A Claim on Klondyke Part 11

I whispered, "Oh! try, dear friend, not to move that leg, the only hope is to keep it absolutely still." Then he opened his eyes, gazed at me for a moment, and through his clenched teeth he whispered, "Hopeless, hopeless."

The rest of that day he was profoundly quiet. I don't think he slept, for whenever I spoke to him he replied at once in a monosyllable. He would not eat, but drank all I gave him.

I myself was so low and exhausted with anxiety and watching that I have but little recollection of what followed. Sometimes he slept, sometimes his mind wandered, generally he was in a state of stupor.

One morning I left him sleeping whilst I went out for food and fuel.

When I returned, to my horror he was sitting upright.

I called out in amazement. He smiled sadly as he said, "Ah! it does not matter much, Bertie. I've not moved my bad leg though, just dragged it along--it's all right, as right as it'll ever be: but I must write to-day; after that we'll just hope for the best, that's all we can do."

"Ay," I answered, "that's all; yes, but we can pray, we can do that, and that's our only hope."

He begged me to give him paper and pencil, and for an hour or more he wrote. He stopped often to sip the drink I set beside him, then he lay back exhausted, and I think he slept.

By-and-by he aroused and wrote more letters. He went on thus until it was quite dark, when he told me he had finished, adding that he believed he now could sleep well, for a great weight was off his mind.

Before he closed his eyes I begged him to tell me if there was anything I could do for him, any wish that I could gratify. Would he have bovril? whisky? tea? He thanked me; he said he had no desire for anything, that he would sleep; but suddenly opening his eyes, looking at me excitedly, he said, "Bertie, you will not laugh at me, you will not think I'm off my head, will you, but if you'd just read me that beautiful hymn of Cowper's--"There is a fountain," you know? I remember it was a great favourite of Prince Albert's, and I like it too. Read it for me, Bertie, and then I think I'll sleep well."

I read it--I broke down several times--but as I finished the last line I saw he was sleeping calmly.

I was f.a.gged out myself--I had hardly eaten a sc.r.a.p that day--I don't think I had slept an hour for days: so when I saw he was sleeping I too lay back and was soon unconscious, and had forgotten all our troubles.

Before closing my eyes though, I took a good look at my friend. I could not help remarking how great a change there was in him. His face was so drawn, so withered; there was no trace of colour on it, even his lips were white.

I had never seen a human being die. I had never seen a dead person up to that time, and yet there was that appearance to my companion; something had come over him which profoundly affected me, and I kept saying to myself, "He will die, he will die." I was whispering this when I fell asleep, and forgot all my grief and misery.

How long I slept I do not know. It was still dark when I awoke. I had extinguished the light before I went to sleep. It was very cold, the fire was nearly out. This being an all-important affair I jumped up, stirred the embers together and blew them into a flame. Then I piled on more wood, and made quite a noise in doing it.

I feared I had awakened Meade and perhaps alarmed him. I called gently to him. There was no reply. I concluded that he still slept, therefore I crouched by the now blazing fire, warming myself.

Just then Patch came quietly up to me and laid his head on my arm. I looked down and patted him.

Really and truly there was a most pitiful look in the poor dog's eyes.

He saw that I noticed this, and to my horror and dismay he suddenly lifted up his head and gave one most vehemently long-drawn, heartrending howl!

Speaking sharply to the poor beast, I clasped his muzzle, and he stopped. Then he sat staring at the blazing logs with a most sorrowful expression.

I don't know why, I can't tell what made me begin to tremble. I reached for a lighted sliver--I could hardly hold my hand still enough to light the lamp, I shook so--and when I had ignited it and turned it on to the face of my friend, I saw that he had not moved since he fell asleep. There he lay, stretched out on his back, sleeping still. Yes, surely, he was sleeping!

Softly I laid my hand on his forehead--it was cold as ice. I sought for one of his hands--it was cold and as stiff as if it were frozen. I put my hand upon his heart--there was no motion there.

Then like a flash it came to me that my dear friend was dead--ay, Meade was dead!

CHAPTER VI.

It is impossible to tell you what I felt when I realised that my friend had breathed his last.

I cannot myself remember what my thoughts and sensations were. I only know that I rushed out of the place--very lightly clothed, too--and in the open air stood gazing around me dazed.

The first few hours after that is nearly a blank to me. I can merely call to mind cold, hunger, snow, and poor Patch's evident distress. I made a fire outside and we sat by it, I repeating to myself, sometimes crying aloud, "What shall I do? What shall I do?"

Once I remember springing up and grasping a white s.h.i.+rt and a red one which lay by the door, and tying them to a long branch which arched across the creek conspicuously, saying to myself, "It may attract some one's notice,"--for, eager as we had been all along to keep our presence secret, now I would gladly have given half, ay, all the gold we had obtained, to secure the companions.h.i.+p of a human being.

