Red streams came down from hillsides crissed and crossed With fallen firs; but on a sudden, lo! A silver lakelet bound and barred With sunset's clouds reflected far below.
These lakes so lonely were, so still and cool, They burned as bright as burnished steel; The shadowed pine branch in the pool Was no less vivid than the real.
We crossed the great divide and saw The sun-lit valleys far below us wind; Before us opened cloudless sky; the raw, Gray rain swept close behind.
We saw great glaciers grind themselves to foam; We trod the moose's lofty home, And heard, high on the yellow hills, The wildcat clamor of his ills.
The way grew grimmer day by day, The weeks to months stretched on and on; And hunger kept, not far away, A never failing watch at dawn.
We lost all reckoning of season and of time; Sometimes it seemed the bitter breeze Of icy March brought fog and rain, And next November tempests shook the trees.
It was a wild and lonely ride. Save the hid loon's mocking cry, Or marmot on the mountain side, The earth was silent as the sky.
All day through sunless forest aisles, On cold dark moss our horses trod; It was so lonely there for miles and miles, The land seemed lost to God.
Our horses cut by rocks; by brambles torn, Staggered onward, stiff and sore; Or broken, bruised, and saddle-worn, Fell in the sloughs to rise no more.
Yet still we rode right on and on, And shook our clenched hands at the clouds, Daring the winds of early dawn, And the dread torrent roaring loud.
So long we rode, so hard, so far, We seemed condemned by stern decree To ride until the morning star Should sink forever in the sea.
Yet now, when all is past, I dream Of every mountain's shining cap. I long to hear again the stream Roar through the foam-white granite gap.
The pains recede. The joys draw near. The splendors of great Nature's face Make me forget all need, all fear, And the long journey grows in grace.
THE GREETING OF THE ROSES
We had been long in mountain snow, In valleys bleak, and broad, and bare, Where only moss and willows grow, And no bird wings the silent air. And so when on our downward way, Wild roses met us, we were glad; They were so girlish fair, so gay, It seemed the sun had made them mad.
CHAPTER XVII
THE WOLVES AND THE VULTURES ASSEMBLE
About noon of the fiftieth day out, we came down to the bank of atremendously swift stream which we called the third south fork. On abroken paddle stuck in the sand we found this notice: "The trailcrosses here. Swim horses from the bar. It is supposed to be aboutninety miles to Telegraph Creek.--(Signed) The Mules."
We were bitterly disappointed to find ourselves so far from ourdestination, and began once more to calculate on the length of timeit would take us to get out of the wilderness.
Partner showed me the flour-sack which he held in one brawny fist. "Ibelieve the dern thing leaks," said he, and together we went over ourstore of food. We found ourselves with an extra supply of sugar,condensed cream, and other things which our friends the Manchesterboys needed, while they were able to spare us a little flour. Therewas a tacit agreement that we should travel together and standtogether. Accordingly we began to plan for the crossing of this swiftand dangerous stream. A couple of canoes were found cached in thebushes, and these would enable us to set our goods across, while weforced our horses to swim from a big bar in the stream above.
While we were discussing these thing around our fires at night,another tramper, thin and weak, came into camp. He was a little manwith a curly red beard, and was exceedingly chipper and jocular forone in his condition. He had been out of food for some days, and hadbeen living on squirrels, ground-hogs, and such other small deer ashe could kill and roast along his way. He brought word ofconsiderable suffering among the outfits behind us, reporting "TheDutchman" to be entirely out of beans and flour, while others hadlost so many of their horses that all were in danger of starving todeath in the mountains.
As he warmed up on coffee and beans, he became very amusing.
He was hairy and ragged, but neat, and his face showed a certaindelicacy of physique. He, too, was a marked example of the craze to"get somewhere where gold is." He broke off suddenly in the midst ofhis story to exclaim with great energy: "I want to do two things, goback and get my boy away from my wife, and break the back of mybrother-in-law. He made all the trouble."
Once and again he said, "I'm going to find the gold up here or lay mybones on the hills."
