top of page
Writer's picturefisamarkcaco

Forgotten Tales: Day Of The Dead Full Crack [pack]



The situation came to a head as El, Storm and the others struggled to offer the blueflame item to Alassra within a secluded cave, and Manshoon appeared before them all. Alassra returned to her full self, restored Elminster's physical form, and presented everyone with a missive from her long-dead mother: El and Manshoon would have to work together against the machinations of the Imprisoner, and close the many inter-planar rifts that had been opened by warlocks and others during the last hundred years. If they failed, the primordials would take over Toril, and the world of elves, men, and dwarves would be no more. Elminster and Manshoon both agreed to work alongside the other...for a time.[168]


It was before Smoke Bellew staked the farcical town-site of Tra-Lee,made the historic corner of eggs that nearly broke Swiftwater Bill'sbank account, or won the dog-team race down the Yukon for an evenmillion dollars, that he and Shorty parted company on the UpperKlondike. Shorty's task was to return down the Klondike to Dawsonto record some claims they had staked.Smoke, with the dog-team, turned south. His quest was Surprise Lakeand the mythical Two Cabins. His traverse was to cut the headwatersof the Indian River and cross the unknown region over the mountainsto the Stewart River. Here, somewhere, rumour persisted, wasSurprise Lake, surrounded by jagged mountains and glaciers, itsbottom paved with raw gold. Old-timers, it was said, whose verynames were forgotten in the forests of earlier years, had dived inthe ice-waters of Surprise Lake and fetched lump-gold to the surfacein both hands. At different times, parties of old-timers hadpenetrated the forbidding fastness and sampled the lake's goldenbottom. But the water was too cold. Some died in the water, beingpulled up dead. Others died of consumption. And one who had gonedown never did come up. All survivors had planned to return anddrain the lake, yet none had ever gone back. Disaster alwayshappened. One man fell into an air-hole below Forty Mile; anotherwas killed and eaten by his dogs; a third was crushed by a fallingtree. And so the tale ran. Surprise Lake was a hoodoo; itslocation was unremembered; and the gold still paved its undrainedbottom.Two Cabins, no less mythical, was more definitely located. 'Fivesleeps,' up the McQuestion River from the Stewart, stood two ancientcabins. So ancient were they that they must have been built beforeever the first known gold-hunter had entered the Yukon Basin.Wandering moose-hunters, whom even Smoke had met and talked with,claimed to have found the two cabins in the old days, but to havesought vainly for the mine which those early adventurers must haveworked."I wish you was goin' with me," Shorty said wistfully, at parting."Just because you got the Indian bug ain't no reason for to gopokin' into trouble. They's no gettin' away from it, that's lococountry you're bound for. The hoodoo's sure on it, from the firstflip to the last call, judgin' from all you an' me has hearn tellabout it.""It's all right, Shorty. I'll make the round trip and be back inDawson in six weeks. The Yukon trail is packed, and the firsthundred miles or so of the Stewart ought to be packed. Old-timersfrom Henderson have told me a number of outfits went up last fallafter the freeze-up. When I strike their trail I ought to hit herup forty or fifty miles a day. I'm likely to be back inside amonth, once I get across.""Yes, once you get acrost. But it's the gettin' acrost that worriesme. Well, so long, Smoke. Keep your eyes open for that hoodoo,that's all. An' don't be ashamed to turn back if you don't kill anymeat."II.A week later, Smoke found himself among the jumbled ranges south ofIndian River. On the divide from the Klondike he had abandoned thesled and packed his wolf-dogs. The six big huskies each carriedfifty pounds, and on his own back was an equal burden. Through thesoft snow he led the way, packing it down under his snow-shoes, andbehind, in single file, toiled the dogs.He loved the life, the deep arctic winter, the silent wilderness,the unending snow-surface unpressed by the foot of any man. Abouthim towered icy peaks unnamed and uncharted. No hunter's camp-smoke, rising in the still air of the valleys, ever caught his eye.He, alone, moved through the brooding quiet of the untravelledwastes; nor was he oppressed by