness to follow in amongst the
dense pines which formed the forest, placing themselves at the mercy of
an enemy who could bring them down as they struggled through the dense
thicket of fallen trees and tangled branches: so, after a few rallying
cries, they made their way back to the open space by the lake, to find
Abel sitting up and resting his head upon his hand.

"Wounded!" panted Dallas.

"Yes--no!  I can't tell!  Look!" said the injured man huskily.

A few minutes' examination showed how narrow had been his escape, a
bullet having struck the side of the poor fellow's head, just abrading
the scalp.  Half an inch lower must have meant death.

"Injuns," said the Cornishman laconically.

"No, no," cried Dallas, with a fierce look round; "it must be our
enemies."

"Not they, my lad; they're fast asleep under the snow, you may take your
oath.  It's Injuns, by the way they hid themselves.  Now, then, can you
keep watch--sentry go?" he said, addressing Abel.

"Yes, it was only a graze from the bullet; I am better now."

"Then you take a loaded rifle and keep watch while we go on knocking the
raft together."

"Yes," cried Dallas, "the sooner we get away from here the better."

All set to work with feverish energy at the raft-making.  Enough wood
was cut, and by clever notching together, the use of spikes, and a
further strengthening with rope, the framework rapidly progressed, their
intention being to launch, load up, and set off that evening, so as to
get to a safer spot.

Abel carefully kept his watch, scanning the dark edge of the forest; but
there was no further interruption, and the men worked away, with only a
brief pause for refreshment.

Then the sun dipped below the pines, and as darkness approached Dallas
let his axe rest on the young pine he had been trimming, and turned to
his companions, with a look of despair in his eyes.

"Yes," said the Cornishman good-humouredly, "we cut out more stuff than
we can finish to-night, my son.  It's a bigger job than I thought.  We
shall have to knock off now.  What's to be done about the fire?"

It was risky work, but the watch was well kept while water was boiled
and bacon fried.  Then a hasty meal was made, and as the darkness fell
the fire was quenched by throwing over it a bucket or two of water.

It was hard enough to do this, for though the ground was clear about
them, snow lay on every rocky hill, and the night promised to be
bitterly cold.  But the exposure to an enemy would have been too great;
so after selecting one of the huge spruces whose boughs hung down to the
ground for a shelter, and dragging the sledges close in, the question
arose of continuing the watch.

"Tchah!  It's as dark as pitch," said the Cornishman.  "Nobody could
see.  Let the enemy think we're watching.  They won't come.  We must
chance it.  Wrap up well, and have a good night's rest."

This advice was taken, and soon after all were sleeping the sleep of
exhaustion, and awoke at daylight without a fresh alarm.

The previous day's tactics were resumed, and the toil over the raft went
on, but there was still so much to do in the way of bracing and
strengthening the rough craft so that it might withstand the fierce
currents and concussions they were to expect at the lower part of the
lake where the rapids began, that the hours glided by till late in the
afternoon, and still the task was not done.

"Who could have thought it would take so long?" said Dallas at last.
"You see, we have everything to cut."

"No one, my son," said their big friend, smiling; "but I bet we
shouldn't have got the job done for us in double the time."

"It would be madness to start to-night."

"Stark.  Couldn't get loaded up before dark, and then it'll be like
pitch.  Let's cut some poles for punting and a mast to make a bit of
sail if we like, and then I think we may say that we have got our job
well done, ready for loading up and starting in the morning."

"Yes," said Abel, who seemed little the worse for his last mishap; "it
was better to make a good job of the raft."

"And that we've done," said the Cornishman.

The poles were cut, trimmed, and laid upon the deck, which had been
finished after launching; and now, as they examined their work, all were
satisfied that it could not have been done better in the time, for as it
lay in the clear water, swinging by a rope secured to a pine-stump, all
felt that it would easily bear the party, their sledges and stores; and
the pity seemed to be that it could not be used for the whole of their
journey.

"Who knows?  Perhaps it may."

There was an hour's daylight yet, and this was utilised down on the
sandy shore of the stream which ran into the lake hard by.

It was the first trial, and no little interest was felt as every man
waded into the icy cold water, pannikin in hand, to scoop the sand aside
and then get a tinful from as deep down as they could.

This was washed and watched beneath the water, the stones thrown out,
and washed again, till only a little sand remained, and this was
carefully examined.

"Gold!" cried Dallas excitedly; and this was eagerly responded to by the
others, for in every pan there was some of the precious metal, but such
tiny grains that it was decided that a halt would be useless there.

"Farther on," said Dallas excitedly; "this is only the edge of the
golden land, but here is proof that we are going right."

"Yes," said the big Cornishman; "but I don't rest till we can shovel it
up like gravel from a pit."

Darkness put an end to their search, and once more the fire was
quenched, and in silence they sought the shelter of the great tree,
placed their arms ready, rolled themselves in their blankets, and were
soon asleep.

It seemed as if they had only just lain down when one of the men
shouted, "Morning!"

"Hooray!" cried the big Cornishman.  "Who's going to face the cold, and
have a dip in the lake?"

Every one but Abel, who hung back.

"Don't you feel well enough to come?" said Dallas anxiously.

"Yes, but some one ought to light the fire and set the billy to boil."

"Here!  Hi!  All of you," yelled the big Cornishman, who had gone on.
"Quick!"

All ran at the alarm, and then stood aghast.

"The rope must have come undone," cried Dallas.

"Don't look like it, my son.  It's left part of itself behind."

"Broken--snapped?" cried Abel.

"Sawed through with a knife," said one of the men.

"Injuns.  Come in the night; lucky they didn't use their knives to us,"
growled the Cornishman fiercely, as he looked searchingly round.

"Look," cried Dallas, excited; "these are not Indian traces;" and he
pointed down at the sandy shore.

"Indian?  No," cried Abel, going down on his knees; "the marks of
navigators' boots, with nails;" and he looked wildly across and down the
lake.

But the raft, their two days' hard work, had gone.



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."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

FROM THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE WET FIRE.

"We could not have better weather, Bel," said Dallas, as they finished
the next morning's breakfast.  "Summer is coming."

"Rather a snowy summer," was the reply; "but never mind the cold: let's
try wherever we halt to see if there is any gold; those fellows are
getting out their tins."

A few minutes later all were gold-washing on the shore, their Cornish
friend having cast loose a shovel, and given every person a charge of
sand and stones from one of the shallows, taking his shovelfuls from
places a dozen yards or so apart.

Then the washing began in the bright sunshine, with the same results--a
few tiny specks of colour, as the men termed their glittering scales of
gold-dust.

"That's your sort, gentlemen," cried the Cornishman, washing out his
pan, after tossing the contents away; "plenty of gold, and if you worked
hard you might get about half enough to starve on.  Why, we could ha'
done better at home, down in Wales.  You can get a hundred pounds' worth
of gold there if you spend a hundred and fifty in labour."

"Yes; but even this dust shows that we are getting into the gold
region," said Dallas.

"That's right, my son, so come along and let's get there.  I s'pose
we're going right?"

"We must be," said Dallas.  "I have studied the maps well, and we passed
the watershed--"

"Eh?  We haven't passed no watershed.  Not so much as a tent."

Dallas had to explain that they had crossed the mountains which shed the
water in different directions.

"Oh, that's it, is it, my son?  I thought you meant something built up."

"So he did," said Abel, smiling, "by nature.  When we were on the other
side of the mountains the streams ran towards the south."

"That's right, master."

"Now you see the direction in which the water runs is towards the north.
Here in the map is the great Yukon River, running right across from
east to west, and these lakes form the little rivers which must run into
the Yukon."

"And that's the great gold river, my sons."

"Yes; but we shall find what we want in the rivers and creeks that run
down from the mountains to form the Yukon."

"That's all right, my son; so if we keep to these waters we must come to
the right place at last."

"I hope so."

"So do I, my son; so, as they said at the 'Merican railway stations,
`All aboard, and let's get as far down to-day as we can.'"

They stepped on to the raft, cast off the rope, and each man picked up
one of the twelve-foot pine-sapling poles they had provided for their
navigation down the rapids, of which they had been warned at starting;
and the big Cornishman planted himself in front.

"Anybody else like to come here?" he said.

There was a chorus of "No's," and he nodded and smiled.

"Thought I was best here to fend the raft off the rocks when she begins
to race.  I say, we're going to have it lower down.  Hear it?"

All nodded assent.

"If we are capsized, my sons," continued the big fellow drily, "one of
you had better swim up to me and take me on his back.  What do you say,
little un?" he added to Abel.  "It'll be your turn to help me."

"I'll stand by you," cried Abel; "never fear."

