by Bret Harte
CHAPTER II.
WITHIN.
The hut into which Ashley descended was like a Greenlander's "iglook,"below the surface of the snow. Accident rather than design had given itthis Arctic resemblance. As snow upon snow had blocked up its entrance,and reared its white ladders against its walls, and as the strength ofits exhausted inmates slowly declined, communication with the outwardworld was kept up only by a single narrow passage. Excluded from theair, it was close and stifling, but it had a warmth that perhaps thethin blood of its occupants craved more than light or ventilation.
A smouldering fire in a wooden chimney threw a faint flicker on thewalls. By its light, lying on the floor, were discernible fourfigures--a young woman and a child of three or four years wrapped in asingle blanket, near the fire; nearer the door two men, separatelyenwrapped, lay apart. They might have been dead, so deep and motionlesswere their slumbers.
Perhaps some fear of this filled the mind of Ashley as he entered, forafter a moment's hesitation, without saying a word, he passed quickly tothe side of the young woman, and, kneeling beside her, placed his handupon her face. Slight as was the touch, it awakened her. I know not whatsubtle magnetism was in that contact, but she caught the hand in herown, sat up, and before the eyes were scarcely opened, uttered thesingle word--
"Philip!"
"Grace--hush!"
He took her hand, kissed it, and pointed warningly toward the othersleepers.
"Speak low. I have much to say to you."
The young girl seemed to be content to devour the speaker with her eyes.
"You have come back," she whispered, with a faint smile, and a look thatshowed too plainly the predominance of that fact above all others in hermind. "I dreamt of you, Philip."
"Dear Grace"--he kissed her hand again. "Listen to me, darling! I havecome back, but only with the old story--no signs of succour, noindications of help from without! My belief is, Grace," he added, in avoice so low as to be audible only to the quick ear to which it wasaddressed, "that we have blundered far south of the usual travelledtrail. Nothing but a miracle or a misfortune like our own would bringanother train this way. We are alone and helpless--in an unknown regionthat even the savage and brute have abandoned. The only aid we cancalculate upon is from within--from ourselves. What that aid amountsto," he continued, turning a cynical eye towards the sleepers, "you knowas well as I."
She pressed his hand, apologetically, as if accepting the reproachherself, but did not speak.
"As a party we have no strength--no discipline," he went on. "Since yourfather died we have had no leader. I know what you would say, Gracedear," he continued, answering the mute protest of the girl's hand, "buteven if it were true--if I were capable of leading them, they would nottake my counsels. Perhaps it is as well. If we kept together, thegreatest peril of our situation would be ever present--the peril from_ourselves_!"
He looked intently at her as he spoke, but she evidently did not takehis meaning. "Grace," he said, desperately, "when starving men arethrown together, they are capable of any sacrifice--of any crime, tokeep the miserable life that they hold so dear just in proportion as itbecomes valueless. You have read in books--Grace! good God, what is thematter?"
If she had not read his meaning in books, she might have read it at thatmoment in the face that was peering in at the door--a face with so muchof animal suggestion in its horrible wistfulness that she needed nofurther revelation; a face full of inhuman ferocity and watchfuleagerness, and yet a face familiar in its outlines--the face of Dumphy!Even with her danger came the swifter instinct of feminine tact andconcealment, and without betraying the real cause of her momentaryhorror, she dropped her head upon Philip's shoulder and whispered, "Iunderstand." When she raised her head again the face was gone.
"Enough, I did not mean to frighten you, Grace, but only to show youwhat we must avoid--what we have still strength left to avoid. There isbut one chance of escape; you know what it is--a desperate one, but nomore desperate than this passive waiting for a certain end. I ask youagain--will you share it with me? When I first spoke I was less sanguinethan now. Since then I have explored the ground carefully, and studiedthe trend of these mountains. It is _possible_. I say no more."
"But my sister and brother?"
