CHAPTER XVII.
CHANCE'S GOLD-FEVER RETURNS.
"Well, Steve, what is the news? I can see that you are just burstingwith intelligence. Out with it, little man."
"Bell has struck it rich again. It's a fortune this time, they say."
"Is that all? Poor Bell! He'll be drunk, then, at Victoria the whole ofthe winter. I shouldn't be surprised if this second stroke of luckkilled him."
The speakers were our old friends Ned Corbett and Steve Chance, and whenSteve joined him Ned was sitting with his long gum boots tucked under atable in the Antler dance-house, smoking his evening pipe.
It was nearly a month since Cruickshank had stolen away from Antler, andsince then Ned had recovered all his old strength and vigour.
At first he had brooded incessantly over Cruickshank's escape, but asthe days went by he realized that there was no chance for him, withoutknowledge of the country and without funds, against a man like thecolonel, with a fortnight's start of him. Together with one or twominers to whom he had told his tale he had made an attempt to followCruickshank's tracks, and had succeeded in tracking him and his pony asfar as the main trail to Soda Creek. Here the tracks, which were alreadyold, became confused with others, and sorely against their will thepursuers had to give up the chase.
"Cruickshank has got clean away with you this journey, partner, and Iguess you may as well own up to it," was the verdict of one of hiscomrades.
And Ned, recognizing the justice of it, threw up the sponge, and ownedhimself beaten for the time; but although he said no more about theclaims or the packs or the comrade of whom he had been robbed, heconsoled himself with the thought that life was long and had in it manychances, and that whenever his chance came, however late, it would findhis hand as strong and as quick to take vengeance as it was to-day.
As soon as his story had become known, and men had seen what manner ofman he was, Ned had found no difficulty in getting employment in theclaims, and, indeed, he had done so well that he had been induced tosend a message to his friends at Williams Creek, in answer to whichSteve and Phon had hastened to join him at Antler. Rampike promised tocome up later on in the fall, but as yet he had plenty to do in his ownclaim.
For a full fortnight the three comrades had worked away steadily withpick and shovel, and now, in spite of all his troubles, Ned was his owncheery self again, proud of the strength which enabled him to do almostas much as two other men, and content with the work which kept himsupplied with all the necessaries of life. But if Ned Corbett wascontent, his comrades were not. Steve hated the daily labour for dailywage, and Phon was hardly strong enough for the work, and anxious to gooff prospecting on his own account.
"What a phlegmatic old cuss you are, Ned! Don't you envy Bell a bit?"
"Not I. Why should I? I am strong and well again, thank God. I've plentyof fresh air and hard work, and I'm earning ten dollars a day--"
"And spending eight. You won't make a fortune that way."
"Who said that I should? Who said that I wanted to? Why, my dear chap,just think for a moment. If I did make a fortune I should have to stopat home and invest it and look after it. _Stop at home_, do you hear,Steve?"
"You'll die a pauper, Ned," asserted Chance solemnly.
"And you, perhaps, a millionaire. Poor old chap! I'm sorry for you. Iam indeed. Well, Lilla, what can I do for you?" and Ned, rising, tookoff his hat, as if he had been saluting a duchess.
"The boys want a song, Ned. Will you sing for them?" asked the girl, herpretty eyes brightening and her cheeks flushing as she took Ned's hand.Somehow, though Ned had often sought her, he had seen very little of hisgentle nurse since he had become convalescent.
"Bother the boys!" quoth this young man of big muscle and limitedintelligence. "I'm not going to do any work to-night. I have earnedenough money for the day; but," he added quickly as he saw the girl'slook of disappointment, "I'll sing for you, little sister, and you cangive the money to the next dead-beat you nurse back again to life."
"I never nursed any dead-beats," began Lilla.
"Oh no, of course not. Never heard of Ned Corbett, or Pete of LostCreek, or any of that crowd, did you, Lilla? Now I'm going to sing;" andwith that he threw back his head, and sang in a full rich baritone asong of his Canadian lumbering days:--
A SONG OF THE AXE.
When winter winds storm, and the snow-flakes swarm, And the forest is soft to our tread; When the women folk sit, by their fires fresh lit, Oh, ho, for the toque of red! With our strong arms bare, it's little we care For politics, rates, or tax; Let the good steel ring on the forest king-- Oh, ho, for the swing of the axe!
Your diamonds may glitter, your rubies flame, Our gems are but frozen dew; Yet yours grow tame, being always the same, Ours every night will renew. Let the world rip: tighten your grip, Make the blades glitter and shine; At it you go, swing to each blow, And down with the pride of the pine!
For the trees, I ween, which have long grown green In the light of the sun and the stars, Must bend their backs to the lumberer's axe, Mere timber and planks and spars! Then oh, ho, ho! for the carpet of snow! Oh, ho, for the forest of pine! Wealth shall be yours, with its business and bores, Health and hard labour be mine!
