Tomahawk Trail

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 207, 2 September 1939, Page 8 (Supplement)

Tomahawk Trail

By Harry WiHidms

The storm was likely to break at any momoiit. and there was little or no shelter where he was. A cave or an overhanging shelf of rock was what he needed. As he ran he tried t'» guess at the distance Chart res might have travelled from the mine. AN eak from loss of blood and later starvation, he did not see how he r.-uld have covered more than eight or ten miles. Two hours for me at this pace, he thought. The further he travelled the more MNlden became the track. Within the last few hours a near deluge must have fallen. Just as the light was beginning to fade, warning him to make the best of whatever shelter he could find, he trotted out of the heavy timber on to a steep, open siding where the trees weje small and scattered, giving him a good view above and below. Though it was the thing for which he had been looking, it came as a distinct shock to see, in the midst of the lonely mountains, a cluster of tiny log buildings, and a plume of grey-white smoke six or seven hundred feet below him. Two hundred yards ahead the timber was heavy again. He'd make it there and rig the best camp he could. Without warning there was a terrific clap of thunder and rain hissed down in a vertical torrent. Rod turned back towards the timber he had left. A large crack opened in the gTound before him. He jumped back and stared about him incredulously. The ground was cracking in all direction. It heaved under his fee Treea were crashing; great boulder* came leaping down from the heights above. Suddenly he grasped the peril in which he stood. The whole hillside was moving in one vast landslide, and he was riding it down. At any instant a crack might open and engulf him. His only chance layin getting back to the timber. He sprang forward, leaping the widening fissures. He steadied himself and pulled up just as a boulder the size of a horse came bounding down and

4 Fine New Serial By An Old Favourite

shot in front of him. Another short dash and he was at the edge of the slip, a widening chasm separating him from the solid earth and safety, rhere was not a second to lose. He pitched the rifle, butt first, and saw it land safely. The pack followed; then, with every ounce of strength that was in his muscles, he hurled himself across the gap. He landed half on the overhanging lip of earth. Frantically he clawed for a handhold in the soft dirt. He was slipping. The weight of his soaked buckskins was dragging him down. His legs swung in space. Only his shoulders and arms supported him. His clutching fingers grasped a root. It held. Thankfully he hung a minute, resting, then, swinging his body pendulum-wise, shot his = long legs up on to the bank. A last effort and he rolled over on his back and lay exhausted while the rain beat down with endless, drumming roar. It was hopeless now to think of a camp. He felt the pack and managed to get out a slab of pemmican without unrolling much of the canvas. In the gathering darkness he noted a birch with a pine windfall close beside. Then followed the most miserable night Rod had ever experienced. 1-or hours the rain hissed down till the steep hillside was inches deep in a chilly, racing stream. Rod splashed about disconsolately, endeavouring to keep some semblance of warmth in his body. Slowly the rain lightened, then" ceased "altogether. The driving clouds parted and the watery half disc of a moon shone down on a sodden world.

After a seemingly endless time dawn came filtering through into the forest, revealing the havoc wrought by the storm. The slip had swept on over the river flat, burying the mine buildings under thousands of tons of earth. The river was blocked and already the water had backed up to form a large lake that inundated the flats above the slip. The man he had come so far to find must now be dead, with half a hillside as his grave, buried with the gold he had stolen. With numbed fingers Rod peeleia couple of layers of birch bark. His tinder was damp so he struck a spark into a little pile of powder and bark. Pine branches from the windfall burned readily enough once they were dried out and soon Rod had a great fire in a couple of hours steamed his clothes more or less dry.

Warmed and refreshed with a meal from his diminishing store of buffalo meat, he started down the hill to inspect the mine site at range. Xot liking the idea of being below that natural dam, he crossed the slip once more and continued down on the north side. The going was steep and greasy; he slid most of the way. Down on the flat the river was backing up rapidly. Already it swirled along knee deep. As he had gue«*ed from the hill, the mine was a total loss. An army of men or another upheaval of nature would be required to move the enormous overburden.

He examined the slip. No, it was not likely that the river would burst through and sweep it away. Even as he watched, a thin stream of muddy overflow began its task of cutting a new channel. (To be concluded next week.)