None of them interested me very greatly. I was worn out with thefilth and greed and foolishness of many of these men. They werecommonplace citizens, turned into stampeders without experience orskill.
One of the most successful men on the boat had been a truckman in thestreets of Tacoma, and was now the silly possessor of a one-thirdinterest in some great mines on the Klondike River. He told every oneof his great deeds, and what he was worth. He let us know how bighis house was, and how much he paid for his piano. He was not a badman, he was merely a cheap man, and was followed about by a gang ofheelers to whom drink was luxury and vice an entertainment. Theseparasites slapped the teamster on the shoulder and listened to everyempty phrase he uttered, as though his gold had made of him somethingsacred and omniscient.
I had no interest in him till being persuaded to play the fiddle hesat in the "social room," and sawed away on "Honest John," "TheDevil's Dream," "Haste to the Wedding," and "The Fisher's Hornpipe."He lost all sense of being a millionnaire, and returned to hissimple, unsophisticated self. The others cheered him because he hadgold. I cheered him because he was a good old "corduroy fiddler."
Again we passed between the lofty blue-black and bronze-green wallsof Lynn Canal. The sea was cold, placid, and gray. The mist cut themountains at the shoulder. Vast glaciers came sweeping down from thedread mystery of the upper heights. Lower still lines of runningwater white as silver came leaping down from cliff to cliff--slender,broken of line, nearly perpendicular--to fall at last into the grayhell of the sea.
It was a sullen land which menaced as with lowering brows andclenched fists. A landscape without delicacy of detail or warmth orvariety of color--a land demanding young, cheerful men. It was noplace for the old or for women.
As we neared Wrangell the next afternoon I tackled the purser aboutcarrying my horse. He had no room, so I left the boat in order towait for another with better accommodations for Ladrone.
Almost the first man I met on the wharf was Donald.
"How's the horse?" I queried.
"Gude!--fat and sassy. There's no a fence in a' the town can holdhim. He jumped into Colonel Crittendon's garden patch, and there's adollar to pay for the cauliflower he ate, and he broke down a fenceby the church, ye've to fix that up--but he's in gude trim himsel'."
"Tell 'm to send in their bills," I replied with vast relief. "Has hebeen much trouble to you?"
"Verra leetle except to drive into the lot at night. I had but to godown where he was feeding and soon as he heard me comin' he made forthe lot--he knew quite as well as I did what was wanted of him. He'sa canny old boy."
As I walked out to find the horse I discovered his paths everywhere.He had made himself entirely at home. He owned the village and wasable to walk any sidewalk in town. Everybody knew his habits. Hedrank in a certain place, and walked a certain round of dailyfeeding. The children all cried out at me: "Goin' to find the horsie?He's over by the church." A darky woman smiled from the door of acabin and said, "You ole hoss lookin' mighty fine dese days."
When I came to him I was delighted and amused. He had taken on somefat and a great deal of dirt. He had also acquired an aldermanicpaunch which quite destroyed his natural symmetry of body, but hewas well and strong and lively. He seemed to recognize me, and as Iput the rope about his neck and fell to in the effort to make himclean once more, he seemed glad of my presence.
That day began my attempt to get away. I carted out my feed andsaddles, and when all was ready I sat on the pier and watched theburnished water of the bay for the dim speck which a steamer makes inrounding the distant island. At last the cry arose, "A steamer fromthe north!" I hurried for Ladrone, and as I passed with the horse thecitizens smiled incredulously and asked, "Goin' to take the horsewith you, eh?"
The boys and girls came out to say good-by to the horse on whose backthey had ridden. Ladrone followed me most trustfully, lookingstraight ahead, his feet clumping loudly on the boards of the walk.Hitching him on the wharf I lugged and heaved and got everything inreadiness.
In vain! The steamer had no place for my horse and I was forced towalk him back and turn him loose once more upon the grass. I renewedmy watching. The next steamer did not touch at the same wharf.Therefore I carted all my goods, feed, hay, and general plunder,around to the other wharf. As I toiled to and fro the citizens beganto smile very broadly. I worked like a hired man in harvest. At last,horse, feed, and baggage were once more ready. When the next boatcame in I timidly approached the purser.