the solitude. He loved it all, theday's toil, the bickering wolf-dogs, the making of the camp in thelong twilight, the leaping stars overhead and the flaming pageant ofthe aurora borealis.Especially he loved his camp at the end of the day, and in it he sawa picture which he ever yearned to paint and which he knew he wouldnever forget--a beaten place in the snow, where burned his fire; hisbed, a couple of rabbit-skin robes spread on fresh-chopped spruce-boughs; his shelter, a stretched strip of canvas that caught andthrew back the heat of the fire; the blackened coffee-pot and pailresting on a length of log, the moccasins propped on sticks to dry,the snow-shoes up-ended in the snow; and across the fire the wolf-dogs snuggling to it for the warmth, wistful and eager, furry andfrost-rimed, with bushy tails curled protectingly over their feet;and all about, pressed backward but a space, the wall of encirclingdarkness.At such times San Francisco, The Billow, and O'Hara seemed very faraway, lost in a remote past, shadows of dreams that had neverhappened. He found it hard to believe that he had known any otherlife than this of the wild, and harder still was it for him toreconcile himself to the fact that he had once dabbled and dawdledin the Bohemian drift of city life. Alone, with no one to talk to,he thought much, and deeply, and simply. He was appalled by thewastage of his city years, by the cheapness, now, of thephilosophies of the schools and books, of the clever cynicism of thestudio and editorial room, of the cant of the business men in theirclubs. They knew neither food nor sleep, nor health; nor could theyever possibly know the sting of real appetite, the goodly ache offatigue, nor the rush of mad strong blood that bit like wine throughall one's body as work was done.And all the time this fine, wise, Spartan North Land had been here,and he had never known. What puzzled him was, that, with suchintrinsic fitness, he had never heard the slightest calling whisper,had not himself gone forth to seek. But this, too, he solved intime."Look here, Yellow-face, I've got it clear!"The dog addressed lifted first one fore-foot and then the other withquick, appeasing movements, curled his bush of a tail about themagain, and laughed across the fire."Herbert Spencer was nearly forty before he caught the vision of hisgreatest efficiency and desire. I'm none so slow. I didn't have towait till I was thirty to catch mine. Right here is my efficiencyand desire. Almost, Yellow Face, do I wish I had been born a wolf-boy and been brother all my days to you and yours."For days he wandered through a chaos of canyons and divides whichdid not yield themselves to any rational topographical plan. It wasas if they had been flung there by some cosmic joker. In vain hesought for a creek or feeder that flowed truly south toward theMcQuestion and the Stewart. Then came a mountain storm that blew ablizzard across the riff-raff of high and shallow divides. Abovetimber-line, fireless, for two days, he struggled blindly to findlower levels. On the second day he came out upon the rim of anenormous palisade. So thickly drove the snow that he could not seethe base of the wall, nor dared he attempt the descent. He rolledhimself in his robes and huddled the dogs about him in the depths ofa snow-drift, but did not permit himself to sleep.In the morning, the storm spent, he crawled out to investigate. Aquarter of a mile beneath him, beyond all mistake, lay a frozen,snow-covered lake. About it, on every side, rose jagged peaks. Itanswered the description. Blindly, he had found Surprise Lake."Well-named," he muttered, an hour later, as he came out upon itsmargin. A clump of aged spruce was the only woods. On his way toit, he stumbled upon three graves, snow-buried, but marked by hand-hewn head-posts and undecipherable writing. On the edge of thewoods was a small ramshackle cabin. He pulled the latch andentered. In a corner, on what had once been a bed of spruce-boughs,still wrapped in mangy furs, that had rotted to fragments, lay askeleton. The last visitor to Surprise Lake, was Smoke'sconclusion, as he picked up a lump of gold as large as his doubledfist. Beside the lump was a pepper-can filled with nuggets of thesize of walnuts, rough-surfaced, showing no signs of wash.So true had the tale run, that Smoke accepted without question thatthe source of the gold was the lake's bottom. Under many feet ofice and inaccessible, there