"I know that, my lad.  I say, the stream begins to show now as the place
gets narrower.  Looks as if it'll be nearly closed in.  Well, we must
risk it.  There's no walking as I see on either side."

"Ahoy!" came from the right bank, where the lake was fast becoming a
river.

"Ahoy to you, and good morning, whoever you are," cried the Cornishman.

Some unintelligible words followed, he who uttered them being plainly to
be seen now on a ledge some fifty feet above the surface of the water.
But his signs were easy to be understood.

"Wants us to give him a lift," said Dallas.  "Can we stop?"

"Oh, yes, and it would only be civil," said the Cornishman.  "Just room
for one first-class passenger.  All right; lend a hand here.  I can
touch bottom.  'Bout seven foot."

Poles were thrust down, and the raft was urged across the flowing water
till the eddy on the far side was reached, and then, with the fierce
roar coming out of a narrow gap in the rocks a few hundred yards lower,
the raft was easily thrust into a little cove below the man on the
shelf.

"Going down the rapids?" he shouted.

"We are, my lad," cried their captain.  "Why?"

"Will you give a poor fellow a lift down?  I can't get any farther for
the rocks."

"Far as the gold country?"

"Oh, no: I don't ask that.  Only to where I can tramp again."

"Well, we've just room for a little un," said the Cornishman.  "Much
luggage?"

"Only this pack," was the reply.

"Jump in, then," said the leader, with a grim smile.  "P'r'aps, though,
you'd better come lower."

The man nodded, slung his pack over his shoulder, and then, turning,
began to descend the almost perpendicular face of the rocks, twice over
narrowly escaping a bad fall.  But at last he reached the foot, waded
out a little, and then stepped on board.

"Thankye," he said; "you are good Christians.  I've been here a
fortnight, and couldn't get any farther.  I shouldn't have been alive
now if I hadn't got a fish or two."

"You are tramping to the gold region all alone, then?"

"Yes, and I've nearly tramped all the way from Chicago."

The Cornishman turned and stared.

"I got a lift sometimes on the cattle and freight trains, though, when I
could creep on unseen."

"The gold has a magnetic attraction for you, then?" said Abel.

"I suppose so, but it's my last chance.  This is a solitary way, though,
isn't it?  I've hardly seen a soul.  I saw your fire, though, last
night, across yonder."

"Did you see anybody go by on a raft three or four days ago?" cried
Dallas eagerly.

"I did.  Party of three, and hailed them."

"What were they like?" cried Abel.

"Roughs; shacks; loafers.  One of them had a big red beard."

Dallas started, and glanced at Abel.

"A brute!" cried the stranger fiercely.  "I asked them to give me a
lift, as I was going to starve here if they didn't, and I warned them
that I had heard it wanted a strong party to take a craft through the
rapids.  `All right, stranger,' he said, pushing the craft a little
nearer.  `Mind lending me your knife to trim this rough pole with?  I've
lost mine.'"

It was Abel now who glanced at Dallas.

"`Catch,' I said, pitching mine, in its sheath."

"Well?" said the Cornishman, fumbling in his belt.

"Well," continued the man, with a sombre look in his eyes, "he caught
it, and began to smooth his pole, letting the raft drift away; and
though I begged and prayed of them to stop for me, they only laughed,
and let her get right into the current.  It was life or death to me, as
I thought then," continued the stranger, "and I climbed along that shelf
and followed, shouting and telling them I was starving, and begging them
to throw me my knife back if they wouldn't take me aboard; but they only
laughed, and told me to go and hang myself.  But I followed on as fast
as I could, right along to the opening yonder where it's so narrow that
I could speak to them close to; and though I knew they couldn't stop the
raft there, I thought they'd throw me my knife."

"And did they?" said the Cornishman.

"No.  I was there just before them, and I shouted; but you can't hear
yourself speak there, the roar echoes so from the rocks.  The next
minute they'd been swept by me so near I could almost have jumped on
board; and there I stood, holding on and reaching out so that I could
see them tear down through the rushing water.  They'd took fright,
dropped their poles, and were down on their knees holding on, with the
raft twisting slowly round."

"Capsized?" cried Dallas.

"Drowned?" cried Abel.

"I could not see," continued the stranger.  "I watched them till they
went into a sort of fog with a rainbow over it, and then I felt ready to
jump in and try to swim, or get drowned, for without my knife I felt
that all was over."

"Not drowned, then?" said Dallas.

"No, my son; them as is born to be hanged'll never be drowned," said the
big Cornishman grimly.  "Look ye here, old chap, you'd better take this
toothpick; it's the one that the boss of that party who stole our raft
lost."

"Ah!" cried the stranger; "they stole your raft?"

"They did, my son, and it seems to me things aren't at all square, for
these here fellows are ready to do anything--from committing murder down
to stealing a knife.  Why, they've even cheated death, or else they'd be
lying comfortably buried in the snow."

"Ha!" ejaculated Dallas, as he stood grasping his pole, and the raft
began to glide along.

"Yes, it is `Hah!' my son," said the Cornishman; "but I shouldn't wonder
if we came across a tree some day bearing fruit at the end of a hempen
stalk.  I say, though, my son, is the river below there so dangerous as
you say?"

"Yes; it is a horrible fall, as far as I could see."

"Then hadn't you better stop ashore?"

"And starve?" said the man bitterly.

"You're ready to risk it, then?" said Dallas.

"I'd risk anything rather than stop alone in this horrible solitude,"
said the stranger excitedly.

"All right, then, my son.  There's a spare pole.  Set your pack down;
take hold, and come on."

The stranger did as he was told, and took the place pointed out.

"If it's as noisy as he says," continued the Cornishman, "there'll be no
shouting orders--it'll all be signs.  So what you see me do you've got
to follow.  Spit in your hands, all of you, and hold tight with your
feet.  Stick to it, and we'll get through.  We must; there's no other
way."

No one spoke in reply, but their companion's cheery way of meeting the
perils ahead sent a thrill of confidence through the party, as they
stood on the triangular raft, noting that the current was gradually
growing swifter as the rocky walls on either side closed in from being
hundreds of yards apart to as many feet, and the distance lessening
rapidly more and more.

It was horrible, but grand, and as the pace increased, a curious
sensation of intoxicating excitement attacked the party, whose senses
seemed to be quickened so that they could note the wondrous colours of
the rocks, the vivid green of the ferns and herbs which clustered in the
rifts and cracks, and the glorious clearness of the water.

So excited was the great fellow at the head of the raft that he raised
his pole, turned to look at his companions, and then pointed onward,
while moment by moment the great walls of rock seemed to close in upon
them as if to crush all flat.

Up to now their progress had been a swift glide, but as they approached
the narrow opening, which seemed not much more than wide enough to let
them pass, the raft began to undulate and proceed by leaps, each longer
than the last, while the water rippled over the side.

Then all at once the front portion--the apex of the elongated triangle--
rose as if at a leap, dipped again, and they were off with a terrific
rush in a narrow channel of rock, up whose sides the water rose as if to
escape the turmoil.  Wave rose above wave, struggling to get onward;
there was the roar of many waters growing more deafening, and the raft
was tossed about like a straw, its occupants being forced to kneel and
try to fend her off from the sides.  And now, to add to the horror,
turmoil, and confusion, they plunged at a tremendous speed into a bank
of churned up mist, dense as the darkest cloud, rushing onward in bounds
and leaps which made the raft quiver, till all at once Dallas, who was
near their captain, suddenly caught sight of a mass of rocks apparently
rising out of the channel right in their way.

The next moment there was a terrific shock, a rush of water, black
darkness, and everything seemed to be at an end.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"THOSE BORN TO BE HANGED."

The preparations for fending the raft off the rocks that might be in
their way, or keeping it from the wall-like sides which overhung them,
were absurd; for as they were swept into the furious rapid, and whirled
and tossed about, each man instinctively dropped his pole to crouch down
and cling for dear life to the rough pieces of timber they had so
laboriously notched, nailed, and bound together.

The course of the river was extremely erratic, zigzagging through the
riven, rocky barrier which formed the ancient dam at the foot of the
lake; and one minute they were swept to right, the next to left, while
at every angle there was a whirlpool which threatened to suck them down.

Noise, darkness, the wild turmoil of tumbling waters, blinding mist, and
choking spray, strangled and confused the little crew, so that they
clung to the raft, feeling that all was over, and that they were about
to be plunged deep down into the bowels of the earth.  Dallas was
conscious of wedging his toes between two of the timbers, clinging with
his left hand, and reaching over the bound-down sledges to grasp Abel's;
and then all seemed to be blank for a length of time that he could not
calculate.  It might have been a minute--it might have been an hour; but
he held on to his cousin's hand, which clutched his in return in what
seemed to be a death-grip, till all at once they were shot out into the
bright sunshine, and were gliding at a tremendous rate down a
water-slide, with the water hissing and surging about them where they
knelt.