No, he had no place for me but would take my horse! Once more I ledLadrone back to pasture and the citizens laughed most unconcealedly.They laid bets on my next attempt. In McKinnon's store I was greetedas a permanent citizen of Fort Wrangell. I began to grow nervous onmy own account. Was I to remain forever in Wrangell? The bay was mostbeautiful, but the town was wretched. It became each day moreunendurable to me. I searched the waters of the bay thereafter, withgaze that grew really anxious. I sat for hours late at night holdingmy horse and glaring out into the night in the hope to see the lightsof a steamer appear round the high hills of the coast.
At last the _Forallen_, a great barnyard of a ship, came in. I metthe captain. I paid my fare. I got my contract and ticket, andleading Ladrone into the hoisting box I stepped aside.
The old boy was quiet while I stood near, but when the whistlesounded and the sling rose in air leaving me below, his big eyesflashed with fear and dismay. He struggled furiously for a moment andthen was quiet. A moment later he dropped into the hold and was safe.He thought himself in a barn once more, and when I came hurrying downthe stairway he whinnied. He seized the hay I put before him andthereafter was quite at home.
The steamer had a score of mules and work horses on board, but theyoccupied stalls on the upper deck, leaving Ladrone aristocraticallyalone in his big, well-ventilated barn, and there three times eachday I went to feed and water him. I rubbed him with hay till his coatbegan to glimmer in the light and planned what I could do to helphim through a storm. Fortunately the ocean was perfectly smooth evenacross the entrance to Queen Charlotte's Sound, where the open seaenters and the big swells are sometimes felt. Ladrone never knew hewas moving at all.
The mate of the boat took unusual interest in the horse because ofhis deeds and my care of him.
Meanwhile I was hearing from time to time of my fellow-sufferers onthe Long Trail. It was reported in Wrangell that some of theunfortunates were still on the snowy divide between the Skeena andthe Stikeen. That terrible trail will not soon be forgotten by anyone who traversed it.
On the fifth day we entered Seattle and once more the sling-boxopened its doors for Ladrone. This time he struggled not at all. Heseemed to say: "I know this thing. I tried it once and it didn't hurtme--I'm not afraid."
Now this horse belongs to the wild country. He was born on thebunch-grass hills of British Columbia and he had never seen astreet-car in his life. Engines he knew something about, but notmuch. Steamboats and ferries he knew a great deal about; but all thestrange monsters and diabolical noises of a city street were new tohim, and it was with some apprehension that I took his rein to leadhim down to the freight depot and his car.
Again this wonderful horse amazed me. He pointed his alert andquivering ears at me and followed with never so much as a singlestart or shying bound. He seemed to reason that as I had led himthrough many dangers safely I could still be trusted. Around us hugetrucks rattled, electric cars clanged, railway engines whizzed andscreamed, but Ladrone never so much as tightened the rein; and whenin the dark of the chute (which led to the door of the car) he puthis soft nose against me to make sure I was still with him, my heartgrew so tender that I would not have left him behind for a thousanddollars.
I put him in a roomy box-car and bedded him knee-deep in clean yellowstraw. I padded the hitching pole with his blanket, moistened hishay, and put some bran before him. Then I nailed him in and took myleave of him with some nervous dread, for the worst part of hisjourney was before him. He must cross three
great mountain ranges andride eight days, over more than two thousand miles of railway. Icould not well go with him, but I planned to overhaul him at Spokaneand see how he was coming on.
I did not sleep much that night. I recalled how the great foresttrees were blazing last year when I rode over this same track. Ithought of the sparks flying from the engine, and how easy it wouldbe for a single cinder to fall in the door and set all that dry strawablaze. I was tired and my mind conjured up such dire images as mendream of after indigestible dinners.