was nothing to be done, and at mid-day,from the rim of the palisade, he took a farewell look back and downat his find."It's all right, Mr Lake," he said. "You just keep right on stayingthere. I'm coming back to drain you--if that hoodoo doesn't catchme. I don't know how I got here, but I'll know by the way I goout."III.In a little valley, beside a frozen stream and under beneficentspruce trees, he built a fire four days later. Somewhere in thatwhite anarchy he left behind him, was Surprise Lake--somewhere, heknew not where; for a hundred hours of driftage and struggle throughblinding driving snow, had concealed his course from him, and heknew not in what direction lay BEHIND. It was as if he had justemerged from a nightmare. He was not sure that four days or a weekhad passed. He had slept with the dogs, fought across a forgottennumber of shallow divides, followed the windings of weird canyonsthat ended in pockets, and twice had managed to make a fire and thawout frozen moose-meat. And here he was, well-fed and well-camped.The storm had passed, and it had turned clear and cold. The lay ofthe land had again become rational. The creek he was on was naturalin appearance, and trended as it should toward the southwest. ButSurprise Lake was as lost to him as it had been to all its seekersin the past.Half a day's journey down the creek brought him to the valley of alarger stream which he decided was the McQuestion. Here he shot amoose, and once again each wolf-dog carried a full fifty-pound packof meat. As he turned down the McQuestion, he came upon a sled-trail. The late snows had drifted over, but underneath, it waswell-packed by travel. His conclusion was that two camps had beenestablished on the McQuestion, and that this was the connectingtrail. Evidently, Two Cabins had been found and it was the lowercamp, so he headed down the stream.It was forty below zero when he camped that night, and he fellasleep wondering who were the men who had rediscovered the TwoCabins, and if he would fetch it next day. At the first hint ofdawn he was under way, easily following the half-obliterated trailand packing the recent snow with his webbed shoes so that the dogsshould not wallow.And then it came, the unexpected, leaping out upon him on a bend ofthe river. It seemed to him that he heard and felt simultaneously.The crack of the rifle came from the right, and the bullet, tearingthrough and across the shoulders of his drill parka and woollencoat, pivoted him half around with the shock of its impact. Hestaggered on his twisted snow-shoes to recover balance, and heard asecond crack of the rifle. This time it was a clean miss. He didnot wait for more, but plunged across the snow for the shelteringtrees of the bank a hundred feet away. Again and again the riflecracked, and he was unpleasantly aware of a trickle of warm moisturedown his back.He climbed the bank, the dogs floundering behind, and dodged inamong the trees and brush. Slipping out of his snow-shoes, hewallowed forward at full length and peered cautiously out. Nothingwas to be seen. Whoever had shot at him was lying quiet among thetrees of the opposite bank."If something doesn't happen pretty soon," he muttered at the end ofhalf an hour, "I'll have to sneak away and build a fire or freeze myfeet. Yellow Face, what'd you do, lying in the frost withcirculation getting slack and a man trying to plug you?"He crawled back a few yards, packed down the snow, danced a jig thatsent the blood back into his feet, and managed to endure anotherhalf hour. Then, from down the river, he heard the unmistakablejingle of dog-bells. Peering out, he saw a sled round the bend.Only one man was with it, straining at the gee-pole and urging thedogs along. The effect on Smoke was one of shock, for it was thefirst human he had seen since he parted from Shorty three weeksbefore. His next thought was of the potential murderer concealed onthe opposite bank.Without exposing himself, Smoke whistled warningly. The man did nothear, and came on rapidly. Again, and more sharply, Smoke whistled.The man whoa'd his dogs, stopped, and had turned and faced Smokewhen the rifle cracked. The instant afterwards, Smoke fired intothe wood in the direction of the sound. The man on the river hadbeen struck by the first shot. The shock of the high velocitybullet staggered him. He stumbled awkwardly to the sled, half-falling, and pulled a rifle out from under the lashings. As