by Rex Beach
XXIII
A NEW CRISIS
With the completion of the railroad to the glacier crossing there cameto it a certain amount of travel, consisting mainly of prospectorsbound to and from the interior. The Cortez winter trail was open, andover it passed most of the traffic from the northward mining-camps, butnow and then a frost-rimed stranger emerged from the canon aboveO'Neil's terminus with tales of the gold country, or a venturesomesledge party snow-shoed its way inland from the end of the track.Murray made a point of hauling these trailers on hisconstruction-trains and of feeding them in his camps as freely as hedid his own men. In time the wavering line of sled-tracks became fairlywell broken, and scarcely a week passed without bringing several"mushers."
One day, as O'Neil was picking his way through the outskirts of thecamp, he encountered one of his night foremen, and was surprised to seethat the fellow was leading a trail-dog by a chain. Now these malamutesare as much a part of the northland as the winter snows, and they are acommon sight in every community; but the man's patent embarrassmentchallenged Murray's attention: he acted as if he had been detected in atheft or a breach of duty.
"Hello, Walsh. Been buying some live stock?" O'Neil inquired.
"Yes, sir. I picked up this dog cheap."
"Harness too, eh?" Murray noted that Walsh's arms were full ofgear--enough, indeed, for a full team. Knowing that the foreman ownedno dogs, he asked, half banteringly:
"You're not getting ready for a trip, I hope?"
"No, sir. Not exactly, sir. The dog was cheap, so I--I just bought him."
As a matter of fact, dogs were not cheap, and Walsh should have been inbed at this hour. Murray walked on wondering what the fellow could beup to.
Later he came upon a laborer dickering with a Kyak Indian over theprice of a fur robe, and in front of a bunk-house he found othermembers of the night crew talking earnestly with two lately arrivedstrangers. They fell silent as he approached, and responded to hisgreeting with a peculiar nervous eagerness, staring after him curiouslyas he passed on.
He expected Dr. Gray out from Omar, but as he neared the track he metMellen. The bridge superintendent engaged him briefly upon some detail,then said:
"I don't know what's the matter with the men this morning. They'reloafing."
"Loafing? Nonsense! You expect too much."
Mellen shook his head. "The minute my back is turned they begin togossip. I've had to call them down."
"Perhaps they want a holiday."
"They're not that kind. There's something in the air."
While they were speaking the morning train pulled in, and O'Neil wassurprised to see at least a dozen townspeople descending from it. Theywere loafers, saloon-frequenters, for the most part, and oddly enough,they had with them dogs and sleds and all the equipment for travel. Hewas prevented from making inquiry, however, by a shout from Dr. Gray,who cried:
"Hey, Chief! Look who's here!"
O'Neil hastened forward with a greeting upon his lips, for Stanley washelping Eliza and Natalie down from the caboose which served as apassenger-coach.
The young women, becomingly clad in their warm winter furs, made apicture good to look upon. Natalie had ripened wonderfully since hermarriage, and added to her rich dark beauty there was now an elusivesweetness, a warmth and womanliness which had been lacking before. Asfor Eliza, she had never appeared more sparkling, more freshlywholesome and saucy than on this morning.
"We came to take pictures," she announced. "We want to see if thebridge suits us."
"Don't you believe her, Mr. O'Neil," said Natalie. "Dan told us youwere working too hard, so Eliza insisted on taking you in hand. I'mhere merely in the office of chaperon and common scold. You HAVE beenoverdoing. You're positively haggard."
Gray nodded. "He won't mind me. I hope you'll abuse him well. Go at himhammer and tongs."
Ignoring Murray's smiling assertion that he was the only man in campwho really suffered from idleness, the girls pulled him about andexamined him critically, then fell to discussing him as if he were notpresent.
"He's worn to the bone," said Eliza.
"Did you ever see anything like his wrinkles? He looks like a driedapple," Natalie declared.
"Dan says he doesn't eat."
"Probably he's too busy to chew his food. We'll make him Fletcherize--"
"And eat soup. Then we'll mend his underclothes. I'll warrant hedoesn't dress properly."
"How much sleep does he get?" Natalie queried of the physician.
"About half as much as he needs."
"Leave him to us," said Eliza, grimly. "Now where does he live? We'llstart in there."
O'Neil protested faintly. "Please don't! I hate soup, and I can't allowanybody to pry into my wardrobe. It won't stand inspection."
Miss Appleton pointed to his feet and asked, crisply:
"How many pairs of socks do you wear?"
