KLONDIKE STORIES.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVII, Issue 14391, 9 June 1910, Page 3

KLONDIKE STORIES.

■/.- - — ♦ —■ ■ ~ BY JACK LONDON, Author of " The Sea Wolf." '* The Call of • . the "Wild." etc. . > TRUST. All lines had been cast off, and the Seattle No. 4 was pulling, slowly out from the shore. Her decks were piled high with freight and baggage, and swarmed with a heterogeneous crew of Indians, dogs, and dog-mushers, traders, and homewardbound gold-seekers. A goodly portion of Dawson lined up on the bank, saying good-bye. As the gang plank came , in and the. steamer nosed into the stream, the clamour of farewell became deafening. Also, in that eleventh moment, everybody began to remember final farewell messages, and to shout them back and forth across the widening stretch of water. Louis Bondell, curling his yellow moustache with one hand, and languidly -waving the other hand to his friends on shore, suddenly remember-*, ed something, and sprang to the rail. " Oh, Fred!", he bawled. " Oh, Fred!" The " Fred" desired thrust a strapping pair of shoulders through the forefront of the crowd on the bank, and tried to catch Louis Bondell's message, who grew red in the face with vain vociferation. Still the water widened between steamboat and shore ' " Hey you! Captain Scott !" he yelled at the pilot house. " Stop the boat The "gongs clanged, and the big sternwheel reversed, then stopped. All hands on steamboat and on bank took advantage of this respite to exchange final, new and imperative farewells. More futile* than ever was Louis Bondell's effort to make himself heard. The Seattle No. 4 lost way, and drifted down stream, and Captain Scott had to go ahead with' her and reverse a second time. His head disappeared inside the pilot house, coming into view a moment later behind a big megaphone. Now, Captain Scott had a remarkable voice, and the " Shut up!" he launched at the crowd on deck and on shore could have been heard at the top of Moosehide Mountain, and as far as Klondike city. This official remonstrance from the pilot house spread a film of silence over the tumult. "Now what do you want to say?" Captain Scott demanded. "Tell Fred Churchillhe's on the bank theretell him to go to Macdonald. It's in his safe, a small gripsack of mine. Tell him to get it and bring it out when he comes." In the silence Captain Scott bellowed the message ashore through the megaphone. " You ! Fred Churchill! Go to Macdonald ! In his safe! Small gripsack! Belongs to Louis Bondell ! Important! Bring it when you come! Got it?" Churchill waved his hand in token that he had got it. ' In truth, had Macdonald, half a mile away,, opened his window, he'd have got it too. The tumult of farewell rose again, the gongs ceased, and the Seattle No. 4 went ahead, swung out into stream, turned on her heel and headed down the Yukon, Bondell and Churchill waving farewell and mutual affection to the last. That was in midsummer. In the fall of the year the W. H. Willis started up the Yukon with 200 homeward-bound pilgrims on board. Among them was Churchill. In his stateroom, in the middle of a clothes bag, was Louis Bondell's grip. It was a small, stout leather affair, and its weight of 401b, always mad© Churchill nervous when ho wandered too far from it. The man in the adjoining stateroom had a treasure of gold dust hidden similarly in a clothes ba£, and the pair of them Ultimately arranged to stand watch and watch. While