hestrove to raise it to his shoulder, he crumpled at the waist andsank down slowly to a sitting posture on the sled. Then, abruptly,as the gun went off aimlessly, he pitched backward and across acorner of the sled-load, so that Smoke could see only his legs andstomach.From below came more jingling bells. The man did not move. Aroundthe bend swung three sleds, accompanied by half a dozen men. Smokecried warningly, but they had seen the condition of the first sled,and they dashed on to it. No shots came from the other bank, andSmoke, calling his dogs to follow, emerged into the open. Therewere exclamations from the men, and two of them, flinging off themittens of their right hands, levelled their rifles at him."Come on, you red-handed murderer, you," one of them, a black-bearded man, commanded, "an' jest pitch that gun of yourn in thesnow."Smoke hesitated, then dropped his rifle and came up to them."Go through him, Louis, an' take his weapons," the black-bearded manordered.Louis, a French-Canadian voyageur, Smoke decided, as were four ofthe others, obeyed. His search revealed only Smoke's hunting knife,which was appropriated."Now, what have you got to say for yourself, Stranger, before Ishoot you dead?" the black-bearded man demanded."That you're making a mistake if you think I killed that man," Smokeanswered.A cry came from one of the voyageurs. He had quested along thetrail and found Smoke's tracks where he had left it to take refugeon the bank. The man explained the nature of his find."What'd you kill Joe Kinade for?" he of the black beard asked."I tell you I didn't--" Smoke began."Aw, what's the good of talkin'. We got you red-handed. Right upthere's where you left the trail when you heard him comin'. Youlaid among the trees an' bushwhacked him. A short shot. Youcouldn't a-missed. Pierre, go an' get that gun he dropped.""You might let me tell what happened," Smoke objected."You shut up," the man snarled at him. "I reckon your gun'll tellthe story."All the men examined Smoke's rifle, ejecting and counting thecartridges, and examining the barrel at muzzle and breech."One shot," Blackbeard concluded.Pierre, with nostrils that quivered and distended like a deer's,sniffed at the breech."Him one fresh shot," he said."The bullet entered his back," Smoke said. "He was facing me whenhe was shot. You see, it came from the other bank."Blackbeard considered this proposition for a scant second, and shookhis head."Nope. It won't do. Turn him around to face the other bank--that'show you whopped him in the back. Some of you boys run up an' downthe trail and see if you can see any tracks making for the otherbank."Their report was, that on that side the snow was unbroken. Not evena snow-shoe rabbit had crossed it. Blackbeard, bending over thedead man, straightened up, with a woolly, furry wad in his hand.Shredding this, he found imbedded in the centre the bullet which hadperforated the body. Its nose was spread to the size of a half-dollar, its butt-end, steel-jacketed, was undamaged. He compared itwith a cartridge from Smoke's belt."That's plain enough evidence, Stranger, to satisfy a blind man.It's soft-nosed an' steel-jacketed; yourn is soft-nosed and steel-jacketed. It's thirty-thirty; yourn is thirty-thirty. It'smanufactured by the J. and T. Arms Company; yourn is manufactured bythe J. and T. Arms Company. Now you come along an' we'll go over tothe bank an' see jest how you done it.""I was bushwhacked myself," Smoke said. "Look at the hole in myparka."While Blackbeard examined it, one of the voyageurs threw open thebreech of the dead man's gun. It was patent to all that it had beenfired once. The empty cartridge was still in the chamber."A damn shame poor Joe didn't get you," Blackbeard said bitterly."But he did pretty well with a hole like that in him. Come on,you.""Search the other bank first," Smoke urged."You shut up an' come on, an' let the facts do the talkin'."They left the trail at the same spot he had, and followed it on upthe bank and in among the trees."Him dance that place keep him feet warm," Louis pointed out. "Thatplace him crawl on belly. That place him put one elbow w'en himshoot--""And by God there's the empty cartridge he had done it with!" wasBlackbeard's discovery. "Boys, there's only one thing to do--""You might ask me how I came to fire that shot," Smoke interrupted."An' I might knock your teeth into your gullet if you butt in again.You can answer them questions