The days were very short then. There was but a gleam of sunlight at noon, and as this faded to the south behind an ice-clad mountain, a strong breeze arose which roared through the tree-tops. There was a wildness and weirdness about its dirge-like roar which seemed to me quite in keeping with what had happened.

I had taken no food all day. I had not been inside the hut. I could not for long muster courage to enter it. To gaze upon my lost friend's features seemed impossible--the idea of stopping for any time in the same place with his poor body was beyond me, yet I knew I must do something. Food at least I must procure for myself and Patch; if we had this I believed that we could exist beside the huge fire I had built until I grew calmer, and could decide on some course of action.

I put off doing anything though as long as possible, and not until it was quite dark did I creep into our dismal abode.

I trod gently, with awe, for I could not divest myself of the idea that poor Meade could hear me, that my dear friend was at least present in spirit. But truly I cannot tell what I thought or what I felt.

The fire was out. I lit the lamp. I gazed fearfully around--avoiding the face, white and drawn, which I knew was amongst the pile of bedding there. Why was this? Why does one naturally dread to look upon a dead face? Surely I had got to love my friend, and to know that he loved me. There was no reason for this unwillingness to look, but so it was then, and so it usually is.

I threw a blanket over his poor body, s.n.a.t.c.hed a rug up, a loaf of bread, a piece of cooked venison, some tea and sugar, and hastened out again, closing the door securely.

It was blowing harder now; fine snow was being whirled through the forest and down the creek, which had long since ceased to flow. It was freezing very hard; everything was ice-bound; my fire gave but little warmth. What could I do?

Really I was so utterly cast down, so despairing, that I was reckless.

It seemed to me just then that nothing mattered, and that I too should soon die, and lie as Meade did, until perhaps long afterwards some wandering prospector would find our bones, our gold, and our belongings; but our real story, or who we were, would never be known.

Patch ate the food I gave him, and I managed to swallow something: then we crouched, he and I, with the rug round us. He slept, but I was thinking--thinking.

The cold increased, the bitter wind was piercing. I roused myself to pile on fuel. A gust of exceeding sharpness seemed to shrivel me, and it flashed through me that another such blast would end me.

For a second I thought, "So much the better"; but at the same moment, like a vision, there pa.s.sed across my half-benumbed consciousness a picture of what my dear dead friend had told me about his mother and his sisters, and the dearest one of all. I knew what he had said about the benefit the gold that we had found would be to them, and how I had promised him to fight hard to get it to them should he not recover.

My own future did not trouble me. I had no one dependent on me, but I suddenly felt strong in what I saw was my bounden duty. I straightened myself up and exclaimed, "No; I'll not give in! I'll fight this matter through, G.o.d helping me!"

I must have spoken loudly, and I suppose cheerily, for Patch jumped from his nook beside the fire, looked at me brightly, eagerly, waved his grand tail, and made me think that he had understood my exclamation, approved it, and would gladly aid me.

The bitter wind blew keenly past us, the powdery snow penetrated every crevice in my clothing, my beard was a ma.s.s of ice, and I knew that a few minutes more of this terrible cold would be fatal.

Still I could not bring my mind to going into that dismal den again, or to remain there with the body of my friend beside me.

How should I proceed then? I thought hard. If I could only get shelter from this awful blizzard, I believed I could manage to exist until I could plan something. But where was there shelter! I gazed around; there was no bank, no rock, nothing which offered the slightest protection from the furious blasts.

Something must be done, however--to stay where I was meant death. The very fire was being blown away and smothered in the snow-drifts.

Just then the tunnel we had excavated occurred to me. I grasped a glowing firebrand, gathered a bunch of sticks, and rushed to the entrance, Patch excitedly following me. Pus.h.i.+ng my way over the obstructions I had placed there as protection from the flooded creek, I entered, pa.s.sed in a dozen feet, and found this retreat was dry enough, and such a good protection from the wind and snow outside that it felt quite warm. I flung down my fire-stick and soon had a blaze, gladly perceiving that the smoke ascended to the roof and pa.s.sed out, leaving a clear s.p.a.ce below where we could sit or lie without annoyance.

I was so pleased with this arrangement that I made excursions for fuel, and actually went into the shanty for my blankets, more food, a kettle, and a lamp.

And in this retreat Patch and I remained some days, I only venturing out for firewood, of which, most happily, I had a good heap cut.

The storm raged furiously and ceaselessly, the snow fell continuously, it all but closed the entrance to the tunnel; but having a pick and shovel, I was able to keep an opening for air and to let out the smoke.

Patch and I lay there warm and snug enough. It was, however, a most dismal experience--worse even than that Nansen endured on his famous expedition towards the Pole, for he had companions.h.i.+p. I had none.