"One."
"Any holes?"
"Sometimes."
Natalie was shocked. "One pair of socks in this cold! It's time we tooka hand. Now lead us to this rabbit-hole where you live."
Reluctantly, yet with an unaccustomed warmth about his heart, O'Neilescorted them to his headquarters. It was a sharp, clear morning; thesky was as empty and bright as an upturned saucepan; against it thesoaring mountain peaks stood out as if carved from new ivory. Theglaciers to right and left were mute and motionless in the grip of thatforce which alone had power to check them; the turbulent river washidden beneath a case-hardened armor; the lake, with its weird flotillaof revolving bergs, was matted with a broad expanse of white, acrosswhich meandered dim sled and snow-shoe trails. Underfoot the paths gaveout a crisp complaint, the sunlight slanting up the valley held nowarmth whatever, and their breath hung about their heads like vapor,crystallizing upon the fur of their caps and hoods.
O'Neil's living-quarters consisted of a good-sized room adjoining theoffice-building. Pausing at the door, he told his visitors:
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but your zeal is utterly misplaced. Ilive like a pasha, in the midst of debilitating luxuries, as you willsee for yourselves." He waved them proudly inside.
The room was bare, damp, and chill; it was furnished plentifully, butit was in characteristically masculine disorder. The bed was tumbled,the stove was half filled with cold ashes, the water pitcher on thewashstand had frozen. In one corner was a heap of damp clothing, nowstiff with frost.
"Of course, it's a little upset," he apologized. "I wasn't expectingcallers, you know."
"When was it made up last?" Eliza inquired, a little weakly.
"Yesterday, of course."
"Are you sure?"
"Now, see here," he said, firmly; "I haven't time to make beds, andeverybody else is busier than I am. I'm not in here enough to make itworth while--I go to bed late, and I tumble out before dawn."
The girls exchanged meaning glances. Eliza began to lay off her furs.
"Not bad, is it?" he said, hopefully.
Natalie picked up the discarded clothing, which crackled stiffly underher touch and parted from the bare boards with a tearing sound.
"Frozen! The idea!" said she.
Eliza poked among the other garments which hung against the wall andfound them also rigid. The nail-heads behind them were coated with ice.Turning to the table, with its litter of papers and the variousunclassified accumulation of a bachelor's house, she said:
"I suppose we'll have to leave this as it is."
"Just leave everything. I'll get a man to clean up while you takepictures of the bridge." As Natalie began preparing for action hequeried, in surprise, "Don't you like my little home?"
"It's awful," the bride answered, feelingly.
"A perfect bear's den," Eliza agreed. "It will take us all day."
"It's just the way I like it," he told them; but they resolutelybanished him and locked the door in his face.
"Hey! I don't want my things all mussed up," he called, pounding forre-admittance; "I know right whe
re everything is, and--" The dooropened, out came an armful of papers, a shower of burnt matches, and alitter of trash from his work-table. He groaned. Eliza showed hercountenance for a moment to say:
"Now, run away, little boy. You're going to have your face washed, nomatter how you cry. When we've finished in here we'll attend to you."The door slammed once more, and he went away shaking his head.
At lunch-time they grudgingly admitted him, and, although theyprotested that they were not half through, he was naively astonished atthe change they had brought to pass. For the first time in many daysthe place was thoroughly warm and dry; it likewise displayed anorderliness and comfort to which it had been a stranger. From someobscure source the girls had gathered pictures for the bare walls; theyhad hung figured curtains at the windows; there were fresh white coversfor bed, bureau, and washstand. His clothes had been rearranged, andposted in conspicuous places were written directions telling him oftheir whereabouts. One of the cards bore these words: "Your soup! Takeone in cup of hot brandy and water before retiring." Beneath were abottle and a box of bouillon tablets. A shining tea-kettle was hummingon the stove.
"This is splendid," he agreed, when they had completed a tour ofinspection. "But where are my blue-prints?"
"In the drafting-room, where they belong. This room is for rest andsleep. We want to see it in this condition when we come back."
"Where did you find the fur rug?" He indicated a thick bearskin besidethe bed.
"We stole it from Mr. Parker," they confessed, shamelessly. "He hadtwo."
Eliza continued complacently: "We nearly came to blows with the chefwhen we kidnapped his best boy. We've ordered him to keep this placewarm and look after your clothes and clean up every morning. He's to beyour valet and take care of you."
"But--we're dreadfully short-handed in the mess-house," O'Neilprotested.