As soon as he could sweep the blinding spray from his eyes, Dallas
looked round in wonder, to find that all his companions were upon the
raft, and that the rocky walls on either side were receding fast as the
river opened out, while the rapid down which they plunged seemed quite
clear of rocks.

The deafening noise was dying out too, and as Dallas looked back at the
fast growing distant gap in the rock through which they had been shot,
he wondered that the raft should have held together with its freight,
and that they should still be there.

His brain seemed still to be buzzing with the confusion, when he was
conscious of some one beside him giving himself a shake like a great
water-dog and shouting:

"What cheer, there!  Not dead yet.  Are any of you?"

There was no reply--every one looking strained and oppressed; then,
without a word, the little party began to shake hands warmly, and the
big Cornishman shook his head.

"It was a rum un!" he exclaimed; "it was a rum un!  Well, we're all
alive O, and if we do get any gold, you may all do as you like, but I
shall go back home some other way."

The straightforward naive way in which this was said seemed so absurd on
the face of it that the cousins could not refrain from smiling: but the
sight of a great mass of rock ahead dividing the swift stream into two,
and toward which the raft seemed to be rushing fast, made all turn to
seize their poles and fend it off from a certainty of wreck.

However, the poles were all probably being whirled round and round one
of the pools they had passed, like scraps of straw, and the shattering
of the raft seemed a certainty; but their big companion was a man of
resource.  Seating himself upon the edge of the raft as it glided evenly
along, he waited with legs extended for the coming contact.  His feet
touched the rock, and a vigorous thrust eased their craft off, the brave
fellow's sturdy limbs acting like strong buffers, so that there was only
a violent jerk, the raft swung round, and they went gliding on again.

The current was swift, but clear now from further obstacles, and hope
grew strong.

"I say, I call it grand!" cried one of the men.  "We shall soon get
there if we keep on like this."

"Yes, but the sooner one of us takes a rope and jumps ashore, the
better.  We must cut some fresh poles."

This was done at the first opportunity, Abel leaping on to the rocky
bank with a rope, as they glided by a spot where the forest of pines
came down close to them; and then, seizing his opportunity, he gave the
rope a turn round a small tree.  There was a jerk, and the hemp
threatened to part; but it held, and the raft swung round and became
stationary as the rope was made fast.

The first proceeding was to wring out their garments, and the next to
examine the sledges, which had been so well made fast when loaded up
that they had not stirred; but some of the stores were damaged with
water.

"Can't help it," said Dallas cheerily.  "Our lives are saved."

Something was done towards their drying by the warm sunshine, for this
came down brightly, though the aspect round was growing almost as wintry
as the country they had passed through higher up beyond the lake; and as
they gazed at the mountains, which they felt must lie somewhere near the
part for which they were aiming, it seemed as if they would, after all,
be arriving too soon for successful work.

The raft proved useful for some days on their way north by river and
lake, their journey being through a labyrinth of waterways, where again
and again they made halts in likely places to try for the object of
their search.

But the result was invariably the same; they found gold, but never in
sufficient quantity to warrant a stay.

"Wouldn't pay for bread and onions, my sons," said the Cornishman, and
they pushed on farther and farther into the northern solitudes, with
their loads growing lighter, and a feeling of longing to reach the
golden land where they knew something in the way of settlements and
stores existed, and where people could at once take up claims and begin
work.  For a comparison of notes proved that they were all rapidly
coming to the end of their means.

The subject of the passage of the raft down the cataract had been
several times over discussed during their halts, and the possibility of
their enemies having escaped.  The Cornishman and his companions,
including the man they had succoured, declared as one that the marauding
trio must have perished.

"And so should we, my sons," said the big fellow, "if we had gone down
that water-slide on the first raft."

"I do not see it," said Dallas; "we made both."

"Yes; but the first was when we were 'prentices, the second was when we
had served our time."

The speaker laughed as he said this; and as it happened, it was on the
second day after that he pointed with something like triumph to some
newly cut and trimmed young pieces of pine-trunk notched in a peculiar
way, cast up among some rocks on the shores of the little lake they were
crossing.

"That's the end of 'em, my sons," he said.

"Oh, no; any one may have cut down those trees."

"For sartain, my son; but I nailed 'em together, for there's one of my
spikes still sticking in.  Good nail, too; see how it's twisted and
bent."

This seemed unanswerable, but neither Abel nor Dallas was convinced.

"They may have swum ashore," Abel said to his cousin, as they lay down
to sleep that night.

"Yes," said Dallas, "and I shall hold to Bob's proverb about those born
to be hanged."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A PLUNGE INTO HOT QUARTERS.

"So this is the golden city," said Dallas, as he and Abel sat, worn out
and disconsolate, gazing at a confusion of tents, sheds, and shanties,
for it could be called nothing else, on the hither side of a tumbled
together waste of snow and ice spreading to right and left.  "Is it all
a swindle or a dream?"

"I hope it's a dream," replied his cousin, limping a step or two, and
then seating himself on the sledge which, footsore and weary, he had
been dragging for the last few days after they had finally abandoned
their raft.  "I hope it's a dream, and that we shall soon wake."

The big Cornishman took his short pipe out of his mouth, blew a big
cloud, looked at his companions, who were asleep rolled up in their
blankets, and then at the cousins.

"Oh, we're wide awake enough, my sons," he said, "and we've got here at
last."

"Yes," said Dallas bitterly; "we've got here, and what next?"

"Make our piles, as the Yankees call it, my lads."

"Where?" cried Abel.  "Why, we had better have stayed and washed
gold-dust out of the sand up one of those streams."

"Oh, you mustn't judge of a place first sight; but I must say it aren't
pretty.  People seems to chuck everything they don't want out o' doors,
like the fisher folk down at home in Cornwall.  But it's worse here, for
they've got no sea to come up and wash the rubbish away."

"Nor yet a river," said Dallas.  "I expected the Yukon to be a grand
flowing stream."

"Well, give it a chance, my son," said the big fellow cheerily.  "A
river can't flow till it begins to thaw a bit.  Chap tells me it's very
late this year, but it'll break up and clear itself in a few hours.
Says it's a sight worth seeing."

"But we did not come to see sights," said Abel peevishly.  "Where's that
other man?"

"Gone.  Told me to tell you both that he was very grateful for the help
you had given him, and that now he's going to shift for himself."

"The way of the world!" said Dallas dismally.

"Oh, I don't know, my son.  He's right enough.  Said if he had the luck
to find a good claim up one of the creeks he should peg out five more
alongside of it and come and look us up, and made me promise I'd do the
same to him.  What do you think of that?"

"Nothing," said Dallas.  "I'm too tired out to think of anything but
eating and sleeping, and there seems to be no chance of finding a place
to do either."

"No, my son; it's a case of help yourself.  I've been having a look
round, and the only thing I can find anybody wants to sell is whisky."

"Yes, that was all they had at the store I went to.  That's the place
with the iron roof and the biscuit-tin sides--yonder, where those
howling dogs are tied up."

"Ah, I went there," said the Cornishman, "and the Yankee chap it belongs
to called it his hotel.  But to go back to what we are to do next, my
son.  We mustn't stay here, but go up to one of the little streams
they're talking about, and peg out claims as soon as we find good signs.
Now, I've been thinking, like our chap who lost his knife, that we'd
better separate here and go different ways.  If we find a good place
we'll come to you, and if you find one you'll share with us.  What do
you say?"

"Tired of our company?" asked Abel bitterly.

The big fellow turned to him and smiled.

"Look here, my son," he said, "that foot of yours hurts you more than
you owned to.  You take my advice; after we've got a bit of a fire and
made our camp and cooked our bit o' supper, you make a tin o' water hot
and bathe it well, and don't you use that foot much for a day or two.
No, my sons, I'm not tired of you.  If I had been I should ha' said
good-bye days ago.  I'm sorry for us to break up our party, but I've
been thinking that what I proposed was the best plan, even if it does
sound rough."

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Dallas, speaking in a more manly way.  "I
beg your pardon.  So does my cousin here.  We're fagged out, and this
does seem such a damper.  I wish we were back somewhere in the
pine-woods."

"Tchah!  I don't want no pardons begged, my son.  I know.  When I saw
this lovely spot first I felt as if I could sit down and swear; but what
good would that ha' done?  It'll be all right.  Now it seems to me that
we shall be more comfort'ble if we go just over yonder away from the
hotels and places, make our bit o' fire, get a pannikin of tea, and then
two of us'll stop and look after the traps in case any one should come
and want to borrow things and we not know where they're gone.  T'others
had better have a look round and drop in here and there at these places
where the men meet.  It won't do to be proud out here.  I want to see
some of the gold."

