The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  THE TRAVELER FROM ALASKA.

  Although the cries for help had now ceased, and were not repeated, oursearch was crowned with success in a brief time. Pushing up the valleyfor about five hundred yards, amid trees and thickets, we came suddenlyupon a little camp. A lean-to of spruce boughs was rudely built againstthe base of the steep hill on the right, which towered upward above itto a dizzy and remote height, its alternate patches of timber and snowtraced out by the moonlight.

  The front of the lean-to was open, and inside, by the glow from ahandful of smouldering embers, we saw a strange sight. In the farcorner, apparently sleeping, lay an old man. On a small sledge near himwere a powder horn, and bullet pouch, a musket and a few pelts.

  There was no reply to our sharp greeting, and we ventured closer.Carteret found some bits of dry wood and threw them on the fire. Heknelt down and blew them quickly into a blaze, which enabled us to seemore distinctly. The old man was breathing heavily, and it needed but aglance to tell us that he was near to death from starvation or someillness. His head rested on a pillow of skins, and he was rolled partlyin blankets, which were pushed off enough to show his tattered andtravel-worn clothing. His cheeks were deeply sunken, his gray hair waslong and matted, and his tangled beard reached nearly to his waist.

  "There is not a sign of food," said I.

  "It's a clear case of starvation," replied Captain Rudstone. "Poor oldchap!"

  Just then, roused from his stupor by our voices, or by the warmth of thefire, the stranger opened his eyes and looked about him wildly. Heclawed at the air with skinny fingers, and tried to speak. I had alittle rum with me, and I poured it between his lips. This brought atinge of color to his cheeks and a brightness to his glazing eyes, buthe was too weak to lift his head.

  "Who are you?" he muttered faintly. "Friends? Ay, thank God! White facesonce more--after all these months! I heard the shot, and judged thatIndians or trappers were near. I called as loudly as I could, but--but--"

  "The exertion was too much for you and you fainted," said I. "But weheard your cries, and found you. How long have you been here?"

  "Three days," he answered--"three days and nights without food. I atethe last bite when I reached this spot, and a fortnight before I hadfired my last charge of powder and ball. I was too ill to go further. Ibuilt this shelter to die in, and from time to time I crawled out forfuel to keep up the fire. But the end is close now. Don't leave me--letme die with white faces round me."

  "Cheer up, my friend," said Captain Rudstone. "You are going to live."

  "We have a deer yonder," I added. "We will make you a venison broth, andthen take you to the fort, where the rest of our party await us."

  But Carteret, who had the keener eye, shook his head gravely.

  "It is no use," he whispered.

  The old man heard him.

  "Ay, you are right," he said. "I am past help. I feel death stealingover me. Months of privation have worn out my rugged frame--thisfrightful wilderness has drained my life blood. Comrades, I havejourneyed on foot from the far province of Alaska."

  Carteret shrugged his shoulders, and the captain and I exchangedincredulous glances. Doubtless the stranger's mind was wandering.

  "You think me mad," he said hoarsely. "But no; I will prove otherwise.Listen to my story. It is the last service you can do me, and you willfind it well worth hearing."

  His manner was so earnest that we began to believe a little in spite ofourselves. We crouched on the blanket alongside of him, and in a voicethat was barely audible--he was failing fast--the old man proceeded. Theearlier part of his narrative, which was the least interesting, I willset down briefly in my own words.

  His name was Hiram Buckhorn, and he was now sixty odd years of age. Halfof his life had been passed in New York State and the Lower Canadas, andthen he had gone across the continent to San Francisco. From that porthe sailed with a dozen adventurous companions two years previously toexplore the almost unknown territory of Alaska and prospect for gold.They sailed hundreds of miles up the mighty Yukon, and when their vesselwas wrecked they journeyed some days inland on foot.

  "And we found what we sought," he continued, with sparklingeyes--"riches such as were never dreamed of! Gold? Why, men, it was asplentiful as the sand and gravel! The streams were paved with nuggets;it was everywhere under the soil! Our camp was near a tributary of theYukon, and within a square mile was gold enough to purchase a dozenempires; but many a year will pass before men lay hands on the treasure.It is a terrible country--almost impossible to reach, and there isscarcely any summer season. And then the savage Indians! They fell uponus suddenly and treacherously, and butchered every one of my comrades.For some reason they spared my life and held me a prisoner."

  The old man paused a moment, breathing heavily. "After a month ofcaptivity, during which my sufferings were terrible, I managed toescape," he went on, in a weaker voice. "I could not return throughAlaska, so I headed to the southeast through the Hudson Bay Company'sterritory. I had musket and powder and ball--which I recovered from theIndians--and I built myself a rude sledge. This was thirteen months agoand since then I have been on the way. Ay, I have plodded more thanfifteen hundred miles, through all seasons, over rivers, mountains, andplains. And to what end? To fill a grave in the wilderness! I had hopedto reach civilization, but the task was too great."