In the midst of these intense phrases he whistled gayly or broke offto attend to his cooking. He told of his hard experiences, with prideand joy, and said, "Isn't it lucky I caught you just here?" andseemed willing to talk all night.
In the morning I went over to the campfire to see if he were stillwith us. He was sitting in his scanty bed before the fire, mendinghis trousers. "I've just got to put a patch on right now or myknee'll be through," he explained. He had a neat little kit ofmaterials and everything was in order. "I haven't time to turn theedges of the patch under," he went on. "It ought to be done--youcan't make a durable patch unless you do. This 'housewife' my wifemade me when we was first married. I was peddlin' then in easternOregon. If it hadn't been for her brother--oh, I'll smash his facein, some day"--he held up the other trouser leg: "See that patch?Ain't that a daisy?--that's the way I ought to do. Say, looks like Iought to rustle enough grub out of all these outfits to last me intoGlenora, don't it?"
We came down gracefully--we could not withstand such prattle. Theblacksmith turned in some beans, the boys from Manchester dividedtheir scanty store of flour and bacon, I brought some salt, somesugar, and some oatmeal, and as the small man put it away he chirpedand chuckled like a cricket. His thanks were mere words, his voicewas calm. He accepted our aid as a matter of course. No perfectlyreasonable man would ever take such frightful chances as this absurdlittle ass set his face to without fear. He hummed a little tune ashe packed his outfit into his shoulder-straps. "I ought to rattleinto Glenora on this grub, hadn't I?" he said.
At last he was ready to be ferried across the river, which was swiftand dangerous. Burton set him across, and as he was about to depart Igave him a letter to post and a half-dollar to pay postage. My namewas written on the corner of the envelope. He knew me then and said,"I've a good mind to stay right with you; I'm something of a writermyself."
I hastened to say that he could reach Glenora two or three days inadvance of us, for the reason that we were bothered with a lamehorse. In reality, we were getting very short of provisions and wereeven then on rations. "I think you'll overtake the Borland outfit," Isaid. "If you don't, and you need help, camp by the road till we comeup and we'll all share as long as there's anything to share. But youare in good trim and have as much grub as we have, so you'd betterspin along."
He "hit the trail" with a hearty joy that promised well, and I neversaw him again. His cheery smile and unshrinking cheek carried himthrough a journey that appalled old packers with tents, plenty ofgrub, and good horses. To me he was simply a strongly accentuatedtype of the goldseeker--insanely persistent; blind to all danger,deaf to all warning, and doomed to failure at the start.
The next day opened cold and foggy, but we entered upon a hard day'swork. Burton became the chief canoeman, while one of the Manchesterboys, stripped to the undershirt, sat in the bow to pull at thepaddle "all same Siwash." Burton's skill and good judgment enabled usto cross without losing so much as a buckle. Some of our poor lamehorses had a hard struggle in the icy current. At about 4 P.M. wewere able to line up in the trail on the opposite side. We pressed onup to the higher valleys in hopes of finding better feed, and campedin the rain about two miles from the ford. The wind came from thenorthwest with a suggestion of autumn in its uneasy movement. Theboys were now exceedingly anxious to get i
nto the gold country. Theybegan to feel most acutely the passing of the summer. In the camp atnight the talk was upon the condition of Telegraph Creek and theTeslin Lake Trail.
Rain, rain, rain! It seemed as though no day could pass without rain.And as I woke I heard the patter of fine drops on our tent roof. Theold man cursed the weather most eloquently, expressing the generalfeeling of the whole company. However, we saddled up and pushed on,much delayed by the lame horses.
At about twelve o'clock I missed my partner's voice and looking aboutsaw only two of the packhorses following. Hitching those beside thetrail, I returned to find Burton seated beside the lame horse, whichcould not cross the slough. I examined the horse's foot and found athin stream of arterial blood spouting out.
"That ends it, Burton," I said. "I had hoped to bring all my horsesthrough, but this old fellow is out of the race. It is a question noweither of leaving him beside the trail with a notice to have himbrought forward or of shooting him out of hand."
To this partner gravely agreed, but said, "It's going to be prettyhard lines to shoot that faithful old chap."