"Eh?" cried a big, hearty voice, and a man who was passing stopped short
and looked at them.  "Want to see some of the gold?  Well, there you
are!"

He unfastened a strap that went across his breast, and drew a heavy
leather satchel from where it hung like a cartouche-box on his back.

"Catch hold," he cried.  "That's some of the stuff."

The three awake looked at the stranger sharply, and the Cornishman
opened the bag, to lay bare scales, grains, and water-worn and rubbed
scraps of rich yellow gold, at the sight of which the new-comers drew
their breath hard.

"Did you get this here?" cried Dallas.

"Not here, my lad, but at Upper Creek.  That lot and two more like it.
You'd better go on there as soon as you can if you want to take up
claims; but I must tell you that all the best are gone already."

"Which is the way?" cried Abel.

"I'll show you when I go back to-morrow, if you like.  Where shall you
be?"

"Camping just over there," said Dallas, pointing.

"All right.  I'm going to sleep at the hotel to-night.  Come on
by-and-by and see me, and we'll have a chat."

"I say, my son," said their big companion, putting his hand in the bag,
half filling it, and letting the gold run back again, before beginning
to fasten the flap.

"My son!  Why, you're a Cornishman."

"That's so."

"Glad to see a West-countryman out here.  I'm from Devonport.  But come
on and have a chat by-and-by.  What were you going to say, though?"

"Seeing what a set of rough pups there are about here, my son, I was
going to say, is it safe for a man to carry about a lot of gold like
that?"

The stranger took back his bag and slung it over his shoulder again, as
he looked from one to the other, half-closed his eyes, and nodded.

"Yes, and no, my lads.  You're right; we have got some rough pups about
here--chaps who'd put a bullet into a man for a quarter of what I've got
there.  But they daren't.  We've got neither law nor police, you see."

"No, I don't see," said Dallas.  "You speak in riddles."

"You don't see, my lad, because you're a Johnny Newcome.  I'll tell you.
We've got some of the most blackguardly scum that could be took off the
top of the big town sink-holes--men who've come to rob and gamble; but
we've got, too, plenty of sturdy fellows like yourselves, who mean work
and who trust one another--men who'll help each other at a pinch; and
I've heard that there's a sort of lawyer fellow they call Judge Lynch
has put in an appearance, and he stands no nonsense.  He's all on the
side of the honest workers, and one of them has only to denounce a man
as a thief for the Vigilants to nail him at once.  Then there's a short
trial, a short shrift, and there's one rogue the less in the world."

"You mean if he's proved to be a thief, or red-handed."

"That's it, my lads.  There, I've got some friends to meet.  Come on and
see me to-night."

The speaker nodded cheerily to all three, and went off at a swinging
gait.

"Well, I wouldn't have minded shaking hands with that chap," said the
big Cornishman.  "The more of that sort there is out here the better."

"Yes," cried Dallas; "his words were quite cheering."

"So was the sight of that little leather sack of his, my sons.  Do your
foot good, Mr Wray?"

"Yes, I forgot all about it," said Abel, eagerly.  "Here, let's make our
fire."

This was done, and the billy soon began to bubble, when the tea was
thrown in and declared to be delicious, in spite of a mouldy taste
consequent upon getting wet in its travels and being dried again.

"Better if we hadn't had all our sugar spoiled," said Dallas, as he
munched his biscuit along with a very fat rusty scrap of fried bacon.

"It don't want any sugar, my son," said the Cornishman.  "I've just
stirred a teaspoonful of that chap's gold-dust into it, and it has given
it a wonderful flavour."

"Yes," said Abel, "the sight of that gold seems to have quite changed
everything."

The meal was finished, with the whole party refreshed and in the best of
spirits.  Then the sledges were drawn together, a few small
pine-saplings bound on to make a roof, over which a couple of waterproof
sheets were drawn, and there was a rough tent for a temporary home.

By that time it was evening, and lanterns were being hung out here and
there, lamps lit in the shanties, and the place began to look more
lively.  In two tents there was the sound of music--a fiddle in one, a
badly played German concertina in the other; but the result was not
cheerful, for whenever they were in hearing the great shaggy
sledge-dogs, of which there were scores about, set up a dismal barking
and howling.

The Cornishman's two friends had cheerfully elected to keep the camp, at
a word from their big companion, and the other three started to have a
look at the place and end by calling at the hotel upon their new
acquaintance.

As soon as they were a few yards away, the Cornishman laughed and
winked.  "I can trust you, and I can trust Bob Tregelly, and that's me,
my sons; but I can't trust them two where there's whisky about.  They've
sworn to me that they won't go amongst it, and I'm not going to let 'em.
Now then, I'm about to see if I can't find something to eat at a
reasonable price, and buy it.  Have you lads got any money?"

"Yes, a little left," replied both.

"Then you'd better ware a pound or so the same way; biscuit and bacon
and meal, I should say.  I'll meet you yonder at the hotel in an hour,
and we'll pick up what we can about the whereabouts of the stuff; but we
shan't want to stay here long, I expect.  Will that do?"

"Yes, in an hour," said Dallas, and they separated.

There was not much to take the young men's attention, but they heard a
couple of men say that the ice was giving, and another was telling a
group of a man having come to the hotel who had done wonders up some
creek he and his mates had tried.

"Our friend, Bel," said Dallas; and soon after, without making any
purchases, from the inability to find what they wanted, they strolled
back just at dark towards the hotel.

"What a hole!" said Abel, as they approached the place, to find from the
lights, the noise, and clattering of drinking-vessels, that a tent which
had been stretched over a wooden frame was crowded, and a couple of men
in shirt-sleeves were busily going in and out from a side shed of
corrugated iron, attending on the assembled guests.

"Evening, gentlemen," said the elder of the two.  "You'll find room
inside.  Go right up the middle; there's more seats there."

Just then there was a shout of excitement, and the young men looked at
one another.

"It's all right, gents," said the man, who was evidently the landlord.
"We're having a big night.  There's a man from Upper Creek with a fine
sample of gold.  I could show you if you like.  Happy to bank for you
too if you strike it rich, and supply you with stores and good advice.
Any one will speak up for me."

"But surely that means a row," said Dallas, as a roar of voices came
from the canvas building.

"No; that's about a robbery on the track.  Three men came in to-day, and
they're telling the lads how they were attacked and half killed.  The
Vigilants are strong here to-night, and there'll be business if the
fellows are caught.  We don't stand any nonsense here."

"Shall we go in, Bel?" whispered Dallas.

"Yes; we needn't stay long," was the reply.  "I want to talk to that man
with the gold."

"This way, gentlemen," said the bar-keeper.  "You follow me."

The pair followed the man into the long low place, along each side of
which were trestle tables crowded with men drinking and smoking, the
tobacco fumes nearly filling the place like a fog.  There was a gangway
down the centre, and they followed their guide nearly to the end, when
both started violently at the sight of a group of three men seated at a
table beneath the largest swinging lamp, whose reflector threw a bright
light down on the biggest of the party, who was on his legs, waving his
pipe as he talked loudly.

"You're making a mistake, mates," he said.  "It's just as I telled you,
and if it hadn't been for the pluck of my pals here we should have been
dead as well as robbed.  But you mark my words; they'll make for here,
and if they do--ah, what did I say?  Look, mates, look; this here's the
very pair."

There was a wild shout of rage, as every man in the place seemed to leap
to his feet; and before, utterly stunned by the sudden attack and
denunciation, either of the new-comers could find words to utter in
their defence, they were seized and dragged to their knees.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A TRIAL FOR LIFE.

"It's false!  A cowardly lie!" cried Dallas at last, as he tried to
shake himself free.

"Quiet!" cried one of his captors fiercely, "or you'll git into
trouble!"

"Yes, a lie--a lie!" cried Abel, finding his voice.  "Don't choke me,
sir.  Give a man fair play."

"Oh, yes, you shall have fair play," said another sternly.

"Those men attacked and tried to murder us both yonder in the snowy
pass."

"Well!  I ham!" roared the red-bearded scoundrel, looking round
protestingly at all present.  "But there, I've done."

He dropped heavily back in his seat, and held up his hands to his two
companions.

"That's a queer way of defending yourself, young fellow," said a stern,
square-looking man, who spoke roughly, but in a way that suggested
education.

"Yes, but it's the truth," cried Dallas firmly.  "Hands off, gentlemen.
We shall not try to run away."

"Now, then: these three gentlemen say they have been robbed on the
road."

"And I say it is false.  That man is a liar and a thief--a would-be
murderer."

"Well," cried the red-bearded man again.  "Did you ever, mates?"

