Klondike Nuggets, Edward Sylvester Ellis [best story books to read .TXT] 📗

me give you a little advice--"

"We really do not feel the need of it," interposed Roswell, who liked the man less each minute. "You must excuse us, as we wish to join them at the hotel. Good-day."

"See here," said the fellow angrily, as he laid his hand on the arm of Frank; "ain't you going to stake me a bit?"

The lad shook off his grasp.

"Even if we wished to do so, we could not, for our friend at the hotel has all the funds that belong to our party. Perhaps if you go there, and he believes the story, Mr. Graham may do something for you, but Tim McCabe has not the means with which to help anybody."

At mention of the Irishman's name the fellow showed some agitation. Then, seeing that he was about to lose the expected aid, he uttered a savage expression and exclaimed:

"I don't believe a word you say."

"It is no concern of ours whether you believe it or not," replied Roswell, as he and Frank started down the street toward their hotel. The fellow was amazed at the defiance of the lads, and stood staring at them and muttering angrily to himself. Could he have carried out his promptings, he would have robbed both, but was restrained by several reasons.

In the first place, Juneau, despite the influx of miners, is a law-abiding city, and the man's arrest and punishment would have followed speedily. Moreover, it would not have been an altogether "sure thing" for him to attack the youths. They were exceptionally tall, active and strong, and would have given him trouble without appeal to the firearms which they carried.

They looked round and smiled, but he did not follow them. When they reached the hotel they related the incident.

"Would ye oblige me with a description of the spalpeen?" said Tim McCabe, after they had finished. Roswell did as requested.

"Be the powers, it's him!" exclaimed Tim. "I 'spected it when ye told the yarn which I've heerd he has been telling round town."

"Whom do you mean?" asked Frank.

"Hardman, Ike Hardman himsilf."

"Who is he?"

"Didn't I tell ye he was the one that robbed me of my money? Sure I did, what is the matter wid ye?"

"You told us about being robbed," said Jeff, "but didn't mention the name of the man who did it."

"I want to inthrodooce mesilf to him!" exclaimed Tim, flushed with indignation; "axscoose me for a bit."

He strode to the door with the intention of hunting up and chastising the rogue, but, with his hand on the knob, checked himself. For a moment he debated with himself, and then, as his broad face lit up with his natural good humor, he came back to his chair, paraphrasing Uncle Toby:

"The world's big enough for the likes of him and me, though he does crowd a bit. Let him git all the good out of the theft he can, say I."

Dyea is at the head of navigation, and is the timber line, being a hundred miles to the northwest of Juneau. It is at the upper fork of what is termed Lynn Canal, the most extensive fiord on the coast. It is, in truth, a continuation of Chatham Strait, the north and south passage being several hundred miles in extent, the whole forming the trough of a glacier which disappeared ages ago.

On the day following the incident described our friends boarded the little, untidy steam launch bound for Dyea. There were fifty passengers beside themselves, double the number it was intended to carry, the destination of all being the gold fields. The weather was keen and biting, and the accommodations on the boat poor. They pushed here and there, surveying with natural interest the bleak scenery along shore, the mountains white with snow, and foretelling the more terrible regions that lay beyond. Hundreds of miles remained to be traversed before they could expect to gather the yellow particles, but neither of the sturdy lads felt any abatement of courage.

"Well, look at that!" suddenly exclaimed Roswell, catching the arm of his companion as they were making their way toward the front of the boat.

Frank turned in the direction indicated, and his astonishment was as great as his companion's. Tim McCabe and the shabby scamp, Ike Hardman, were sitting near each other on a bench, and smoking their pipes like two affectionate brothers. No one would have suspected there had ever been a ripple between them.

Catching the eye of the amazed boys, Tim winked and threw up his chin as an invitation for them to approach. Frank shook his head, and he and Roswell went back to where Jeff was smoking his pipe. They had hardly time to tell their story when the Irishman joined them.

"I obsarved by the exprission on your faces that ye were a bit surprised," he said, addressing the youths.

"Is that fellow the Hardman you told us about?" asked Roswell.

"The same at your sarvice."

"And the man who robbed you of your money?"

Tim flung one of his muscular legs over the other, and with a twinkle of the eyes said:

"Hardman has made it all right; the matter is fixed atween oursilves."

"Then he give you back your money?" was the inquiring remark of Jeff.