"Yes," I replied, "I confess I haven't the courage to face him witha rifle after all these weeks of faithful service. But it must bedone. You remember that horse back there with a hole in his flank andhis head flung up? We mustn't leave this old fellow to be a prey tothe wolves. Now if you'll kill him you can set your price on theservice. Anything at all I will pay. Did you ever kill a horse?"
Partner was honest. "Yes, once. He was old and sick and I believed itbetter to put him out of his suffering than to let him drag on."
"That settles it, partner," said I. "Your hands are already imbuedwith gore--it must be done."
He rose with a sigh. "All right. Lead him out into the thicket."
I handed him the gun (into which I had shoved two steel-jacketedbullets, the kind that will kill a grizzly bear), and took the oldhorse by the halter. "Come, boy," I said, "it's hard, but it's theonly merciful thing." The old horse looked at me with such serenetrust and confidence, my courage almost failed me. His big brown eyeswere so full of sorrow and patient endurance. With some urging hefollowed me into the thicket a little aside from the trail. Turningaway I mounted Ladrone in order that I might not see what happened.There was a crack of a rifle in the bush--the sound of a heavy bodyfalling, and a moment later Burton returned with a coiled rope in hishand and a look of trouble on his face. The horses lined up againwith one empty place and an extra saddle topping the pony's pack. Itwas a sorrowful thing to do, but there was no better way. As I rodeon, looking back occasionally to see that my train was following, myheart ached to think of the toil the poor old horse hadundergone--only to meet death in the bush at the hands of his master.
Relieved of our wounded horse we made good time and repassed beforenine o'clock several outfits that had overhauled us during ourtrouble. We rose higher and higher, and came at last into a grassycountry and to a series of small lakes, which were undoubtedly thesource of the second fork of the Stikeen. But as we had lost so muchtime during the day, we pushed on with all our vigor for a couple ofhours and camped about nine o'clock of a beautiful evening, with amagnificent sky arching us as if with a prophecy of better timesahead.
The horses were now travelling very light, and our food supply wasreduced to a few pounds of flour and bread--we had no game andno berries. Beans were all gone and our bacon reduced to the lastshred. We had come to expect rain every day of our lives, and werefeeling a little the effects of our scanty diet of bread andbacon--hill-climbing was coming to be laborious. However, the way leddownward most of the time, and we were able to rack along at a verygood pace even on an empty stomach.
During the latter part of the second day the trail led along a highridge, a sort of hog-back overlooking a small river valley on ourleft, and bringing into view an immense blue canyon far ahead of us."There lies the Stikeen," I called to Burton. "We're on the secondsouth fork, which we follow to the Stikeen, thence to the left toTelegraph Creek." I began to compose doggerel verses to express ourexultation.
We were very tired and glad when we reached a camping-place. We couldnot stop on this high ridge for lack of water, although the feed wasvery good. We were forced to plod on and on until we at lastdescended into the valley of a little stream which crossed our path.The ground had been much trampled, but as rain was falling anddarkness coming on, there was nothing to do but camp.
Out of our last bit of bacon grease and bread and tea we made oursupper. While we were camping, "The Wild Dutchman," a stalwart youngfellow we had seen once or twice on the trail, came by with a verysour visage. He went into camp near, and came over to see us. Hesaid: "I hain't had no pread for more dan a veek. I've nuttin' putpeans. If you can, let me haf a biscuit. By Gott, how goot dat vouldtaste."
I yielded up a small loaf and encouraged him as best I could: "As Ifigure it, we are within thirty-five miles of Telegraph Creek; I'vekept a careful diary of our travel. If we've passed over the DeaseLake Trail, which is probably about four hundred miles from Hazletonto Glenora, we must be now within thirty-five miles of TelegraphCreek."
I was not half so sure of this as I made him think; but it gave him agreat deal of comfort, and he went off very much enlivened.