"_Health and hard labour be mine!_" thundered a score of voices, and ascore of strong labour-hardened hands came crashing down upon the roughdeal tables. "Bravo, Ned!" "That's your sort for Cariboo!" "Mate, we'llwet that song if you please," and a dozen other similar expressions ofapproval rewarded Ned for his efforts, but Steve Chance did not go asfar as the rest of the audience.
"A pretty good song, Ned," he said, "with lots of shouting in it, but nosense."
"Give us a better, little one," replied his friend good-naturedly. "Ah,Lilla, you are a brick--I beg your pardon, but I don't know the Germanfor a fairy who brings a thirsty man just what he wants;" and Ned buriedhis moustache in a foaming glass of Lager.
"That beats all the champagne and such like trash into fits," he addedwith a sigh of satisfaction as he put down the empty glass. "Now, Steve,beat my song if you can."
"Beat it! No trouble to do that. If the boys don't shout themselvessilly over my chorus I'll take a back seat."
"You wouldn't stay there if you did," laughed Ned; "but drive on, myboy."
Thus adjured, Steve got up and sang with a spirit and go of which I amunable to give any adequate idea, the song of--
THE YANKEE DOLLAR.
With sword or shovel, pick or pen, All strive to win the yellow ore; And "bust or boom," our natural doom, Is but to love the dollar more.
_Chorus._
The Yankee doodle dollar, oh! I'm no saint or scholar, oh! I only know, that high or low, All love the Yankee dollar, oh!
In miner's ditch some strike it rich, And some die in the collar, oh! But live or die, succeed or sigh, All strive to win the dollar, oh!
"Chorus, gentlemen,--'_The Yankee doodle dollar_ oh!'" sang Chance, andthe whole room rose to him and sang as one man--
The Yankee doodle dollar, oh! I'm no saint or scholar, oh! I only know, that high or low, All love the Yankee dollar, oh!
There was no question as to Steve's victory. Ned had stirred the heartsof a few, and pleased all, but Steve had played upon the principal chordin the heart of Antler, and for weeks the men hummed the empty words andwhistled the frivolous, ranting little air of "_The Yankee doodledollar, oh!_" until even its author was sick of it.
"You see, Ned, everyone thinks the same except you," said Chance, whenthe applause had somewhat moderated. "Why the deuce are you sopig-headed? Now that we have saved a few dollars why should we not goprospecting and make our pile like other people? I'm sick of all thispicking and scratching in other men's claims."
"'Yo mun larn to scrat afore yo peck,'" repli
ed Ned stolidly, quoting agood old Shropshire proverb; "and 'scratting' for ten dollars a daydoesn't seem to me to be very badly-paid labour."
"You forget, Ned, that this cain't last. How do you mean to live duringthe winter?"
"Sufficient unto the day--" began Ned, and then suddenly altering histone he added, "What is it that you want me to do, Steve?"
"What do I want you to do? Why, what any other man in Cariboo would doif he had half your chance. Take Lilla's offer and go and look forPete's Creek for her."
"Pete's Creek! Why, my dear Steve, you don't seriously believe in thatcock-and-bull story, do you?"
"Don't you believe Lilla?" retorted Chance.
"Of course I believe Lilla," replied Corbett hotly, "but she only tellsthe story as it was told to her."
"By a dying man who knew that he was dying, to a woman who had nursedhim for weeks like a sister! According to you, Pete must have been aworse liar than Ananias, Ned."
"I didn't say Pete lied either, but Pete may not have been sane when hedied. You know that he had been drinking like a fish before Lilla gothold of him."
"Yes, and slept out a couple of nights in the snow. I know that. But hedied of pleurisy, not of the jim-jams."
"Well, have your own way, but nothing will make me believe in thatcreek. It had too much gold in it," replied Corbett. "And even if I didbelieve in it, why should I take Lilla's gold? Hasn't she done enoughfor me already?"
"Perhaps. But if you don't get it for her, I guess someone else willcome along and find it for himself."
"Why don't you go for it, Steve, if you believe in it?"
"So I would if Lilla would trust me; but you see Lilla is not spoons onme, and she is on you."
Corbett flushed to the roots of his yellow hair.
"Don't talk rot, Chance, and leave Lilla's name alone."
"I'm not talking rot," said Chance seriously. "But say, Ned, do you meanto marry that girl?"
"Marry your grandmother! I don't mean to marry anyone, and no one issuch a fool as to want to marry me."
"All right, Ned, don't lose your temper; but I know, old chap, that youwould not like to get Lilla talked about, and the boys are beginning tosay that Lilla got rid of her heart when you got rid of your fever."
"The boys are a parcel of chattering idiots, whose mouths will getstopped pretty roughly if they talk like that before me," growled Ned."But really, Steve, this is too ridiculous. Fancy anyone wanting tomarry me!" and the speaker looked down with a grin at his mud-spattered,much-mended pants, passed his hand meditatively over a rough young beardof three months' growth, and burst out laughing.
Ned Corbett was heart-whole, and he did not see why everyone else shouldnot be as lucky in that respect as himself.
Gold, Gold, in Cariboo! A Story of Adventure in British Columbia Page 17