"We've given the chef your bill of fare, and your man Ben will see thatyou eat it."
"I won't stand for soup. It--"
"Hush! Do you want us to come again?" Natalie demanded.
"Yes! Again and again!" He nodded vigorously. "I dare say I was gettingcareless. I pay more attention to the men's quarters than to my own. Doyou know--this is the first hint of home I've had since I was a boy?And--it's mighty agreeable." He stared wistfully at the femininetouches on all sides.
The bride settled herself with needle and thread, saying:
"Now take Eliza to the bridge while the light is good; she wants tosnap-shoot it. I'm going to sew on buttons and enjoy myself."
O'Neil read agreement in Eliza's eyes, and obeyed. As they neared theriver-bank the girl exclaimed in surprise; for up out of the frozenSalmon two giant towers of concrete thrust themselves, on each bankwere massive abutments, and connecting them were the beginnings of acomplicated "false-work" structure by means of which the steel was tobe laid in place. It consisted of rows upon rows of piling, lacedtogether with an intricate pattern of squared timbers. Tracks werebeing laid upon it, and along the rails ran a towering movable crane,or "traveler," somewhat like a tremendous cradle. This too was nearingcompletion. Pile-drivers were piercing the ice with long slenderneedles of spruce; across the whole river was weaving a giganticfretwork of wood which appeared to be geometrically regular in design.The air was noisy with the cries of men, and a rhythmic thudding,through which came the rattle of winches and the hiss of steam. Overthe whole vast structure swarmed an army of human ants, feeble pygmyfigures that crept slowly here and there, regardless of their dizzyheight.
"Isn't it beautiful?" said the builder, gazing at the scene withkindling eyes. "We're breaking records every day in spite of theweather. Those fellows are heroes. I feel guilty and mean when I seethem risking life and limb while I just walk about and look on."
"Will it--really stand the break-up?" asked the girl. "When that icegoes out it will be as if the solid earth were sliding down thechannel. It frightens me to think of it."
"We've built solid rock; in fact, those piers are stronger than rock,for they're laced with veins of steel and anchored beneath theriver-bed."
But Eliza doubted. "I've seen rivers break, and it's frightful; but ofcourse I've never seen anything to compare with the Salmon.Suppose--just suppose there should be some weak spot--"
O'Neil settled his shoulders a little under his coat. "It would nearlykill Mellen--and Parker, too, for that matter."
"And you?"
He hesitated. "It means a great deal to me. Sometimes I think I couldpull myself together and begin again, but--I'm getting old, and I'm notsure I'd care to try." After a pause he added a little stiffly, as ifnot quite sure of the effect of his words: "That's the penalty of beingalone in life, I suppose. We men are grand-stand players: we need anaudience, some one person who really cares whether we succeed or fail.Your brother, for instance, has won more in the building of the S. R. &N. than I can ever hope to win."
Eliza felt a trifle conscious, too, and she did not look at him whenshe said: "Poor, lonely old Omar Khayyam! You deserve all Dan has. Ithink I understand why you haven't been to see us."
"I've been too busy; this thing has kept me here every hour. It's mychild, and one can't neglect his own child, you know--even if it isn'ta real one." He laughed apologetically. "See! there's where we took theskiff that day we ran Jackson Glacier. He's harmless enough now. Youannoyed me dreadfully that morning, Eliza, and--I've never quiteunderstood why you were so reckless."
"I wanted the sensation. Writers have to live before they can write.I've worked the experience into my novel."
"Indeed? What is your book about?"
"Well--it's the story of a railroad-builder, of a fellow who riskedeverything he had on his own judgment. It's--you!"
"Why, my dear!" cried O'Neil, turning upon her a look of almost comicsurprise. "I'm flattered, of course, but there's nothing romantic oruncommon about me."
"You don't mind?"
"Of course not. But there ought to be a hero, and love, and--suchthings--in a novel. You must have a tremendous imagination."
"Perhaps. I'm not writing a biography, you know. However, you needn'tbe alarmed; it will never be accepted."
"It should be, for you write well. Your magazine articles are bully."
Eliza smiled. "If the novel would only go as well as those stories I'dbe happy. They put Gordon on the defensive."
"I knew they would."
"Yes. I built a nice fire under him, and now he's squirming. I think Ihelped you a little bit, too."
"Indeed you did--a great deal! When you came to Omar I never thoughtyou'd turn out to be my champion. I--" He turned as Dr. Gray camehurrying toward them, panting in his haste.