later on. Now, boys, we're decent an'law-abidin', an' we got to handle this right an' regular. How fardo you reckon we've come, Pierre?""Twenty mile I t'ink for sure.""All right. We'll cache the outfit an' run him an' poor Joe back toTwo Cabins. I reckon we've seen an' can testify to what'll stretchhis neck."IV.It was three hours after dark when the dead man, Smoke, and hiscaptors arrived at Two Cabins. By the starlight, Smoke could makeout a dozen or more recently built cabins snuggling about a largerand older cabin on a flat by the river bank. Thrust inside thisolder cabin, he found it tenanted by a young giant of a man, hiswife, and an old blind man. The woman, whom her husband called'Lucy,' was herself a strapping creature of the frontier type. Theold man, as Smoke learned afterwards, had been a trapper on theStewart for years, and had gone finally blind the winter before.The camp of Two Cabins, he was also to learn, had been made theprevious fall by a dozen men who arrived in half as many poling-boats loaded with provisions. Here they had found the blindtrapper, on the site of Two Cabins, and about his cabin they hadbuilt their own. Later arrivals, mushing up the ice with dog-teams,had tripled the population. There was plenty of meat in camp, andgood low-pay dirt had been discovered and was being worked.In five minutes, all the men of Two cabins were jammed into theroom. Smoke, shoved off into a corner, ignored and scowled at, hishands and feet tied with thongs of moosehide, looked on. Thirty-eight men he counted, a wild and husky crew, all frontiersmen of theStates or voyageurs from Upper Canada. His captors told the taleover and over, each the centre of an excited and wrathful group.There were mutterings of "Lynch him now--why wait?" And, once, abig Irishman was restrained only by force from rushing upon thehelpless prisoner and giving him a beating.It was while counting the men that Smoke caught sight of a familiarface. It was Breck, the man whose boat Smoke had run through therapids. He wondered why the other did not come and speak to him,but himself gave no sign of recognition. Later, when with shieldedface Breck passed him a significant wink, Smoke understood.Blackbeard, whom Smoke heard called Eli Harding, ended thediscussion as to whether or not the prisoner should be immediatelylynched."Hold on," Harding roared. "Keep your shirts on. That man belongsto me. I caught him an' I brought him here. D'ye think I broughthim all the way here to be lynched? Not on your life. I could a-done that myself when I found him. I brought him here for a fairan' impartial trial, an' by God, a fair an' impartial trial he'sgoin' to get. He's tied up safe an' sound. Chuck him in a bunktill morning, an' we'll hold the trial right here."V.Smoke woke up. A draught, that possessed all the rigidity of anicicle, was boring into the front of his shoulder as he lay on hisside facing the wall. When he had been tied into the bunk there hadbeen no such draught, and now the outside air, driving into theheated atmosphere of the cabin with the pressure of fifty belowzero, was sufficient advertizement that some one from without hadpulled away the moss-chinking between the logs. He squirmed as faras his bonds would permit, then craned his neck forward until hislips just managed to reach the crack."Who is it?" he whispered."Breck," came the answer. "Be careful you don't make a noise. I'mgoing to pass a knife in to you.""No good," Smoke said. "I couldn't use it. My hands are tiedbehind me and made fast to the leg of the bunk. Besides, youcouldn't get a knife through that crack. But something must bedone. Those fellows are of a temper to hang me, and, of course, youknow I didn't kill that man.""It wasn't necessary to mention it, Smoke. And if you did you hadyour reasons. Which isn't the point at all. I want to get you outof this. It's a tough bunch of men here. You've seen them.They're shut off from the world, and they make and enforce their ownlaw--by miner's meeting, you know. They handled two men already--both grub-thieves. One they hiked from camp without an ounce ofgrub and no matches. He made about forty miles and lasted a coupleof days before he froze stiff. Two weeks ago they hiked the secondman. They gave him his choice: no grub, or ten lashes for eachday's ration. He stood for forty lashes before he fainted. And nowthey've got you, and every last one is convinced you killed Kinade.""The man