"No," cried one of the others.  "Why, he talks like a play actor."

"Look here, gentlemen," cried the third excitedly, and he rose, planted
a foot on the bench, and bared his bound-up leg, "here's that tall un's
shot as went through my calf here.  I'm as lame as a broken-kneed un."

A murmur of sympathy ran through the place, and Dallas spoke out again
as Abel looked quietly round at the grim faces lowering through the
smoke.

"Look here, gentlemen, I can prove my words," cried Dallas.

"Very well, then," said the dark, square-looking man, "prove them; you
shall not be condemned unheard."

A chill ran through the young man at the other's judicial tone, and the
name of Judge Lynch rose to his mind.  But he spoke out firmly.

"A friend who has journeyed here with me is to meet me here to-night.--
Ah, here is one gentleman who knows us;" and he made a step towards
their bluff acquaintance of that evening, who had risen from his seat
farther in, and was looking frowningly on.  "Speak a word for us, sir."

"Well, my lad, I never saw you till to-night," was the reply.  "I did
have a chat with this man, gentlemen, and his mate there, and I found
them well-spoken young fellows as ever I met."

"But you never saw them before," said the dark man.

"Well, I must tell the truth," said the gold-finder.

"Of course."

"No," said the man sadly, "I never did but fair play, gentlemen,
please."

"They shall have fair play enough," said the dark man.  "What about your
friend, prisoners, is this he?"

"Prisoners!" gasped Abel.  "No, no; a friend who travelled with us."

"Bah!  Another lie, gentlemen," cried Redbeard mockingly; "they were
alone, and shot my mate, so that it was two to two; but they took us in
ambush like, and by surprise.  They hadn't got no friend with 'em."

"Yes, they had," cried a loud voice which dominated the roar of anger
which arose; "they had me; I was along with 'em--only a little un, my
sons, but big enough for you all to see."

There was a laugh at this, but it was silenced by the dark man's voice.

"Silence, gentlemen, please," he said, "and no laughter where two men's
lives are at stake."

A chill ran through Dallas again, but he forced a smile at his cousin,
as if to say, what he did not think, "It will be all right now."

"Look here," cried the Cornishman, drawing himself up to his full
height, and looking round as if to address every one present; "these
youngsters said what was quite right.  They've been along with me and
two more ever since we dug 'em out of the snow."

"That's right, as far as I know," said their acquaintance with the gold;
"there was a party of five when I came upon them to-night;" and a fresh
murmur arose.

"It's all right, mates," said Redbeard to his two companions; "there's a
gang of 'em, but don't you be skeared; these gents'll see justice done."

"Well, I don't mind being called one of a gang, my sons," said the
Cornishman.  "I worked on the railway once, and I was ganger, or, as you
call it here, boss, over a dozen men; but if this chap, who looks as red
as if he'd come out of a tin-mine, says I robbed him, I'll crack him
like I would a walnut in a door."

There was a roar of laughter here, and cries of "Well done, little un!"
But the dark man sternly called for silence once more.

"Now, sir, what do you say to this?" he said to Redbeard sharply.

"What I said before, boss.  That big chap wasn't with 'em then.  I say
these two young larrikins tried to rob and do for us.  Look at his leg!"

"Robbed yer and tried to do for yer?  Did they, now!  Well, they do look
a pair of bad uns, don't they, my sons?--bad as these three looks good
and innercent and milky."

"Hear him!" growled Redbeard fiercely.  "Talking like that, with my poor
mate suffering from a wound like this, pardners," and he pointed to his
companion's leg.

"Get out!" roared the Cornishman scornfully; "put that sore prop away;
you're talking to men, not a set of bairns.  Think they're going to be
gammoned by a bit of play-acting?"

There was another loud murmur of excitement, the occupants of the canvas
building crowding up closer, evidently thoroughly enjoying the genuine
drama being enacted in their presence, and eager to see the
_denouement_, even if it only proved to be a fight between the two
giants taking now the leading parts.

The man with the red beard felt that matters were growing critical for
the accusers, while public opinion was veering round in favour of the
prisoners; and resting one hand upon his hip, and flourishing his pipe
with the other, he took a step forward, his eyes full of menace, and
faced the Cornishman.

"Look ye here, old un," he growled, "I'm a plain, straightforward,
honest man, as has come up here to try and get a few scraps o' red
gold."

"Same here, my lad."

"And I want to know whether you mean all that 'ere nasty, or whether you
mean it nice?"

"Just as you like, my son," cried the Cornishman.  "You've told the
company here that my two young friends tried to rob and settle you.  I
tell the company that it's as big a lie as was ever spoke."

"Well!" growled the man again, and he looked round at his companions;
"of all--"

"Yes," said the Cornishman, "an out-and-out lie; and I could play the
same cards as you, and show judge here and all of you the mark of your
bullets in one of my young friends' shoulder, and on the other's skull.
But I don't."

"Yes, you do," said the dark man.  "Let's see them."

"Hear, hear!  Bravo, judge!  Right, right!" came in chorus.

"Very good, gentlemen," said the Cornishman, turning calmly to Dallas.
"You show first."

"It is nearly healed up now," said Dallas.

"Hor, hor, hor!" laughed the man with the red beard, "hear him!"

Dallas gave him a fierce glance, and as his captors set him free he
hastily slipped off jacket and waistcoat, before tearing open his shirt
and laying bare an ugly red scar where a bullet had ploughed his
shoulder; and a murmur once more arose.

"That will do," said the dark man.  "Now the other."

"I have nothing to show," said Abel.  "The bullet struck my cap, and
just glanced along the side of my head."

"Come close under the lamp," said the dark man sternly.

"Better mind your eye," said Redbeard warningly.

The dark man gave him a sharp look, and then bade Abel kneel down and
bend his head sideways.

As he did so a whitish line a few inches long was visible where the hair
had been taken off, and at the sight of this there was a fresh murmur.

"That's good proof in both cases, gentlemen," said the dark man firmly.
"Now, sir," he continued, "what more have you to say in support of your
evidence?"

"This here," cried Redbeard.  "I want to know first whether this bully
countryman here means what he said nasty, or whether he means it nice?"

"Hear, hear!" shouted a voice behind.

"Just which you please, my fine fellow," said the Cornishman; "you can
take it hot with sugar, or cold with a red-hot cinder in it, if you
like."

"Then maybe I'll take it hot," cried Redbeard, fiercely.

He spoke with one hand behind him, and quick as thought he brought it
round with a swing, but a man near him struck it up.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HANGING BY A THREAD.

"Stop that!" shouted the judge, springing to his feet.  The Cornishman
stood quite unmoved.

There was silence directly, and the dark man went on.  "Gentlemen," he
cried, "we have made this a court of justice, and you chose me the other
day, being an English barrister, to act as judge."

"Yes, yes," came in a fierce shout, which crushed down some murmurs of
opposition.  "Go on, judge--go on."

"I will, gentlemen, till you bring forward another man to take my place.
Once more, we are here on British ground."

"No, no," came from the minority; "American."

"British, gentlemen; and as subjects of her Majesty the Empress-Queen we
stand by law and order."

"Hear, hear!" was shouted.

"We will have no rowdyism, no crimes against our little society, while
we toil for our gold."

"Hear, hear!"

"We have already bound ourselves to carry on our home-made laws here, so
that every man can bring in his winnings and place them with the
landlord, or leave them in his hut or tent, knowing that they are safe;
and we are agreed that the man who robs one of us of his gold shall
suffer for his crime, the same as if he had committed a murder."

"That's right, judge--that's right!" was roared.

"Very well, then," said the judge.  "I have one word to say to those who
have raised their voices several times to-night.  Let me tell them that
if they are not satisfied with our ideas of fair play, they had better
pack their sledges and go right away."

"Likely!" shouted a man at the back; "and what about our claims we have
staked out?"

"Let them be valued by a jury of six a-side, and I'll give the casting
vote if it's a tie.  We'll club together and buy, you shall have good
honest value, and then you can go farther afield.  There's plenty for
everybody, and the country's open.  If you don't agree to that and elect
to stay, you must side with us and keep the law.  Now then, who says
he'll go?"

"None of us, jedge," came in a slow drawl.  "You're right, and whether
this is Murrican or Canady land, we all back you up."

There was a deafening shout at this, and as soon as silence came again
the dark man said firmly, "Now, gentlemen, to settle the business on
hand.  We're not going to make the Yukon gold region a close borough."

"That's right, jedge," said an American.

"Every honest man is welcome here, but we want it known that for the
rowdy thief and law-breaker there will be a short shrift and the rope."