"The child would be a hopeless impediment, even if she could survive thefatigue and exposure. Your brother must stay with her; she will need allhis remaining strength and all the hopefulness that keeps him up. No,Grace, we must go alone. Remember, our safety means theirs. Theirstrength will last until we can send relief; while they would sink inthe attempt to reach it with us. I would go alone, but I cannot bear,dear Grace, to leave you here."
"I should die if you left me," she said, simply.
"I believe you would, Grace," he said as simply.
"But can we not wait? Help may come at any moment--to-morrow."
"To-morrow will find us weaker. I should not trust your strength nor myown a day longer."
"But the old man--the Doctor?"
"He will soon be beyond the reach of help," said the young man, sadly."Hush, he is moving."
One of the blanketed figures had rolled over. Philip walked to the fire,threw on a fresh stick, and stirred the embers. The upspringing flashshowed the face of an old man whose eyes were fixed with feverishintensity upon him.
"What are you doing with the fire?" he asked querulously, with a slightforeign accent.
"Stirring it!"
"Leave it alone!"
Philip listlessly turned away.
"Come here," said the old man.
Philip approached.
"You need say nothing," said the old man after a pause, in which heexamined Philip's face keenly. "I read your news in your face--the oldstory--I know it by heart."
"Well?" said Philip.
"Well!" said the old man, stolidly.
Philip again turned away.
"You buried the case and papers?" asked the old man.
"Yes."
"Through the snow--in the earth?"
"Yes."
"Securely?"
"Securely."
"How do you indicate it?"
"By a cairn of stones."
"And the notices--in German and French?"
"I nailed them up wherever I could, near the old trail."
"Good."
The cynical look on Philip's face deepened as he once more turned away.But before he reached the door he paused, and drawing from his breast afaded flower, with a few limp leaves, handed it to the old man.
"I found the duplicate of the plant you were looking for."
The old man half rose on his elbow, breathless with excitement as heclutched and eagerly examined the plant.
"It is the same," he said, with a sigh of relief, "and yet you saidthere was no news!"
"May I ask what it means?" said Philip, with a slight smile.
"It means that I am right, and Linn[ae]us, Darwin, and Eschscholtz arewrong. It means a discovery. It means that this which you call an Alpineflower is not one, but a new species."
"An important fact to starving men," said Philip, bitterly.
"It means more," continued the old man, without heeding Philip's tone."It means that this flower is not developed in perpetual snow. It meansthat it is first germinated in a warm soil and under a kindly sun. Itmeans that if you had not plucked it, it would have fulfilled itsdestiny under those conditions. It means that in two months grass willbe springing where you found it--even where we now lie. We are below thelimit of perpetual snow."
"In two months!" said the young girl, eagerly, clasping her hands.
"In two months," said the young man, bitterly. "In two months we shallbe far from here, or dead."
"Probably!" said the old man, coolly; "but if you have fulfilled myinjunctions in regard to my papers and the collection, they will in goodtime be discovered and saved."
Ashley turned away with an impatient gesture, and the old man's headagain sank exhaustedly upon his arm.
Under the pretext of caressing thechild, Ashley crossed over to Grace, uttered a few hurried and almostinaudible words, and disappeared through the door. When he had gone, theold man raised his head again and called feebly--
"Grace!"
"Dr. Devarges!"
"Come here!"
She rose and crossed over to his side.
"Why did he stir the fire, Grace?" said Devarges, with a suspiciousglance.
"I don't know."
"You tell him everything--did you tell him that?"
"I did not, sir."
Devarges looked as if he would read the inmost thoughts of the girl, andthen, as if reassured, said--
"Take it from the fire, and let it cool in the snow."
The young girl raked away the embers of the dying fire, and disclosedwhat seemed to be a stone of the size of a hen's egg incandescent andglowing. With the aid of two half-burnt slicks she managed to extractit, and deposited it in a convenient snow-drift near the door, and thenreturned to the side of the old man.
"Grace!"
"Sir!"
"You are going away!"
Grace did not speak.