who killed Kinade, shot at me, too. His bullet broke theskin on my shoulder. Get them to delay the trial till some one goesup and searches the bank where the murderer hid.""No use. They take the evidence of Harding and the five Frenchmenwith him. Besides, they haven't had a hanging yet, and they're keenfor it. You see, things have been pretty monotonous. They haven'tlocated anything big, and they got tired of hunting for SurpriseLake. They did some stampeding the first part of the winter, butthey've got over that now. Scurvy is beginning to show up amongstthem, too, and they're just ripe for excitement.""And it looks like I'll furnish it," was Smoke's comment. "Say,Breck, how did you ever fall in with such a God-forsaken bunch?""After I got the claims at Squaw Creek opened up and some men toworking, I came up here by way of the Stewart, hunting for TwoCabins. They'd beaten me to it, so I've been higher up the Stewart.Just got back yesterday out of grub.""Find anything?""Nothing much. But I think I've got a hydraulic proposition that'llwork big when the country's opened up. It's that, or a gold-dredger.""Hold on," Smoke interrupted. "Wait a minute. Let me think."He was very much aware of the snores of the sleepers as he pursuedthe idea that had flashed into his mind."Say, Breck, have they opened up the meat-packs my dogs carried?""A couple. I was watching. They put them in Harding's cache.""Did they find anything?""Meat.""Good. You've got to get into the brown canvas pack that's patchedwith moosehide. You'll find a few pounds of lumpy gold. You'venever seen gold like it in the country, nor has anybody else.Here's what you've got to do. Listen."A quarter of an hour later, fully instructed and complaining thathis toes were freezing, Breck went away. Smoke, his own nose andone cheek frosted by proximity to the chink, rubbed them against theblankets for half an hour before the blaze and bite of the returningblood assured him of the safety of his flesh.VI."My mind's made up right now. There ain't no doubt but what hekilled Kinade. We heard the whole thing last night. What's thegood of goin' over it again? I vote guilty."In such fashion, Smoke's trial began. The speaker, a loose-jointed,hard-rock man from Colorado, manifested irritation and disgust whenHarding set his suggestion aside, demanded the proceedings should beregular, and nominated one, Shunk Wilson, for judge and chairman ofthe meeting. The population of Two Cabins constituted the jury,though, after some discussion, the woman, Lucy, was denied the rightto vote on Smoke's guilt or innocence.While this was going on, Smoke, jammed into a corner on a bunk,overheard a whispered conversation between Breck and a miner."You haven't fifty pounds of flour you'll sell?" Breck queried."You ain't got the dust to pay the price I'm askin'," was the reply."I'll give you two hundred."The man shook his head."Three hundred. Three-fifty."At four hundred, the man nodded, and said: "Come on over to mycabin an' weigh out the dust."The two squeezed their way to the door, and slipped out. After afew minutes Breck returned alone.Harding was testifying, when Smoke saw the door shoved openslightly, and in the crack appear the face of the man who had soldthe flour. He was grimacing and beckoning emphatically to oneinside, who arose from near the stove and started to work toward thedoor."Where are you goin', Sam?" Shunk Wilson demanded."I'll be back in a jiffy," Sam explained. "I jes' got to go."Smoke was permitted to question the witnesses, and he was in themiddle of the cross-examination of Harding, when from without camethe whining of dogs in harness, and the grind and churn of sled-runners. Somebody near the door peeped out."It's Sam an' his pardner an' a dog-team hell-bent down the trailfor Stewart River," the man reported.Nobody spoke for a long half-minute, but men glanced significantlyat one another, and a general restlessness pervaded the packed room.Out of the corner of his eye, Smoke caught a glimpse of Breck, Lucy,and her husband whispering together."Come on, you," Shunk Wilson said gruffly to Smoke. "Cut thisquestionin' short. We know what you're tryin' to prove--that theother bank wasn't searched. The witness admits it. We admit it.It wasn't necessary. No tracks led to that bank. The snow wasn'tbroke.""There was a man on the other bank just the same," Smoke insisted."That's too thin for skatin', young man. There ain't many of us onthe