There was another roar, and as it subsided the man with the red beard
shouted, "That's right, pardners, right as right; and what me and my
mates here want is justice and protection from them as robbed us, and
tried to shoot us down.  There they are, three o' the gang, and you've
got 'em fast.  Now what do you say?"

The two young men stood rigid and silent, expectant of the fateful words
which might bring their careers to a close.  They knew that wild appeals
for mercy and loud protestation would be of no avail, but would be
looked upon as arrant cowardice; and as the moments went on, heavy and
leaden winged, a strange feeling of rebellion against the cruelty of
fate raised a sense of anger, and stubborn determination began to grow.

It was too horrible to dwell upon, this prospect of the most ignominious
death: an adverse judgment based on the vote of a crowd of rugged,
determined men fighting for their own safety and the protection of the
gold they were dragging from where it had lain since the creation of the
world; but still it seemed to be their fate, and in both the growing
feeling was the same--a sense of rage and hatred against the remorseless
scoundrels who, to make their own position safe in the gold region, were
ready to sacrifice the lives of their victims.

"If we could only be face to face with them alone," they felt, "with the
chance to fight against them for our lives!  The cowards!  The dogs!"

Their musings were brought to an end by the voice of the head man of the
trio, who broke in upon the whispering together of the judge and several
of the men who had closed round him.  "Well, pardners," he cried;
"what's it to be after all you've said?  Are we to have fair play, or
are we to go where we can get it?"

"Wait a bit, sir, and you and your friends shall have fair play; never
fear."

"Don't be in a hurry," shouted one of the Americans at the back.  "Jedge
don't want to hang the wrong men."

"No, sir," said the dark gold-seeker sternly; "we don't want to hang the
wrong men, and there is a growing opinion here that you and your
companions have not made out your charge."

"What!" roared Redbeard, as the Cornishman gave his young companions a
nod; "not made out our case?  Hear that, mates?  Well, I _am_ blessed!"

"You charge them with robbery and attempted murder."

"Yes; didn't my mate show you his leg?" cried Redbeard indignantly.

"Oh, yes; and the prisoners, who defend themselves by charging you with
attacking them, reply by displaying their wounds."

"Well, wouldn't you shoot if you was attacked?  So where's your
justice?"

"I will show you that I want to give you fair play," said the judge.
"There is enough in this case to mean the sternest sentence, and it will
be awarded to the guilty parties."

There was a murmur of approval at this, and the judge said sternly,
"Separate those three men, and separate the prisoners; keep them apart,
so that they cannot communicate with one another."

There was a quick movement, and a couple of armed men placed themselves
right and left of Dallas and Abel.

"Hullo!" said the Cornishman, "am I a prisoner, too?  All right; I'm in
good company."

But there was a little resistance on the part of the accusing party.

"Look here," growled Redbeard fiercely, "I want to know what this
means."

"The rope and the tree for you and your friends if you fire, sir," cried
the judge sternly.

"But--"

"Stand where you are," cried the judge.  "Six of you take those other
two outside, quite apart, and mind, you are answerable to your sheriff
for bringing them back."

Redbeard growled as he stood beneath the great lamp, the two others
which had been burning having been turned out so that a better view
could be had from behind of each stage of the proceedings.

"Look here," cried Redbeard fiercely, as his companions were led out,
"why aren't the prisoners to be sent out too?  Is this fair play,
pardners?"

"Yes," said the judge; "they are the prisoners.  I only want your
witnesses to be out of court."

There was a dead silence while the two men were led away, and a ray of
hope began to shed light through the darkness of despair in the young
men's brains, as they read in all this a strange desire on the part of
their amateur judge to do justice between the parties.

They glanced round through the smoke of the gloomy place, to see fierce
eyes fixed upon them on all sides, while in front there was the judge
and his supporters, and their red-bearded, savage-looking accuser
beneath the lamp, which shone full upon him.  The smoke now hung above
them in a dense cloud.

"Is it a dream?" said Dallas to himself; and then he started, for the
judge said sharply to the man before him:

"Now, sir, you and your two friends have come here to dig gold."

"That's right, captain."

"Where did you come from?"

"Washington territory."

"That will do.  Bring in the next witness."

There was a suppressed buzz of excitement, while Redbeard stood glaring
beneath the lamp, and the next man was led in.

"Now, sir, you are not sworn," said the judge, "but consider that you
are on your oath.  It is a matter perhaps of life or death.  Answer my
questions.  You and your friends came here to find gold?"

"That's so, jedge."

"Where did you come from?"

"Me and my mates?  Noo York."

"That will do.  Silence!" cried the judge.  "The next man.  Keep those
two well apart."

The third man was led in, and the same questions asked him, when to the
second he responded sharply:

"Chicago."

There was a roar at this, but the judge held up his hand.  "Silence,
gentlemen, please, while I deliver judgment'" and a deep silence fell,
while the three men glared meaningly one at the other.  "I have given
this a perfectly fair hearing, and I say--"

_Crash_!

The shivering of a lamp-glass, a burst of flame like a flash of
lightning, as the lamp was dashed from where it hung; and then for a few
moments intense darkness, while there was a sudden roar and rush for the
entrance.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

TO SAVE A SNARLING CUR.

The struggle was short, for the sides of the canvas building were frail;
and as the flames ran swiftly up one side and the burning rags of the
canvas roof began to fall upon the struggling crowd, a wave rushed
against the opposite side, which gave way like so much paper, and the
panting, half-stifled sufferers gained the cool fresh night air.

"Any one left within?" panted the judge; but the silence which followed
was enough to indicate that all had escaped.

"Where are the other prisoners?"

"We are here--my cousin and I," cried Abel, for they had made no attempt
to escape.

"And the witnesses?" cried the judge.  "I have the scoundrel who dashed
down the lamp."

"We have the other two here," replied voices.

"Then, gentlemen," said the judge, "I think we had better have another
trial in the open air.  What do you say to that as an attempt at
wholesale murder?  Come and help me here, some of you.  I've got the big
man down, but he's as strong as a horse.  I couldn't have held him if I
hadn't thrown a biscuit-bag over his head."

It was light for a few minutes while the canvas roof of the saloon
burned; but as the woodwork was rapidly torn down and trampled out to
save the so-called hotel, all was dark again, with a pungent smoke
arising.

Two men were dragged into the circle which had formed round the judge,
whose figure could be just made out as he kneeled between the shoulders
of the man he had down; and Dallas and Abel stood close by, fascinated
as it were, and feeling a thrill of horror as they thought of their
enemies' impending fate.

"It's horrible, Dal," whispered Abel.  "I hate the brute, but I don't
want to see him hanged."

"Then you'd better be off," said a man who heard the remark, "for the
beast will swing before many minutes are passed."

"I don't see why you two young fellows should care," said another.  "He
was eager enough to get you hanged."

"Have you made his wrists fast behind him?" said the judge out of the
darkness.

"Yes; all right."

"Let him get up, then.  Here, landlord--squire--a lantern here."

"Haven't you had light enough, judge?  What about my saloon?"

"All right, old fellow," said a voice.  "You hold plenty of our gold;
we'll club together to pay for a better one."

"Thank ye, gentlemen.  Hi! bring a lantern."

At the same moment the prisoner rose to his feet, and the sack over his
head was drawn off.

"I say, you know, I've come quietly," he cried in a hoarse voice.
"Here, put those pistols down.  You haven't served my two young chaps
like that, have you?"

"Bob Tregelly?" cried Dallas and Abel in a breath.

"What's left of him, my sons.  They've 'most smothered me."

"Hallo!" said the judge at the same moment.  "I took you in the dark for
that red-bearded fellow."

"I was going for him when you pulled that bag over my head," growled the
Cornishman.

"Here, who has got that fellow?" roared the judge.

"We've got his mates," came out of the darkness, and two men were
dragged forward, struggling hard to get free.

"Here, what game do you call this?" snarled one of them, as soon as he
could speak.

"Yes," said the other.  "You fools: you've got the wrong men."

"I'm blessed!  Ha, ha, ha!" roared the big Cornishman.

"You've never let those other two escape, have you?" roared the judge
angrily.

"Well, you've let the big un go, judge, and caught me," said the
Cornishman merrily.  "But I say, my son, who's the guilty party now?"

"Not much doubt about that.  There, my lads, it's of no use to go after
them; they've done us this time, and got away; but I think we may keep
the ropes ready for them when they come again."

"Hear, hear!" was roared, and an ovation followed for the trio who had
been suspected, every man present seeming as if he could not make enough
of them, till they managed to slip away to their tent.

"I think a quiet pipe'll do me good after all that business," said
Tregelly.  "We've done about enough for one day.  Rum sort o' life, my
sons.  I shall be glad to get steadily to work as soon as we know where
to begin."