"Don't deny it. I overheard you. Perhaps it is the best that you can do.But whether it is or not you will do it--of course. Grace, what do youknow of that man?"
Neither the contact of daily familiarity, the quality of suffering, northe presence of approaching death, could subdue the woman's nature inGrace. She instantly raised her shield. From behind it she began tofence feebly with the dying man.
"Why, what we all know of him, sir--a true friend; a man to whosecourage, intellect, and endurance we owe so much. And so unselfish,sir!"
"Humph!--what else?"
"Nothing--except that he has always been your devoted friend--and Ithought you were his. You brought him to us," she said a littleviciously.
"Yes--I picked him up at Sweetwater. But what do you know of hishistory? What has he told you?"
"He ran away from a wicked stepfather and relations whom he hated. Hecame out West to live alone--among the Indians--or to seek his fortunein Oregon. He is very proud--you know, sir. He is as unlike us as youare, sir,--he is a gentleman. He is educated."
"Yes, I believe that's what they call it here, and he doesn't know thepetals of a flower from the stamens," muttered Devarges. "Well! Afteryou run away with him does he propose to marry you?"
For an instant a faint flush deepened the wan cheek of the girl, and shelost her guard. But the next moment she recovered it.
"Oh, sir," said this arch hypocrite, sweetly, "how can you jest socruelly at such a moment? The life of my dear brother and sister, thelives of the poor women in yonder hut, depend upon our going. He and Iare the only ones left who have strength enough to make the trial. I canassist him, for, although strong, I require less to support my strengththan he. Something tells me we shall be successful; we shall return soonwith help. Oh, sir,--it is no time for trifling now; our lives--evenyour own is at stake!"
"My own life," said the old man, impassively, "is already spent. Beforeyou return, if you return at all, I shall be beyond your help."
A spasm of pain appeared to pass over his face. He lay still for amoment as if to concentrate his strength for a further effort. But whenhe again spoke his voice was much lower, and he seemed to articulatewith difficulty.
"Grace," he said at last, "come nearer, girl,--I have something to tellyou."
Grace hesitated. Within the last few moments a shy, nervous dread of theman which she could not account for had taken possession of her. Shelooked toward her sleeping brother.
"He will not waken," said Devarges, following the direction of her eyes."The anodyne still holds its effect. Bring me what you took from thefire."
Grace brought the stone--a dull bluish-grey slag. The old man took it,examined it, and then said to Grace--
"Rub it briskly on your blanket."
Grace did so. After a few moments it began to exhibit a faint whitelustre on its polished surface.
"It looks like silver," said Grace, doubtfully.
"It _is_ silver!" replied Devarges.
Grace put it down quickly and moved slightly away.
"Take it," said the old man,--"it is yours. A year ago I found it in aledge of the mountain range far west of this. I know where it lies inbulk--a fortune, Grace, do you hear?--hidden in the bluish stone you putin the fire for me last night. I can tell you where and how to find it.I can give you the title to it--the right of discovery. Take it--it isyours."
"No, no," said the girl, hurriedly, "keep it yourself. You will live toenjoy it."
"Never, Grace! even were I to live I should not make use of it. I havein my life had more than my share of it, and it brought me no happiness.It has no value to me--the rankest weed that grows above it is worthmore in my eyes. Take it. To the world it means everything--wealth andposition. Take it. It will make you as proud and independent as yourlover--it will make you always gracious in his eyes;--it will be asetting to your beauty,--it will be a pedestal to your virtue. Takeit--it is yours."
"But you have relatives--friends," said the girl, drawing away from theshining stone with a half superstitious awe. "There are others whoseclaims"----
"None greater than yours," interrupted the old man, with the nervoushaste of failing breath. "Call it a reward if you choose. Look upon itas a bribe to keep your lover to the fulfilment of his promise topreserve my manuscripts and collection. Think, if you like, that it isan act of retribution--that once in my life I might have known a younggirl whose future would have been blessed by such a gift. Think--thinkwhat you like--but take it!"