McQuestion, an' we got every man accounted for.""Who was the man you hiked out of camp two weeks ago?" Smoke asked."Alonzo Miramar. He was a Mexican. What's that grub-thief got todo with it?""Nothing, except that you haven't accounted for HIM, Mr Judge.""He went down the river, not up.""How do you know where he went?""Saw him start.""And that's all you know of what became of him?""No, it ain't, young man. I know, we all know, he had four day'sgrub an' no gun to shoot meat with. If he didn't make thesettlement on the Yukon he'd croaked long before this.""I suppose you've got all the guns in this part of the countryaccounted for, too," Smoke observed pointedly.Shunk Wilson was angry."You'd think I was the prisoner the way you slam questions into me.Come on with the next witness. Where's French Louis?"While French Louis was shoving forward, Lucy opened the door."Where you goin'?" Shunk Wilson shouted."I reckon I don't have to stay," she answered defiantly. "I ain'tgot no vote, an' besides my cabin's so jammed up I can't breathe."In a few minutes her husband followed. The closing of the door wasthe first warning the judge received of it."Who was that?" he interrupted Pierre's narrative to ask."Bill Peabody," somebody spoke up. "Said he wanted to ask his wifesomething and was coming right back."Instead of Bill, it was Lucy who re-entered, took off her furs, andresumed her place by the stove."I reckon we don't need to hear the rest of the witnesses," wasShunk Wilson's decision, when Pierre had finished. "We know theyonly can testify to the same facts we've already heard. Say,Sorensen, you go an' bring Bill Peabody back. We'll be votin' averdict pretty short. Now, Stranger, you can get up an' say yoursay concernin' what happened. In the meantime we'll just be savin'delay by passin' around the two rifles, the ammunition, an' thebullets that done the killin'."Midway in his story of how he had arrived in that part of thecountry, and at the point in his narrative where he described hisown ambush and how he had fled to the bank, Smoke was interrupted bythe indignant Shunk Wilson."Young man, what sense is there in you testifyin' that way? You'rejust takin' up valuable time. Of course you got the right to lie tosave your neck, but we ain't goin' to stand for such foolishness.The rifle, the ammunition, the bullet that killed Joe Kinade isagainst you--What's that? Open the door, somebody!"The frost rushed in, taking form and substance in the heat of theroom, while through the open door came the whining of dogs thatdecreased rapidly with distance."It's Sorensen an' Peabody," some one cried, "a-throwin' the whipinto the dawgs an' headin' down river!""Now, what the hell--!" Shunk Wilson paused, with dropped jaw, andglared at Lucy. "I reckon you can explain, Mrs Peabody."She tossed her head and compressed her lips, and Shunk Wilson'swrathful and suspicious gaze passed on and rested on Breck."An' I reckon that new-comer you've ben chinning with could explainif HE had a mind to."Breck, now very uncomfortable, found all eyes centred on him."Sam was chewing the rag with him, too, before he hit out," some onesaid."Look here, Mr Breck," Shunk Wilson continued. "You've beninterruptin' proceedings, and you got to explain the meanin' of it.What was you chinnin' about?"Breck cleared his throat timidly and replied. "I was just trying tobuy some grub.""What with?""Dust, of course.""Where'd you get it?"Breck did not answer."He's ben snoopin' around up the Stewart," a man volunteered. "Irun across his camp a week ago when I was huntin'. An' I want totell you he was almighty secretious about it.""The dust didn't come from there," Breck said. "That's only a low-grade hydraulic proposition.""Bring your poke here an' let's see your dust," Wilson commanded."I tell you it didn't come from there.""Let's see it just the same."Breck made as if to refuse, but all about him were menacing faces.Reluctantly, he fumbled in his coat pocket. In the act of drawingforth a pepper can, it rattled against what was evidently a hardobject."Fetch it all out!" Shunk Wilson thundered.And out came the big nugget, first-size, yellow as no gold anyonlooker had ever seen. Shunk Wilson gasped. Half a dozen,catching one glimpse, made a break for the door. They reached it atthe same moment, and, with cursing and scuffling, jammed and pivotedthrough. The judge emptied the contents of the pepper can on thetable, and the sight of the rough