  Such was Hiram Buckhorn's narrative, and when it was finished we lookedsilently at him with awe and amazement, with the deepest pity. Hisexploit had far surpassed anything in the annals of the pioneers of theNorthwest. Fifteen hundred miles, on foot and alone, through anuntrodden wilderness that even the Hudson Bay Company had never dreamedof tapping! It bore the stamp of truth, and yet it was so incredible athing that we wavered between doubt and belief.

  He noted this, and a grim smile flitted across his face.

  "You shall see!" he whispered. "Reach under my head! Be quick!"

  I gently thrust a hand beneath the pillow of skins, and drew out a smallbut heavy bag fashioned of rawhide. At his bidding I placed it besidethe old man. With a hard effort, he loosed the mouth and turned the bigupside down. Out fell on the fold of a blanket a mass of golden nuggetsof the purest quality. There were not less than fifty, of large size,and they gleamed dull yellow in the rays of the fire. The sight almosttook our breath, and we gazed with greedy, wondering eyes.

  "Look! I spoke the truth," said Hiram Buckhorn. "There is the evidence!Millions like them are to be dug in the region of the Klondike! But putthem back--their glitter is no longer for me!"

  I hurriedly gathered the nuggets into the bag and thrust it deep underthe skins again. The old man watched every movement and heaved a faintsigh.

  "The gold is yours, my friend," he muttered. "Take it and divide it whenyou have put me beneath the snow. And one other favor I crave. Send wordat the first opportunity to San Francisco, of the fate of those whosailed with me. They were trusty comrades! As for myself, I have no kithor kin--"

  His voice suddenly dwindled to a whisper, and a spasm shook him fromhead to foot. His glassy eyes closed, he lifted one hand and dropped it,and then his heaving chest was still.

  "Is he dead?" I exclaimed.

  "Ay, that was his last breath," replied Carteret. "He went quickly."

  "The excitement finished him," said Captain Rudstone. "But listen! Whatis that?"

  We looked at one another with startled faces. Far, far above us we hearda roaring, grinding noise, increasing each second. And we knew only toowell what it meant!

  "A snowslide--an avalanche!" cried Captain Rudstone. "It has started atthe top, and will carry everything before it down the hill."

  "Ran for your lives!" shouted Carteret. "We're in the track, and willhardly escape as it is!"

  In a trice we were out of the lean-to, panic-stricken and alarmed,thinking of nothing but our lives; for of all perils of the Great LoneLand, the snow slide, with its speed and destructive
power, was the mostto be dreaded. We forgot the dead man--the gold under his pillow. Wesped down the valley as though on wings, not daring to look up thehillside, where the avalanche was cleaving its way with a deafeningnoise, with the crash of falling trees, the grind of dislodged bowlders,and the roar of tons and tons of loosened snow. And the monster seemedto be reaching for us!

  Flora's dear face took shape before me in the frosty air, and I fanciedI could hear her voice pleading with me to remain at the fort. Should Iever return to her arms again? The thought lent me speed, and I outdistanced my companions. The next instant I tripped in a clump of bushesand fell headlong, and plump on top of me came Carteret and CaptainRudstone.

  We were all three so tangled together that our efforts to extricateourselves only led to worse confusion. We broke through the crust andfloundered in soft and powdery snow. As we struggled hard--we had fledbut a short distance--the avalanche struck the valley close behind us.There was first a mighty crash that made the ground tremble, next along, deafening grind like a hundred thunderpeals in one, and then thehissing rush of a few belated rocks.

  Silence followed, and we knew that we were saved. With grateful heartsand trembling limbs we scrambled out of our pit and regained the firmcrust.

  "Thank God!" I exclaimed.

  "We had a close shave of it, comrades," Carteret said huskily, as hewiped the perspiration from his brow.

  We turned back and were pulled up short within twenty feet. For in frontof us, stretching two-thirds of the way across the valley, was a loftybarrier of snow, trees and bowlders; its track down the hillside wasmarked by a clean, wide swath, the beginning of which we could not see.And deep under the fallen mass, covered by tons and tons of compactdebris, was the crushed body of Hiram Buckhorn.

  "He could not have a better grave," said Captain Rudstone. "No men orbeasts will ever despoil it."

  "Peace to his bones!" replied Carteret, reverently taking off his cap."He deserved to live, after what he did."

  "But the gold!" I cried. "It is buried with him!"

  "And there it will stay," Captain Rudstone said coolly. "Even when thesnow melts in the spring, it will be covered deep by rocks and treesthat no man could drag away."

  The old voyageur appeared equally unconcerned. Money meant little tohim, and I could understand the captain taking as easy a view of theloss. But with myself it way different, I confess. I looked forward tomarriage, and for Flora's sake I longed for my share of the preciousnuggets. But there was nothing to be done--nothing further to be said.With a heavy heart I turned and followed my companions down the valley.We quickly cut the deer apart, burdening ourselves with the choicesthaunches, and then set off on our return to the fort.