"Not precisely that, though he said he would do the same if he only had it with him, but he run up agin a game at Juneau and was cleaned out. Whin he told me that I was a bit sorry for him. He further obsarved that it was his intintion if he won to stake me agin and add something extra for interest on what he borrowed of me. That spakes well for Hardman, so we shook hands over it," was the hearty conclusion of Tim.

The boys were too astonished to speak. Jeff Graham's shoulders shook, and he looked sideways at his friend with a quizzical expression, unable to do justice to his feelings. As for Tim, his red face was the picture of bland innocence, but he was not through. Astounding as were the statements he had just made, he had a still more astounding one to submit.


CHAPTER IV.

THE AVALANCHE.

It was late in the day that the little steamer arrived at Dyea, which was found to be a village with one log store, a number of movable tents, and without any wharf, the beach being so flat that at high water the tide reaches a half mile or more inland. To guard against losing any of their supplies, Tim McCabe told his friends that it would be necessary to unload them themselves.

"From this p'int," said he, "we must hoe our own row; under hiven we must depind on oursilves. Hardman, lind a hand there, and step lively."

To the astonishment of the youths, the man took hold and wrought with right good will. Jeff looked at Tim queerly as he pointed out the different articles, he himself, as may be said, overlooking the job; but the conclusion was that the Irishman had promised him a small amount for his help. When, however, the task was finished Tim came to the group, and while Hardman, with shamefaced expression, remained in the background, he said with that simplicity which any one would find hard to resist:

"You see poor Hardman is in bad luck; he hain't any outfit, and wants to go to the gold fields, but will have to git some one to stake him. Obsarving the same, I made bowld to remark that it would give me frind Jiff the highest plisure to do it for him, not forgetting to obsarve that I knew his company would be agreeable to the byes, and he will be of great hilp to the same."

"Well, I'm blessed!" exclaimed the old miner, removing his hat and mopping his forehead with his big red handkerchief. Then he turned half way round and looked steadily at the fellow, who was standing with his head down.

"Poor dog! let him come along, but if he makes any trouble, I'll hold you responsible, Tim."

"And I'll be happy to take charge of the same 'sponsibility, and if he don't toe the mark, it's mesilf that will make him. Do you hear that, Ike?" he roared, turning fiercely toward the fellow, who started, and meekly replied that he heard, though it was impossible for anything to reach him except the last thunderous demand.

"It isn't for us to say anything," remarked Roswell aside to his chum, "but that means trouble for us all."

"It surely does; we must be on our guard against him."

The outfits were piled on a sandspit about a mile below the trading posts of Healy and Wilson. In the foreground were the ranch and store owned by them, and beyond towered the coast mountains, their tops gleaming in the sunshine with enormous masses of snow, while hundreds of miles still beyond stretched the immense Yukon country, toward which the eyes of the civilized world are turned at the present time.

One of the strange facts connected with Alaska and the adjoining region is that in May the sun rises at 3 o'clock and sets at 9, while in June it rises at 1.30 and sets at 10.30. Thus the summer day is twenty hours long, and it has a diffuse twilight. The change from winter to summer is rapid, winter setting in in September, and in the Klondike region zero weather lasts from November to May, though at times the weather moderates early in March, but does not become settled until May. The Yukon generally freezes shut in the latter part of October, and breaks up about the middle of May, when the western route to the gold fields by the river becomes practicable.

The hour was so late when our friends had finished carrying their outfit beyond reach of the high tide, which rises twenty feet at Dyea, that they lodged and took their meals at the ranch trading post. By arrangement, an early breakfast was eaten the next morning, and the goods were loaded upon the two Yukon sleds with which they were provided. These were seven feet long, sixteen inches wide, and were shod with steel. Other gold-seekers were stopping, like themselves, at the ranch, but they lagged so much that when the men and boys headed northward they were alone.

Jeff Graham and Ike Hardman passed the rope attached to one of the sleds over their shoulders, the elder in advance, and led off. Tim took the lead, with the boys behind him, with the second sled, following the trail left by their friends. The deep snow was packed so hard that no use was made of the snow-shoes which Jeff had provided.

From Dyea the trail led for five miles over the ice, when they reached the mouth of the canon. This is two miles long with an average width of fifty feet. The sleds were dragged over the strong ice, but later in the season, when it breaks up, travellers are obliged to follow the trail to the east of the canon.

The party were so unaccustomed to this kind of labor that they found it exhausting. Curiously enough, Jeff bore the fatigue better than any. His iron muscles were the last to yield, and he was the first to resume the journey. He chaffed the others, and offered to let them mount his sled while he pulled them.

Beyond the canon is a strip of woods three miles in