The Furnace of Gold

by Philip Verrill Mighels

  CHAPTER XXXII

  THE HARDSHIPS OF THE TRAIL

  In the night, far out to the northward, a storm descended like acataclysm. Torrential rains were poured upon the hills from acloudburst exceptionally savage. Only the scattered outposts, as itwere, of the storm were blown as far as Goldite. A sprinkle of rainthat dried at once was the most those mountains received.

  Van made an early start from the "Laughing Water" claim, to deliverBeth's letter in Starlight. Her note to himself he read once more ashis pony jogged down the descent.

  "Dear Mr. Van: I wonder if I dare to ask a favor--from one who has doneso much already? My brother, in Starlight, is ill. He has hurthimself, I do not know how badly. A letter I sent has never beenreceived, and I am worried. The effort I made to see him--well--atleast, I'm glad I made the effort. But meantime, what of poor Glen?Some little fear I have may be groundless. I shall therefore keep itto myself--but I have it, perhaps because I am a woman. I must knowthe truth about my brother--how he is--what has been happening. It isfar more important than I dare confess. I have written him a letterand sent it to you in the hope you may not find it impossible to carryit to Glen in person. If I am asking too much, please do not hesitateto say so. I am sure you will be friendly enough for that--to say 'no'if need be to another friend--_your_ friend, BETH KENT."

  She did not regret that desert experience--that was almost enough forhim to know! He had lived in a glow since that wonderful night--andthis letter provided another. He rode like a proud young crusader ofold, with his head in a region of sunshine and gold, his visiontransfixed by a face. Her love had become his holy grail--and for thathe would ride to death itself.

  His way he shortened, or thought to shorten, by dropping down from thereservation heights to the new-made town a mile below. He came uponthe place abruptly, after dipping once into a canyon, and looked withamazement on the place. In the past twelve hours it had doubled insize and increased twenty-fold in its fever. The face of the desertwas literally alive with men and animals. Half of Goldite andpractically all of a dozen lesser camps were there. Confusion,discomfort, and distraction seemed hopelessly enthroned. The "rush"was written in men's faces, in their actions, in their baggage, words,and rising temperature.

  A dozen stalwart stampeders pounced upon Van like wolves. They wantedto know what he thought of the reservation, where to go, whether or notthere was any more ground like that of the "Laughing Water" claim, whathe had heard from his Indian friends, and what he would take for hisplacer. The crowd about him rapidly increased. Men in a time ofexcitement such as this flock as madly as sheep whenever one may lead.Anything is news--any man is of interest who has in his pocket a pieceof rock, or has in his eye a wink. No man is willing to be leftoutside. He must know all there is to be known.

  It was utterly useless for Van to protest his ignorance of thereservation ground. He owned a deposit of placer gold. Success hadcrowned his efforts. It was something to get in touch with success,rub shoulders with a man who had the gold.

  His friends were there in the red-faced mob. They said they were hisfriends, and they doubtless knew. Some were, indeed, old acquaintanceswhom Van would gladly have assisted towards a needed change of fortune.He was powerless, not only to aid these men, but also to escape.Despite his utmost endeavors they held him there an hour, and to makeup the time, he chose the hottest, roughest trail through the range,when at last he was clear of the town.

  The climb he made on his pony to slice a few miles from his route wasover a mountain and through a gulch that was known as The Devil'sSlide. It was gravel that moved underfoot with never-failingtreachery, gravel made hot by the rays of the sun, and flinging up ascorching heat while it crawled and blistered underfoot. On midsummerdays men had perished here, driven mad by the dancing of the air andthe dread of the movement where they trod. The last two miles of thisdesolate slope Van walked and led his broncho.

  He entered "Solid Canyon" finally, and mounting once more let Suvy pickthe way between great boulders, where gray rattlesnakes abounded inexceptional numbers. These were the hardships of the ride, all therewere that Van felt worth the counting. He had reckoned without thatfar-off storm, which had raged in the darkness of the night.

  He came to the river, the ford between the banks where he and Beth hadfound a shallow stream. For a moment he stared at it speechlessly. Agreat, swiftly-moving flood was there, tawny, roiled with the mud torndown and dissolved in the water's violence, and foaming still from aplunge it had taken above.

