Klondike Nuggets - Edward Sylvester Ellis (robert munsch read aloud .txt) 📗

masses of rock protruding in many places added to the difficulties of travel. The combined strength of the party was required to get a single sled to the top. While one was left behind, they joined in pushing and pulling the other, with frequent pauses for rest, until, after hours of the hardest work conceivable, they succeeded in reaching the summit. Then, resting again, they began their descent for the other sled. It was fortunate that the crust of the snow removed the need of using the long snow-shoes, whose make suggests the bats used in playing tennis, for the men were the only ones who knew how to handle the awkward contrivances, which would have proved a sore perplexity for Roswell and Frank.

Under some circumstances it becomes a question which is the harder, to descend or ascend a steep hill. Despite the utmost care, the whole five stumbled several times. Roswell felt the chills run through him, and he held his breath in dismay when he saw himself sliding toward the edge of a ravine, over which if he fell he would have been dashed to death on the instant. While desperately trying to check himself, he shouted for help, but it looked equally fatal for any one to venture near him, since the slope was so abrupt that he could not check himself.

Jeff Graham was carrying the coil of rope which he had loosened from the first sled, and, seeing the peril of his young friend, he flung the end toward him with the skill of a Mexican or cowboy in throwing the _rita_, or lasso. The youth was slipping downward on his face, with his terrified countenance turned appealingly to his friends, while he tried, by jamming his toes and clutching at the surface, to check himself, and Frank was on the point of going to his help when the end of the rope struck his shoulder and he seized it with both hands. The next minute he was drawn back to safety.

"I'm surprised wid ye," remarked Tim McCabe, when the panting youth stood among them again. "I thought ye were too tired to indulge in any such foolin'. Whin ye want to slide down hill, make use of the slid instead of your stummick."

"I don't think I'll want to do any more sliding down hill in this part of the world," replied the frightened, but grateful youth.

Once more they bent to their work, and pulling themselves together, succeeded at last in reaching the summit with the second sled, the whole party utterly used up. Even Jeff Graham sat down on one of the loads, panting and too tired to speak. When he found voice, he said:

"What fools we are! And yet if I went back to 'Frisco, I'd start agin for the Klondike the next day; so I reckon we'll keep on."

No one responded, for they were so wearied that talking itself was labor.

Looking to the southwest, they could see the blue shimmer of the Pacific, where the Gulf of Alaska rolls its white surges against the dismal shores. Far in the distance a faint line against the sky showed where a steamer was probably ploughing its way to St. Michael's, with hundreds of gold-seekers on board, the van of the army that is pushing toward the Klondike from the West, the South, and the East, until it would seem that even that immense region must overflow with the innumerable multitudes, drawn thither by the most resistless magnet that can make men brave peril, suffering, and death.

Turning in the opposite direction, they saw the mountain slope melting away in the great valley of the Yukon, with the trail leading through a narrow, rocky gap, and with naked granite rocks rising steeply to the partly snow-clad mountains. The party had been fortunate in completing the ascent in less than a day, when it often requires twice as long. The first half mile of the descent was steep, when the slope becomes more gradual. The glare of the snow compelled all to use their glasses, and seven miles from the summit they reached the edge of timber, where camp was made.

Freed from all fear of descending avalanches, with plenty of food and wood for fuel, the exhausted gold-hunters lay down on their blankets, resting upon more hemlock boughs, and enjoyed the most refreshing sleep since leaving the steamer at Juneau. It was not until considerably after daylight that Jeff awoke and started a new fire, with which to prepare their breakfast, and when that was ready the boys were roused from slumber.

They were now within three miles of Lake Lindeman, a body of water five miles in length, and the journey was speedily made. It was on the shore of this lake that the party expected to build a raft or boat with which to make the long, rough voyage to the Yukon, but, to their pleased surprise, they found an old Indian, with a broad scow, anxious to transport them and their luggage to the foot of the lake. He had already secured three men and their outfits, but was able to carry the new arrivals, and Jeff was not long in making a bargain with him.


CHAPTER VI.

A SIGNIFICANT DISCOVERY.

Game is so scarce in the valley of the Upper Yukon and in the Klondike country that many gold-seekers take no firearms at all with them. Years ago the Indians showed occasional hostility toward the missions and trading-posts, but nothing now is to be feared from them. They are often hired to help carry loads through the passes, and with that aptitude for imitating the white man, they have speedily learned to charge high prices for their labor.