O THE FIERCE DELIGHT
O the fierce delight, the passion That comes from the wild, Where the rains and the snows go over, And man is a child.
Go, set your face to the open, And lay your breast to the blast, When the pines are rocking and groaning, And the rent clouds tumble past.
Go swim the streams of the mountains, Where the gray-white waters are mad, Go set your foot on the summit, And shout and be glad!
CHAPTER XXV
LADRONE TRAVELS IN STATE
With a little leisure to walk about and talk with the citizens ofSeattle, I became aware of a great change since the year before. Theboom of the goldseeker was over. The talk was more upon the Spanishwar; the business of outfitting was no longer paramount; the recklesshurrah, the splendid exultation, were gone. Men were sailing to thenorth, but they embarked, methodically, in business fashion.
It is safe to say that the north will never again witness such afurious rush of men as that which took place between August, '97, andJune, '98. Gold is still there, and it will continue to be sought,but the attention of the people is directed elsewhere. In Seattle, asall along the line, the talk a year ago had been almost entirely ongold hunting. Every storekeeper advertised Klondike goods, but thesesigns were now rusty and faded. The fever was over, the reign of thehumdrum was restored.
Taking the train next day, I passed Ladrone in the night somewhere,and as I looked from my window at the great fires blazing in theforest, my fear of his burning came upon me again. At Spokane Iwaited with great anxiety for him to arrive. At last the train drewin and I hurried to his car. The door was closed, and as I nervouslyforced it open he whinnied with that glad chuckling a gentle horseuses toward his master. He had plenty of hay, but was hot andthirsty, and I hurried at risk of life and limb to bring him coolwater. His eyes seemed to shine with delight as he saw me coming withthe big bucket of cool drink. Leaving him a tub of water, I bade himgood-by once more and started him for Helena, five hundred milesaway.
At Missoula, the following evening, I rushed into the ticket officeand shouted, "Where is '54'?"
The clerk knew me and smilingly extended his hand.
"How de do? She has just pulled out. The horse is all OK. We gave himfresh water and feed."
I thanked him and returned to my train.
Reaching Livingston in the early morning I was forced to wait nearlyall day for the train. This was no hardship, however, for it enabledme to return once more to the plain. All the old familiar presenceswere there. The splendid sweep of brown, smooth hills, the glory ofclear sky, the crisp exhilarating air, appealed to me with greatpower after my long stay in the cold, green mountains of the north.
I walked out a few miles from the town over the grass brittle andhot, from which the clapping grasshoppers rose in swarms, anddropping down on the point of a mesa I relived again in drowse thejoys of other days. It was plain to me that goldseeking in the RockyMountains was marvellously simple and easy compared to even the bestsections of the Northwest, and the long journey of the Forty-ninerswas not only incredibly more splendid and dramatic, but had theallurement of a land of eternal summer beyond the final great range.The long trail I had just passed was not only grim and monotonous,but led toward an ever increasing ferocity of cold and darkness tothe arctic circle and the silence of death.
When the train came crawling down the pink and purple slopes of thehills at sunset that night, I was ready for my horse. Bridle in handI raced after the big car while it was being drawn up into thefreight yards. As I galloped I held excited controversy with the headbrakeman. I asked that the car be sent to the platform. He objected.I insisted and the car was thrown in. I entered, and while Ladronewhinnied glad welcome I knocked out some bars, bridled him, and said,"Come, boy, now for a gambol." He followed me without the slightesthesitation out on the platform and down the steep slope to theground. There I mounted him without waiting for saddle and away weflew.
He was gay as a bird. His neck arched and his eyes and ears werequick as squirrels. We galloped down to the Yellowstone River andonce more he thrust his dusty nozzle deep into the clear mountainwater. Then away he raced until our fifteen minutes were up. I wasglad to quit. He was too active for me to enjoy riding without asaddle. Right up to the door of the car he trotted, seeming tounderstand that his journey was not yet finished. He enteredunhesitatingly and took his place. I battened down the bars, nailedthe doors into place, filled his tub with cold water, mixed him abran mash, and once more he rolled away. I sent him on this time,however, with perfect confidence. He was actually getting fat on hisprison fare, and was too wise to allow himself to be bruised by thejolting of the cars.