lump-gold sent half a dozen moretoward the door."Where are you goin'?" Eli Harding asked, as Shunk started tofollow."For my dogs, of course.""Ain't you goin' to hang him?""It'd take too much time right now. He'll keep till we get back, soI reckon this court is adjourned. This ain't no place forlingerin'."Harding hesitated. He glanced savagely at Smoke, saw Pierrebeckoning to Louis from the doorway, took one last look at the lump-gold on the table, and decided."No use you tryin' to get away," he flung back over his shoulder."Besides, I'm goin' to borrow your dogs.""What is it--another one of them blamed stampedes?" the old blindtrapper asked in a queer and petulant falsetto, as the cries of menand dogs and the grind of the sleds swept the silence of the room."It sure is," Lucy answered. "An' I never seen gold like it. Feelthat, old man."She put the big nugget in his hand. He was but slightly interested."It was a good fur-country," he complained, "before them dangedminers come in an' scared back the game."The door opened, and Breck entered."Well," he said, "we four are all that are left in camp. It's fortymiles to the Stewart by the cut-off I broke, and the fastest of themcan't make the round trip in less than five or six days. But it'stime you pulled out, Smoke, just the same."Breck drew his hunting knife across the other's bonds, and glancedat the woman."I hope you don't object?" he said, with significant politeness."If there's goin' to be any shootin'," the blind man broke out, "Iwish somebody'd take me to another cabin first.""Go on, an' don't mind me," Lucy answered. "If I ain't good enoughto hang a man, I ain't good enough to hold him."Smoke stood up, rubbing his wrists where the thongs had impeded thecirculation."I've got a pack all ready for you," Breck said. "Ten days' grub,blankets, matches, tobacco, an axe, and a rifle.""Go to it," Lucy encouraged. "Hit the high places, Stranger. Beatit as fast as God'll let you.""I'm going to have a square meal before I start," Smoke said. "Andwhen I start it will be up the McQuestion, not down. I want you togo along with me, Breck. We're going to search that other bank forthe man that really did the killing.""If you'll listen to me, you'll head down for the Stewart and theYukon," Breck objected. "When this gang gets back from my low-gradehydraulic proposition, it will be seeing red."Smoke laughed and shook his head."I can't jump this country, Breck. I've got interests here. I'vegot to stay and make good. I don't care whether you believe me ornot, but I've found Surprise Lake. That's where that gold camefrom. Besides, they took my dogs, and I've got to wait to get themback. Also, I know what I'm about. There was a man hidden on thatbank. He came pretty close to emptying his magazine at me."Half an hour afterward, with a big plate of moose-steak before himand a big mug of coffee at his lips, Smoke half-started up from hisseat. He had heard the sounds first. Lucy threw open the door."Hello, Spike; hello, Methody," she greeted the two frost-rimed menwho were bending over the burden on their sled."We just come down from Upper Camp," one said, as the pair staggeredinto the room with a fur-wrapped object which they handled withexceeding gentleness. "An' this is what we found by the way. He'sall in, I guess.""Put him in the near bunk there," Lucy said. She bent over andpulled back the furs, disclosing a face composed principally oflarge, staring, black eyes, and of skin, dark and scabbed byrepeated frost-bite, tightly stretched across the bones."If it ain't Alonzo!" she cried. "You pore, starved devil!""That's the man on the other bank," Smoke said in an undertone toBreck."We found it raidin' a cache that Harding must a-made," one of themen was explaining. "He was eatin' raw flour an' frozen bacon, an'when we got 'm he was cryin' an' squealin' like a hawk. Look athim! He's all starved, an' most of him frozen. He'll kick at anymoment.". . . . .Half an hour later, when the furs had been drawn over the face ofthe still form in the bunk, Smoke turned to Lucy."If you don't mind, Mrs Peabody, I'll have another whack at thatsteak. Make it thick and not so well done."10 Add The Man on the Other Bank to your library.Return to the Jack London library, or . . . Read the next short story; The Man with the Gash




Forgotten Tales: Day of the Dead full crack [pack]

2ff7e9595c


0 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


bottom of page