Sunday and no sun! It was raining when we awoke and the mosquitoeswere stickier than ever. Our grub was nearly gone, our horses thinand weak, and the journey uncertain. All ill things seemed toassemble like vultures to do us harm. The world was a grim place thatday. It was a question whether we were not still on the third southfork instead of the second south fork, in which case we were at leastone hundred miles from our supplies. If we were forced to cross themain Stikeen and go down on the other side, it might be even farther.
The men behind us were all suffering, and some of them were sure tohave a hard time if such weather continued. At the same time I feltcomparatively sure of our ground.
We were ragged, dirty, lame, unshaven, and unshorn--we were fightingfrom morning till night. The trail became more discouraging eachmoment that the rain continued to fall. There was little conversationeven between partner and myself. For many days we had moved inperfect silence for the most part, though no gloom or sullennessappeared in Burton's face. We were now lined up once more, taking thetrail without a word save the sharp outcry of the drivers hurryingthe horses forward, or the tinkle of the bells on the lead horse ofthe train.
THE VULTURE
He wings a slow and watchful flight, His neck is bare, his eyes are bright, His plumage fits the starless night.
He sits at feast where cattle lie Withering in ashen alkali, And gorges till he scarce can fly.
But he is kingly on the breeze! On rigid wing, in careless ease, A soundless bark on viewless seas. Piercing the purple storm cloud, he makes The sun his neighbor, and shakes His wrinkled neck in mock dismay, And swings his slow, contemptuous way Above the hot red lightning's play.
Monarch of cloudland--yet a ghoul of prey.
CAMPFIRES
1. _Popple_
A river curves like a bended bow, And over it winds of summer lightly blow; Two boys are feeding a flame with bark Of the pungent popple. Hark! They are uttering dreams. "I Will go hunt gold toward the western sky," Says the older lad; "I know it is there, For the rainbow shows just where It is. I'll go camping, and take a pan, And shovel gold, when I'm a man."
2. _Sage Brush_
The burning day draws near its end, And on the plain a man and his friend Sit feeding an odorous sage-brush fire. A lofty butte like a funeral pyre, With the sun atop, looms high In the cloudless, windless, saffron sky. A snake sleeps under a grease-wood plant; A horned toad snaps at a passing ant; The plain is void as a polar floe, And the limitless sky has a furnace glow. The men are gaunt and shaggy and gray, And their childhood river is far away; The gold still hides at the rainbow's tip, Yet the wanderer speaks with a resolute li
p. "I will seek till I find--or till I die," He mutters, and lifts his clenched hand high, And puts behind him love and wife, And the quiet round of a farmer's life.
3. _Pine_
The dark day ends in a bitter night. The mighty mountains cold, and white, And stern as avarice, still hide their gold Deep in wild canyons fold on fold, Both men are old, and one is grown As gray as the snows around him sown. He hovers over a fire of pine, Spicy and cheering; toward the line Of the towering peaks he lifts his eyes. "I'd rather have a boy with shining hair, To bear my name, than all your share Of earth's red gold," he said; And died, a loveless, childless man, Before the morning light began.
CHAPTER XVIII
AT LAST THE STIKEEN
About the middle of the afternoon of the fifty-eighth day we topped alow divide, and came in sight of the Stikeen River. Our heartsthrilled with pleasure as we looked far over the deep blue andpurple-green spread of valley, dim with mist, in which a littlesilver ribbon of water could be seen.
After weeks of rain, as if to make amend for useless severity, thesun came out, a fresh westerly breeze sprang up, and the sky filledwith glowing clouds flooded with tender light. The bloom of fireweedalmost concealed the devastation of flame in the fallen firs, and thegrim forest seemed a royal road over which we could pass as over acarpet--winter seemed far away.
But all this was delusion. Beneath us lay a thousand quagmires. Theforest was filled with impenetrable jungles and hidden streams,ridges sullen and silent were to be crossed, and the snow was closeat hand. Across this valley an eagle might sweep with joy, but thepack trains must crawl in mud and mire through long hours of torture.We spent but a moment here, and then with grim resolution called out,"Line up, boys, line up!" and struck down upon the last two days ofour long journey.
The Trail of the Goldseekers: A Record of Travel in Prose and Verse Page 11