The bystanders seeing a horse travelling in such splendid lonelinessasked, "Runnin' horse?" and I (to cover my folly) replied evasively,"He can run a little for good money." This satisfied every one thathe was a sprinter and quite explained his private car.
At Bismarck I found myself once more ahead of "54" and waited all dayfor the horse to appear. As the time of the train drew near Iborrowed a huge water pail and tugged a supply of water out besidethe track and there sat for three hours, expecting the train eachmoment. At last it came, but Ladrone was not there. His car wasmissing. I rushed into the office of the operator: "Where's the horsein '13,238'?" I asked.
"I don't know," answered the agent, in the tone of one who didn'tcare.
Visions of Ladrone side-tracked somewhere and perishing for want ofair and water filled my mind. I waxed warm.
"That horse must be found at once," I said. The clerks and operatorswearily looked out of the window. The idea of any one being soconcerned about a horse was to them insanity or worse. I insisted. Ibanged my fist on the table. At last one of the young men yawnedlanguidly, looked at me with dim eyes, and as one brain-cellcoalesced with another seemed to mature an idea. He said:--
"Rheinhart had a horse this morning on his extra."
"Did he--maybe that's the one." They discussed this probability withlazy indifference. At last they condescended to include me in theirconversation.
I insisted on their telegraphing till they found that horse, and withan air of distress and saint-like patience the agent wrote out atelegram and sent it. Thereafter he could not see me; nevertheless Ipersisted. I returned to the office each quarter of an hour to ask ifan answer had come to the telegram. At last it came. Ladrone wasahead and would arrive in St. Paul nearly twelve hours before me. Ithen telegraphed the officers of the road to see that he did notsuffer and composed myself as well as I could for the long wait.
At St. Paul I hurried to the freight office and found the horse hadbeen put in a stable. I sought the stable, and there, among the bigdray horses, looking small and trim as a racer, was the lost horse,eating merrily on some good Minnesota timothy. He was just as much atease there as in the car or the boat or on the marshes of the Skeenavalley, but he was still a half-day's ride from his final home.
I bustled about filling up another car. Again for the last time Isweated and tugged getting feed, water, and bedding. Again therailway hands marvelled and looked askance. Again some one said,"Does it pay to bring a horse like that so far?"
"Pay!" I shouted, thoroughly disgusted, "does it pay to feed a dogfor ten years? Does it pay to ride a bicycle? Does it pay to bring upa child? Pay--no; it does not pay. I'm amusing myself. You drink beerbecause you like to, you use tobacco--I squander my money on ahorse." I said a good deal more than the case dem
anded, being hot anddusty and tired and--I had broken loose. The clerk escaped through aside door.
Once more I closed the bars on the gray and saw him wheeled out intothe grinding, jolting tangle of cars where the engines cried out likesome untamable flesh-eating monsters. The light was falling, thesmoke thickening, and it was easy to imagine a tragic fate for thepatient and lonely horse.
Delay in getting the car made me lose my train and I was obliged totake a late train which did not stop at my home. I was still payingfor my horse out of my own bone and sinew. At last the luscious greenhills, the thick grasses, the tall corn-shocks and the portlyhay-stacks of my native valley came in view and they never looked soabundant, so generous, so entirely sufficing to man and beast as nowin returning from a land of cold green forests, sparse grass, and icystreams.
At ten o'clock another huge freight train rolled in, Ladrone's carwas side-tracked and sent to the chute. For the last time he felt thejolt of the car. In a few minutes I had his car opened and a planklaid.
"Come, boy!" I called. "This is home."
He followed me as before, so readily, so trustingly, my heartresponded to his affection. I swung to the saddle. With neck archedhigh and with a proud and lofty stride he left the door of his prisonbehind him. His fame had spread through the village. On every cornerstood the citizens to see him pass.