Before leaving Juneau, Jeff Graham presented each of his little party with an excellent revolver, quoting the remark which a cowboy once made to a tenderfoot:

"You may not want the weapon often, but when you do you'll want it mighty bad."

Jeff took with him his own pistol which he had carried for years, besides which he was provided with a fine Winchester rifle. He knew he was not likely to find any use for it in shooting game, but he grimly observed that if a pistol should prove handy, the larger weapon was apt to prove much more so.

The Indian who engaged to take them to the foot of Lake Lindeman was old, but wiry and tough, and understood his business. He could speak a few words of English, which were enough for his purposes. He raised a small soiled sail of canvas on the scow, and with the help of a long pole kept the heavily laden craft moving. Although the lake was open thus early in the season, the shores were lined with ice, much of it extending into the water for a number of rods. Huge cakes sometimes bumped against the scow, but they caused no damage, and did not interfere with its progress.

The three men who had first engaged the boat looked as if they had come a long distance. Our friends had no recollection of having seen them on the steamer from Seattle or on the steam launch that connects Juneau with Dyea at the head of Lynn Canal. Where they came from, therefore, was a mystery, the probability being that they had been loitering about Dyea for a long time, waiting for the season to advance sufficiently to allow them to start for the Yukon. They seemed reserved to the point of sullenness, keeping by themselves and showing so much antipathy to any approach that they were let alone.

But just before the foot of the lake, nearly six miles distant, was reached, Frank Mansley made an interesting discovery. The most ill-favored of the trio was an acquaintance of Ike Hardman. No one else noticed the significant fact, and it was partly through accident that the truth came to the lad.

The two men acted as if strangers, not exchanging a word on the passage, and seemingly feeling no interest in each other. All of Frank's friends were near the bow of the boat, looking to where they were soon to touch shore. Two of the strangers were standing just back of and near them, while Hardman was in the middle of the boat, apparently watching the old Indian as he plied his paddle with untiring vigor.

The third stranger was at the stern, seated on the gunwale, smoking a clay pipe and seemingly taking no note of anything about him. When Ike Hardman sauntered among the piles of luggage to the rear, Frank was impelled by an impulse for which he could not account to watch him. He had no well-defined suspicion, and least of all did he suspect what proved to be the truth.

Hardman halted a few paces from the man sitting on the edge of the boat, and, so far as appearances went, did not pay any attention to him. A quick, furtive glance to the front put the lad on his guard, and he, too, turned his face toward land, but his position was such that he could look sideways at the two, while not seeming to do so.

Suddenly Hardman, with his back partly toward the youth, made a sign with his hands, the meaning of which Frank could not catch, because the signal was not fully seen, but the fellow sitting down nodded his head, and taking his pipe from between his lips, said something in so guarded a voice that only the ears for which the words were intended could understand them.

This brief interchange ought to have been enough, but Hardman did not appear to think so. He stepped somewhat closer, and he, too, spoke, still gesticulating with one of his hands. The man addressed was impatient. He nodded again in a jerky fashion, and made answer with less caution, as a consequence of which the eavesdropper caught the words, "Yes, yes, to-night; I understand."

Hardman was satisfied, and came back to the front of the boat, which was now approaching the shore. His friend smoked a few minutes until the scow bumped against the projection of ice, and, the old Indian leaping lightly out, carried the heavy stone anchor as far as the rope would permit. This held the boat in place, and the unloading began. The Indian offered to help for an extravagant price, but his offer was refused, and the respective parties busied themselves with their own work.

The discovery made by Frank Mansley caused him considerable uneasiness. The dislike which he felt toward Hardman the first time he saw him had never abated, and it was the same with his cousin. Young as they were, they felt that a great mistake was made when Hardman was allowed to join the party, and they wondered that Jeff permitted it, but, as has been shown, they were too discreet to object.

That Hardman, on his part, detested the youths was apparent, though he tried to conceal the feeling when he feared it might attract the attention of others. He had little to say to them or they to him. Frank decided to tell his chum of the discovery he had made, and they would consult as to whether they should take Jeff and Tim into their confidence.

Meanwhile, the trio gathered their loads upon their backs and started northward without so much as calling good-by to those whom they left behind, and who were not sorry to part company with them.

The gold-hunters had had a little lift on their journey, but it was not worth considering, in view of what remained before them. A mile advance with sleds and their packs took them