His voice had sunk to a whisper. A greyish pallor had overspread hisface, and his breath came with difficulty. Grace would have called herbrother, but with a motion of his hand Devarges restrained her. With adesperate effort he raised himself upon his elbow, and drawing anenvelope from his pocket, put it in her hand.
"It contains--map--description of mine and locality--yours--say you willtake it--Grace, quick, say"----
His head had again sunk to the floor. She stooped to raise it. As shedid so a slight shadow darkened the opening by the door. She raised hereyes quickly and saw the face of Dumphy!
She did not shrink this time; but, with a sudden instinct, she turned toDevarges, and said--
"I will!"
She raised her eyes again defiantly, but the face had disappeared.
"Thank you," said the old man. His lips moved again, but without asound. A strange film had begun to gather in his eyes.
"Dr. Devarges," whispered Grace.
He did not speak. "He is dying," thought the young girl as a new andsudden fear overcame her. She rose quickly and crossed hurriedly to herbrother and shook him. A prolonged inspiration, like a moan, was theonly response. For a moment she glanced wildly around the room and thenran to the door.
"Philip!"
There was no response. She climbed up through the tunnel-like opening.It was already quite dark, and a few feet beyond the hut nothing wasdistinguishable. She cast a rapid backward glance, and then, with asudden desperation, darted forward into the darkness. At the same momenttwo figures raised themselves from behind the shadow of the mound andslipped down the tunnel into the hut--Mrs. Brackett and Mr. Dumphy. Theymight have been the meanest predatory animals--so stealthy, so eager, sotimorous, so crouching, and yet so agile were their motions. They ransometimes upright, and sometimes on all fours, hither and thither. Theyfell over each other in their eagerness, and struck and spat savagely ateach other in the half darkness. They peered into corners, they rootedin the dying embers and among the ashes, they groped among the skins andblankets, they smelt and sniffed at every article. They paused at lastapparently unsuccessful, and glared at each other.
"They must have eaten it," said Mrs. Brackett, in a hoarse whisper.
"It didn't look like suthin' to eat," said Dumphy.
"You saw 'em take it from the fire?"
"Yes!"
"And rub it?"
/>
"Yes!"
"Fool. Don't you see"----
"What?"
"It was a baked potato."
Dumphy sat dumfounded.
"Why should they rub it? It takes off the cracklin' skins," he said.
"They've got such fine stomachs!" answered Mrs. Bracket, with an oath.
Dumphy was still aghast with the importance of his discovery.
"He said he knew where there was more!" he whispered eagerly.
"Where?"
"I didn't get to hear."
"Fool! Why didn't ye rush in and grip his throat until he told yer?"hissed Mrs. Brackett, in a tempest of baffled rage and disappointment."Ye ain't got the spunk of a flea. Let me get hold of that gal--Hush!what's that?"
"He's moving!" said Dumphy.
In an instant they had both changed again into slinking, crouching,baffled animals, eager only for escape. Yet they dared not move.
The old man had turned over, and his lips were moving in the mutteringsof delirium. Presently he called "Grace!"
With a sign of caution to her companion, the woman leaned over him.
"Yes, deary, I'm here."
"Tell him not to forget. Make him keep his promise. Ask him where it isburied!"
"Yes, deary!"
"He'll tell you. He knows!"
"Yes, deary!"
"At the head of Monument Ca[~n]on. A hundred feet north of the lone pine.Dig two feet down below the surface of the cairn."
"Yes!"
"Where the wolves can't get it."
"Yes!"
"The stones keep it from ravenous beasts."
"Yes, in course."
"That might tear it up."
"Yes!"
"Starving beasts!"
"Yes, deary!"
The fire of his wandering eyes went out suddenly, like a candle; his jawdropped; he was dead. And over him the man and woman crouched in fearfuljoy, looking at each other with the first smile that had been upon theirlips since they had entered the fateful ca[~n]on.