The canvas was fastened down soon after, and the occupants of the rough
tent prepared for a good night's rest; but it was a long time in coming
to the cousins, whose nerves had been too much jarred for them to follow
the example of their three companions.  And they lay listening to the
many sounds about, principal among which was the barking and fighting of
the sledge-dogs; but at last they dropped into a troubled slumber, one
in which it seemed to Dallas that he was lying upon his hard waterproof
sheet in a nightmare-like dream, watching his enemy, the red-bearded
man, who was crawling on hands and knees to the rough tent, with a knife
between his teeth, and trying to force his way under the end of one of
the sledges to get to him and pin him to the earth.

There he was, coming nearer and nearer, right into the tent place now,
while his hot breath fanned the dreamer's cheek, and his hands were
resting upon his chest as if feeling for a vital spot to strike.  With a
tremendous effort, Dallas sprang up and struck at him, when there was a
loud snarling yelp, and Abel cried in alarm, "What is it, Dal?"

"Dog," said Tregelly, "smelling after grub.  The poor brutes seem half
starved.  Hasn't taken a bit out of either of you, has he?  Good-night,
my sons; I was dreaming I'd hit upon heaps of gold."

Dallas sank back with a sigh of relief, and dropped off into a restful
sleep, which lasted till morning, when they were aroused by a terrific
sound of cracking as of rifles, mingled with a peculiar roar, and a
strange rushing sound.

"What is it?" cried Abel, who was one of the first to spring up; "an
earthquake?"

"Like enough, my son," said Tregelly.  "I'm ready for anything here.
Sounds like the mountains playing at skittles."

"She's going at last," cried a voice outside.  "By jingo! it's fine.
Come and look."

"It's the ice breaking up," cried Dallas excitedly.

"Then we will go and look," said Tregelly, "though that chap wasn't
speaking to us."  And, no dressing being necessary, all hurried out, to
find that the fettered Yukon was completely changed, the ice being all
in motion, splitting up, grinding, and crushing, and with blocks being
forced up one over the other till they toppled down with a roar, to help
in breaking up those around.

The previous evening it would have been possible for a regiment to cross
the river by climbing over and among the great blocks which were still
frozen together, but now it would have been certain death for the most
active man to attempt the first fifty yards.

Every one was out in the bright sunny morning watching the breaking up;
and among the first they encountered were the judge, of the last night's
episode, and their friend the gold-finder, both of whom shook hands
heartily, but made no allusion to the trial.  "Good job for every one,"
said the judge; "we shall soon be having boats up after this.  We shall
be clear here in a couple of days."

"So soon?" said Dallas.

"Oh, yes," replied his informant.  "There's a tremendous body of water
let loose up above, and it runs under the ice, lifts it, and makes the
ice break up; and once it is set in motion it is always grinding
smaller, till, long before it reaches the sea, it has become powder, and
then water again."

"I say," cried the miner, "there's some one's dog out yonder.  He's
nipped by the legs, and it's about all over with him, I should say."

"Here, stop!  What are you going to do?" cried the judge.

But Dallas did not hear him.  He had been one of the first to see the
perilous position of a great wolfish-looking hound some twenty yards
from the shore, where it was struggling vainly, prisoned as it was,
uttering a faint yelp every now and then, and gazing piteously at the
spectators on the bank.

"The lad's mad," cried the judge, going closer to the ice.

But, mad or no, Dallas had, in his ignorance of the great danger of the
act, run down, boldly leaped on the moving ice, and stepped from block
to block till he reached the dog, which began to whine and bark loudly,
as it made frantic efforts to free its hindquarters.  In another minute
it would have been drawn down farther, but for the coming of the young
man, who, heedless of the rocking and gliding motion of the ice, strode
the narrow opening between the two masses which held the dog, stooping
down at the same moment, and seizing the poor brute by the rough hair
about its neck.

For a few moments his effort seemed vain, and a roar of voices reached
him, as the spectators shouted to him to come back.

Then the two pieces swayed slightly, and gradually drew apart, and the
dog was at liberty, but apparently with one leg crushed, for it lay
down, howling dismally after an effort to limp back to the land.

There was a great strap round its neck, and this was joined to another
just behind its shoulders, and, seizing this, Dallas flung the poor
animal on its side and dragged it after him as he began to step
cautiously back from block to block, now sinking down, now rising, and
now narrowly escaping being caught between the moving pieces; but he
kept on, conscious, though, that the bank seemed rising upward; while
the crushing and roar of the breaking ice prevented him from hearing the
words of advice shouted by his friends.

He could not hear, but he could see Bel, who was forcing his way through
the crowd to keep alongside, ready to help him when he came within
reach, if ever he did, and it was from him that he afterwards learned
that the advice shouted was to let the dog take his chance.

Twice over the set of the ice was off the shore, and matters looked bad
for the young adventurer, but he stuck to the dog, and, just when the
chance of reaching the shore seemed most hopeless, a couple of large
flat floes rose up, and, making a dash, Dallas went boldly across them,
reaching others that did not yield so much, and the next minute there
was a cheer which he could hear, for he reached the shore with the dog,
which looked up in his face and whined, and then limped off through the
crowd.

"Life seems cheap your way, my fine fellow," said the judge.  "Five
minutes ago I wouldn't have given a grain of gold for yours.  We don't
do that sort of thing out here for the sake of a vicious, thieving dog."

"I could not stand by and see the poor brute die," said Dallas quietly.

"So it seems," said the judge.  "Well, I congratulate you two young
fellows on your escape last night.  Those scoundrels have got away; and
if they turn up again, lawyer though I am, I should advise you both to
shoot on sight.  If you are brought before me, I'll promise you I will
bring it in justifiable homicide."

A couple of hours later they had parted from Tregelly and his
companions, with a hearty shake of the hand and a promise to keep to
their agreement about the gold.

"If we discover a good place."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

NORTON'S IDEA OF A GOOD SPOT.

It was a long, weary tramp up by the higher waters of the huge Yukon
River towards its sources in the neighbourhood of the Pelly Lakes, where
sharp rapids and torrents were succeeded by small, shallow lakes; and
wherever they halted, shovel and pan were set to work, and, as their
guide Norton termed it, the granite and sand were tasted, and gold in
exceedingly small quantities was found.

"It's so 'most everywhere," said Norton; "and I don't say but what you
might find a rich spot at any time; but if you take my advice you'll
come straight on with me to where a few of us are settled down.  It's
regularly into the wilds.  I don't suppose even an Indian has been there
before; but we chaps went up."

"But there are Indians about, I suppose?" said Abel.

"Mebbe, but I haven't seen any."

The end of their journey was reached at last, high up the creek they had
followed, and, save here and there in sheltered rifts, the snow was
gone; the brief summer was at hand, and clothing the stones with flowers
and verdure that were most refreshing after the wintry rigours through
which they had forced their way.

"Nice and free and open, eh?" said Norton, smiling.  "I may as well
show you to the comrades up here, and then I'll help you pick out a
decent claim, and you can set to work.  There's only about a dozen of us
here yet, and so you won't be mobbed."

"Very well," said Dallas; "but we'll try in that open space where the
trees are so young."

Norton nodded, and, armed with a shovel and pan, the young men stepped
to a spot about fifty feet from the edge of the rushing stream, cleared
away the green growth among the young pines, and Dallas tried to drive
down his shovel through the loose, gravelly soil; but the tool did not
penetrate four inches.

"Why, it's stone underneath."

"Ice," said Norton, smiling.  "It hasn't had time to thaw down far yet;
but you skin off some of the gravelly top, and try it."

Dallas filled the pan, and they went together to a shallow place by the
side of the creek, bent down, and, with the pan just beneath the
surface, agitated and stirred it, the water washing away the thick muddy
portion till nothing was left but sand and stones.

These latter were picked out and thrown away; more washing followed,
more little stones were thrown out, and at last there was nothing but a
deposit of sand at the bottom, in which gleamed brightly some specks and
scales of bright yellow gold.

Norton finished his pipe, and then led the way farther up the stream, to
stop at last by a rough pine-wood shed thatched with boughs.

"This is my mansion," he said.  "Leave the sledges here, and we'll go
and see the rest."

The stream turned and twisted about here in a wonderful way, doubling
back upon itself, and spreading about over a space of three or four
miles along the winding valley where the tiny mining settlement had been
pitched--only some six or seven huts among the dwarfed pine-trees in
all, the places being marked by fallen trees and stumps protruding from
the ground.

They were all made on the same pattern, of stout young pine-trees with
ridge-pole and rafters to support a dense thatching of boughs, and
mostly with a hole left in the centre of the roof for the smoke of the
fire burned within to escape.