The doctor began abruptly:
"I've been looking for you, Murray. The men are all quitting."
O'Neil started. "All quitting? What are you talking about?"
"There's a stampede--a gold stampede!"
Murray stared at the speaker as if doubting his own senses.
"There's no gold around here," he said, at last.
"Two men came in last night. They've been prospecting over in the WhiteRiver and report rich quartz. They've got samples with 'em and saythere are placer indications everywhere. They were on their way to Omarto tell their friends, and telephoned in from here. Somebody overheardand--it leaked. The whole camp is up in the air. That's what broughtout that gang from town this morning."
The significance of the incidents which had troubled him earlier in theday flashed upon O'Neil; it was plain enough now why his men had beengossiping and buying dogs and fur robes. He understood only too wellwhat a general stampede would mean to his plans, for it would takemonths to replace these skilled iron-workers.
"Who are these prospectors?" he inquired, curtly.
"Nobody seems to know. Their names are Thorn and Baker. That gang fromOmar has gone on, and our people will follow in the morning. Those whocan't scrape up an outfit here are going into town to equip. We won'thave fifty men on the job by to-morrow night."
Gray shrugged. "Tired out, perhaps. We've got to do something quick,Murray. Thank God, we don't have to sell 'em grub or haul 'em to Omar.That will check things for a day or two. If they ever start for theinterior we're lost, but the cataract isn't frozen over, and there'sonly one sled trail past it. We don't need more than six good men to dothe trick."
"We can't stop a stampede that way."
Dr. Gray's face fell into harsh lines. "I'll bend a Winchester over thefirst man who tries to pass. Appleton held the place last summer; I'llguarantee to do it now."
"No. The men have a right to quit, Stanley. We can't force them towork. We can't build this bridge with a chain-gang."
"Humph! I can beat up these two prospectors and ship 'em in to thehospital until things cool down."
"That won't do, either. I'll talk with them, and if their story isright--well, I'll throw open the commissary and outfit every one."
Eliza gasped; Gray stammered.
"You're crazy!" exclaimed the doctor.
"If it's a real stampede they'll go anyhow, so we may as well take ourmedicine with a good grace. The loss of even a hundred men wouldcripple us."
"The camp is seething. It's all Mellen can do to keep the day shift atwork. If you talk to 'em maybe they'll listen to you."
"Argument won't sway them. This isn't a strike; it's a gold rush." Heturned toward the town.
Eliza was speechless with dismay as she hurried along beside him; Graywas scowling darkly and muttering anathemas; O'Neil himself was lost inthought. The gravity of this final catastrophe left nothing to be said.
Stanley lost little time in bringing the two miners to the office, andthere, for a half-hour, Murray talked with them. When they perceivedthat he was disposed to treat them courteously they told their story indetail and answered his questions with apparent honesty. They willinglyshowed him their quartz samples and retailed the hardships they hadsuffered.
Gray listened impatiently and once or twice undertook to interpolatesome question, but at a glance from his chief he desisted.Nevertheless, his long fingers itched to lay hold of the strangers andput an end to this tale which threatened ruin. His anger grew whenMurray dismissed them with every evidence of a full belief in theirwords.
"Now that the news is out and my men are determined to quit, I wanteverybody to have an equal chance," O'Neil announced, as they rose togo. "There's bound to be a great rush and a lot of suffering--maybesome deaths--so I'm going to call the boys together and have you talkto them."
Thorn and Baker agreed and departed. As the door closed behind themGray exploded, but Murray checked him quickly, saying with an abruptchange of manner: "Wait! Those fellows are lying!"
Seizing the telephone, he rang up Dan Appleton and swiftly made knownthe situation. Stanley could hear the engineer's startled exclamation.
"Get the cable to Cortez as quickly as you can," O'Neil was saying."You have friends there, haven't you? Good! He's just the man, forhe'll have Gordon's pay-roll. Find out if Joe Thorn and Henry Baker areknown, and, if so, who they are and what they've been doing lately. Getit quick, understand? Then 'phone me." He slammed the receiver upon itshook. "That's not Alaskan quartz," he said, shortly; "it came fromNevada, or I'm greatly mistaken. Every hard-rock miner carriesspecimens like those in his kit."
"You think Gordon--"
"I don't know. But we've got rock-men on this job who'll recognize oreout of any mine they ever worked in. Go find them, then come back hereand hold the line open for Dan."
"Suppose he can't locate these fellows in Cortez?"
"Then--Let's not think about that."