  It was ten to twenty feet deep. This Van realized as he sat there onhis sweating horse, measuring up the banks. The depth had encroachedupon the slope whereon he was wont to ascend the further side. Therewas one place only where he felt assured a landing might be achieved.

  "Well, Suvy," he said to the animal presently, "it looks more like aswim than a waltz quadrille, and neither of us built web-footed."

  Without further ado he placed Beth's letter in his hat, then rode hispony down the bank and into the angry-looking water. Suvy halted amoment uncertainly, then, like his master, determined to proceed.

  Five feet out he was swimming, headed instinctively up the stream andburied deep under the surface. Van still remained in the saddle. Hewas more than waist under, loosely clinging to his seat and giving thepony the reins.

  Suvy was powerful, he swam doggedly, but the current was tremendous inits sheer liquid mass and momentum. Van slipped off and swam by thebroncho's side. Together the two breasted the surge of the tide, andnow made more rapid progress. It required tremendous effort to forgeahead and not be swept headlong to a choppy stretch of rapids, justbelow.

  "Up stream, boy, up stream," said Van, as if to a comrade, for he hadnoted the one likely place to land, and Suvy was drifting too fardownward.

  They came in close to the bank, as Van had feared, below the one fairlanding. Despite his utmost efforts, to which the pony willinglyresponded, they could not regain what had been lost. The broncho madea fine but futile attempt to gain a footing and scramble up the almostperpendicular wall of rock and earth by which he was confronted. Timeafter time he circled completely in the surge, to no avail. He mayhave become either confused or discouraged, Whichever it was, heturned about, during a moment when Van released the reins, and swamsturdily back whence he come.

  Van, in the utmost patience, turned and followed. Suvy awaited hisadvent on the shore.

  "Try to keep a little further up, boy, if you can," said the man, andhe mounted and rode as before against the current.

  The broncho was eager to obey directions, eager to do the bidding ofthe man he strangely loved. All of the first hard struggle wasrepeated--and the current caught them as before. Again, as formerly,Van slipped off and swam by his pony's side. He could not hold hisshoulder against the animal, and guide him thus up the stream, but wastrailed out lengthwise and flung about in utter helplessness, forming adrag against which the pony's most desperate efforts could not prevail.

  They came to the bank precisely as they had before, and once again,perhaps more persistently, Suvy made wild, eager efforts to scrambleout where escape was impossible. Again and again he circled, pawed thebank, and turned his eyes appealingly to Van, as if for help orsuggestions.

  At last he acknowledged defeat, or lost comprehension of the struggle.He swam as on the former trial to the bank on the homeward side.

  There was nothing for Van but to follow as before. When he came out,dripping and panting, by the animal, whose sides were fairly heaving ashe labored for breath, he was still all cheer and encouragement.

  "Suvy," said he, "a failure is a chap who couldn't make a fire in hell.We've got to cross this river if we have to burn it up."

  He took the broncho's velvety nose in his hands and gave him a roughlittle shake. Then he patted him smartly on the neck.

  "For a pocket-size river," he said as he looked at the flood, "this iscertainly the infant prodigy. Well, let's try it agai
n."

  Had the plunge been straight to sudden death that broncho would haverisked it unswervingly at the urging of his master. Suvy was somewhatexhausted by the trials already made, in vain. But into the turgiddown-sweep he headed with a newly conjured vigor.

  Van now waited merely for the pony to get started on his way, when helifted away from the saddle, with the water's aid, and clung snugly upto the stirrup. He swam with one hand only. To keep himself afloatand offer no resistance to the broncho was the most that he could do,and the best.

  The struggle was tremendous. Suvy had headed more obliquely thanbefore against the current, and having encountered a greaterresistance, with his strength somewhat sapped, was toiling like anengine.

  Inch by inch, foot by foot, he forged his way against the liquid wallthat split upon him. Van felt a great final quiver of muscular energyshake the living dynamic by his side, as Suvy poured all his fine youngmight into one supreme effort at the end. Then he came to the landing,got all his feet upon the slope, and up they heaved in triumph!