The two strangers were received in a friendly enough way, the rough
settlers chatting freely about the new-comers' prospects, showing
specimens of the gold they had found, and making suggestions about the
likeliest spot for marking out a claim along the bank.

The result was that before the day ended, acting a good deal under
Norton's advice, the young men had marked out a double claim and settled
where their hut should be set up, so as to form a fresh addition to the
camp.

"You ought to do well here," said Norton.  "There's gold worth millions
of money in this district for certain; but the question is, can you
strike it rich or only poor?  If I thought I could do better somewhere
else I should go, but I'm going to try it fairly here."

"We'll do the same," said Dallas; and, the weather being brilliant and
the air exhilarating to a degree, they set to work cutting pegs for
driving down to make out their claim, Norton reminding them that they
would have certain applications to make afterwards to the government
agency, and then began to cut down small trees for building their
shanty.

To their surprise and delight, four of the neighbours came, axe-armed,
to help, so that the task was made comparatively easy.

At the end of a week a rough, strong, habitable home was made, door,
window, shutter and bars included, two of their helpers having come
provided with a pit-saw for cutting the bigger pine-trunks up into rough
boards, which were to be paid for out of the first gold winnings the
young men made.

Within another week they were out of debt, for, to their intense
delight, the claim promised well, the shaft they had commenced and the
banks of the little river yielding enough gold to set them working every
minute they could see.

But the reality did not come up to the dazzling dream in which they had
indulged, either in their case or that of the men they encountered.
There was the gold, and they won it from the soil; but it was only by
hard labour and in small quantities, which were stored up in a leathern
bag and placed in the bank--this being a hole formed under Abel's bed,
covered first with a few short pieces of plank, and then with dry earth.

The store increased as the time went on, but then it decreased when an
expedition had to be made to the settlement below to fetch more
provisions, the country around supplying them with plenty of fuel and
clear drinking water, but little else.  Now and then there was the
rumour of a moose being seen, and a party would turn out and shoot it,
when there was feasting while it lasted; but these days were few.

Occasionally, too, either Dallas or Abel would stroll round with his gun
and get a few ptarmigan or willow grouse.  On lucky days, too, a brace
of wild ducks would fall to their shot; but these excursions were rare,
for there was the one great thirst to satisfy--that for the gold; and
for the most part their existence during the brief summer was filled up
by hard toil, digging and cradling the gold-bearing gravel, while they
lived upon coarse bacon, beans, and ill-made cakey bread, tormented
horribly the while by the mosquitoes, which increased by myriads in the
sunny time.

Then came the days when the wretched little insect pests began to grow
rarer.

"We shall not be able to work as late as this much longer," said Dallas.

"No," replied Abel; "the days are getting horribly short, and the nights
terribly long.  The dark winter will be upon us directly, and we seem to
get no farther."

"We may turn up trumps at any moment, old fellow," said Dallas cheerily.

"Yes, we may," said Abel gloomily.

"Don't take it like that," cried Dallas.  "Here we are in the gold
region, and every day we find nuggets."

"Weighing two or three grains apiece."

"Exactly; but at any moment we might at a turn of the shovel lay them
bare weighing ounces or even pounds."

"Pigs might fly," said Abel.

"Bah!  Where's your pluck?  Work away."

"Oh, yes, I'll work," said Abel; "but with the dreary winter coming on
one can't help feeling a bit depressed.  I say, I'm very glad we never
sent a message to old Tregelly and his mates to come and join us."

"Well, it would have turned out rather crusty," said Dallas, who was
shovelling gravel into the cradle, while Abel stood over his ankle in
the stream, rocking away and stopping from time to time to pick out some
tiny speck of gold.

"We shall never make our fortunes at this," he said.

"Bah!  Don't be in a hurry.  At all events, we are in safety.  No fear
of dangerous visitors, and--Here, quick--the hut--your rifle, man!
Run!"

Abel sprang to the shore, to be seized by the arm, and they ran for
their weapons and shelter.

None too soon, for a big burly figure had come into sight from among the
pines, stopped short, and brought down his rifle, as he stood shading
his eyes and scanning the retreating pair.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

TREGELLY SEEKS HIS SONS.

"Ahoy, there!  What cheer, O!" rang out in a big bluff voice familiar to
both.

"Oh, I say, what curs we are!" cried Dallas.  "It's old Tregelly."

"Yes; don't let him know we were scared."

Vain advice.  The big Cornishman shouldered his rifle, bent forward, and
dragged a sledge into sight, broke into a trot, and they met half-way.

"Hullo, my sons!  Did you take me for an Injun?" cried Tregelly.

"We took you for that big, red-bearded ruffian," said Dallas huskily, as
he shook hands.

"Thankye, my son; on'y don't do it again.  I don't like the compliment.
But how are you?--how are you?"

"Oh, middling.  We were just thinking about you."

"Were you, my sons?" cried the big Cornishman, smiling all over his
broad face.  "That's right.  Well, I was thinking about you, and
wondering whether I should find you, and here you are first go."

"But how did you find us?" cried Dallas, after shaking hands warmly.

"Went back to Yukon Town a fortni't ago, and the chap there at the hotel
told me you were still up here, for one of you came down now and then to
buy stores."

"Did you see the judge?"

"Oh, yes, he's there still."

"Made his pile?"

"No-o-o!  Done pretty tidy, I believe."

"And what about Redbeard and Company?  Heard anything of that firm?"

"Yes; heard that they'd been seen by somebody, my son.  There'd been a
poor fellow done for up the country, and some gold carried off.  They
got the credit of it; but give a dog a bad name and--you know the rest.
I should say they're all dead by now."

"But why didn't you send for us?" said Abel.

"Why didn't you send for me?"

"Well," said Dallas drily, "it was out of good fellowship.  We were
afraid it would be more than you could bear to get so rich.  But where
are your comrades?"

"Gone home," said Tregelly, in a tone of voice that the two young men
took to mean, "Don't ask questions!"

"But you've found a lot?" said Dallas.

"Well, yes, my sons; we managed to scrape a good deal together, some
here and some there, for we changed about and travelled over a good deal
of ground."

"And you have sent it home?"

"Nay-y-ay!  I've got it here on the sledge."

"Oh!" said Abel, looking at the shabby kit their visitor had left close
to the door of the hut.

"I've got a bit in a bag; but, you see, it costs all you can scrape
together to live wherever I've been; so I thought I'd look you two up,
as my mates had gone, so as to be company for a poor little lonely chap.
Will you have me?"

"Of course."

"Any chance of picking up a decent claim here?"

"Plenty, such as we have," replied Dallas.  "You'll be able to do as
well as we've done, and the others about here."

"That means the lumps of gold are not too big to lift?"

"That's it," said Dallas.  "I've been thinking that if we were here next
summer, we ought to get a lot of ants and train them to carry the grains
for us."

"Ah, I see, my sons.  I say, one might almost have made as much by
stopping at home, eh?"

"Here, don't you come here to begin croaking," cried Dallas.  "Abel here
can do that enough for a dozen."

"Can he?" cried Tregelly.  "Oh, you mustn't do that, my son.  There's
plenty of gold if we can only find it.  I saw a chap with a gashly lump
as big as a baby's fist.  We'll do it yet.  So you haven't done much
good, then?"

"If we had we should have sent word for you to come."

"And I should have sent or come for you, my sons.  Look here, we'd
better make a change, and explore higher up towards the mountains."

"Too late this year," said Dallas decisively.

"Oh, yes; too late this season, my sons.  We mustn't get too far from
the supplies.  Means--you know what! famine and that sort o' thing."

"Yes, we know," said Abel bitterly.

"We'll do it when the days begin to lengthen again," continued Tregelly.
"What we've got to do is to make as big a heap here as we can during
the winter, wash it out in the spring, and if it's good enough, then
stop here.  If it aren't, go and find a better place."

"Yes, that's right," said Dallas.  "But about rations.  There's nothing
to be got here.  Have you brought plenty?"

"Much as ever I could pull, my sons, and I'll take it kindly if you'll
let me camp with you to-night, so that I can leave my swag with you
while I hunt out a claim."

"Of course," cried Dallas; "we'll help you all we can."

"There's that pitch down yonder, Dal," said Abel--"the one we said
looked likely."

"Of course; the place we tried, and which seemed fairly rich."

"That sounds well," said Tregelly.  What was more, it looked so well
that the big fellow decided to stay there at once, and put in his pegs,
the only drawback seeming to be its remoteness from the scattered claims
of the others up the creek.

But this did not trouble the big Cornishman in the least.  With the help
freely given by his two friends, pines were cut down, a hut knocked
together, and many days had not elapsed before he was working away, and
looking as much at home as if he had been there all the season,
declaring when they met after working hours that it was much better than
anything he and his companions had come across during their travels.



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

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