one went down to eat, the other kept an eye on the two stateroom doors. When Churchill wanted to take a hand at whist, the other man mounted guard and when the other man wanted to relax his soul, Churchill read four months' old newspapers on a camp stool between the two doors. There were signs of an early winter, and the question that was discussed from dawn till dark, and far into the dark, was whether they would get out before the freezeup, or bo compelled to abandon the steamboat and tramp out over the ice. There were irritating delays. Twice the engines broke down, and had to, be tinkered up, and each time there were snow flurries to warn them of the imminence of winter. Nine times the W. H. Willis essayed to ascend tho Five Finger Rapids with her impaired machinery, and when she succeeded she was four days behind her very liberal schedule. Tho question that.then arose was whether or not the steamboat Flora would wait for her above -tho Box Canyon. The stretch of water between the head of the Box Canyon and the foot of the White Horse Rapids was unnavigable for steamboats, and passengers were transhipped at that point, walking around the rapids from one steamboat to die other. There were no telephones in the country, hence no ways of informing the waiting Flora that the Willis was four days late, but on tho way. When the W. H. Willis pulled in to White Horse it was learned that the Flora had waited three days over the limit, and departed only a few nours before. Also, it was learned that she would tie up at Tagish Post till Sunday morning at nine. It was then four o'clock Saturday afternoon. The pilgrims called a meeting. On board was a large Peterborough canoe, consigned to the police post at -the head of Lake Bennett. 'They agreed to be responsible for it, and to deliver it. Next they called for volunteers. Two men were needed to make a race for the Flora. A score of men volunteered on the instant. Among them was Churchill, such being his nature that he volunteered before ho thought of Bondell's gripsack. When this thought came to him lie began to hope that ho would not bo selected ; but a man who had made a name as captain of a college.football eleven, as a president of an athletic club, as a dog-musher and a stampeder in the Yukon, and moreover, who possessed such shoulders as he. had no j right to avoid the honour. It was thrust upon him and upon a gigantic German, Nick Antonsen. While a crowd of the pilgrims, the canoe on their shoulders, started on a trot over the portage. Churchill ran to his stateroom. Ho turned, the contents of the clothes bag on the floor, and caught up the grip, with the intention of entrusting it with the mam next door. Then the thought smote him that it was not his grip, and that he had no right to let it out of his own possession. So he dashed ashore with it and ran up the portage, changing it often from one hand to the other, and wondering if it really didn't weigh more than 401b. It was half-past four in the afternoon when the two men started. The current of tho Thirty-mile River was so strong that rarely could they use the paddles. It was out on one bank with a tow line over the shoulders, stumbling over the rocks, forcing a way through the underbrush, slipping at times and falling into tho water, wading often up to the knees and waist ; and then, when an insurmountable bluff was encountered, it was into the canoe, out paddles, and a wild and losing dash across the current to the other bank ; , in paddles,, over the side, and out tow-line again. It was exhausting work. Antonsen toiled like the giant ho was, uncomplaining, persistent, but driven to his utmost by the powerful body and indomitable brain of Churchill. They never paused for rest. It was go, go, and keep on going. A crisp wind blew down the river, freezing their hands, and making it imperative from time to time to beat the blood back into the numb ■ fingers. As night came on they were compelled to trust to luck. • They fell repeatedly on the untravolled banks, and tore their clothing to shreds in the underbush thev could not see. Both men were badly scratched, and bleeding. A dozen times, in their wild dashes from bank to bank, they struck snags and were capsized. The first time this happened, Churchill dived and groped in three feet of water for the gripsack.. He lost half an hour in recovering it, and after that it was carried securely lashed to the canoe. As long as the" canoe floated it was safe. Antonsen jeered at the grip, and towards morning began to curse it, but Churchill vouchsafed no explanations. Their delays and mischancs were endless. On one swift bend, around which poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score of attempts and capsizing twice. At this point, on both banks were precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could neither tow nori pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against the current. Each attempt they strained to the utmost with the paddles, and each time, with hearts nigh to bursting from the effort, they played out and were swept back. They succeeded finally, by an accident. In.the swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a freak of the current sheered tho canoe out of Churchill's control, and - flung it against the bluff. Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff, and landed in a crevice. Holding 'on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe with the other, till Antonsen dragged himself out of the water. Then they pulled the canoe out and rested. A fresh start at this crucial point took them by. They landed on the bank above, and plunged immediately ashore and into the brush with the tow line. Daylight found them far below Tagish Post. At nine o'clock on Sunday morning they could hear the Flora whistling her departure, and when, at 10 o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the Post, they could just barely see the Flora's smoke far to the southward. It was a pair of worn-out tatterdemalions that Caption Jones, of tho Mounted Police, welcomed and fed, and he afterwards averred that they possessed two of the most tremendous apoetities he had ever observed. They lay down and slept in their wet rags by the stove. At the end of two hours Churchill got up, carried Bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to the canoe, kicked Antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the Flora. "There's no telling what might happen, machinery break down or something," was his reply to Captain Jones's expostulations. ." I'm going to catch that steamer, and send her back for the boys." Tagish Lake was white with a full gale that blew in their teeth. Big swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, polling one man to bale and leaving one man to paddle. Headway could not be made. They ran along the shallow shore and went overboard, one man ahead on the tow line, tho other shoving* on the canoe. They fought the gale up to their waists in the icy water, often over their heads and buried by tho big, crested > waves. There was no rest, never a moment's pause from the cheerless heart-breaking battle. That night, at the head of Tagish Lake, in the thick of a driving snow squall, they overhauled the Flora. Antonsen fell on board, and lay where he had fallen, and snored. Churchill looked like a wild man. His clothes barely clung to him. His face was iced up and swollen from the protracted efforts of 24 hours, while his hands were so swollen that he could not close his fingers. As lor his feet, it was an agony to stand upon them. The captain of the Flora was loth to go back to White Horse. Churchill was persistent and imperative; the captain was stubborn. He pointed out, finally that nothing was to be gained by going back, because the only ocean steamer at Uyea, the Athenian,'was to sail on Tuesday morning, and that he could not make the back trip to White Horse and bring up the stranded pilgrims in time to make the connection. "What time does the Athenian sail?" Churchill demanded. . "Seven o'clock* Tuesday morning." "All right," Churchill said, at the same time kicking a tattoo in the ribs of the snoring Antonsen. " You go back to White Horse. We'll go ahead a_d hold the Athenian." Antonsen, stupid with sleep, not yet clothed in his waking mind, was bundled into the \ canoe, and did not realise what had happened till he was drenched with the icy spray of a big sea, and heard Churchill snarling at him through the darkness: " Paddle, can't you? Do you w_>\'t to be swamped?" Daylight found them at Caribou Crossing, the wind dying down, arid Antonsen too far gone to dip a paddle. Churchill grounded the canoe on a quiet beach, where they slept.. He took the precaution of twisting his arm under the weight of his head. Every few minutes the pain of the pent circulation aroused him, whereupon; he would, look at his watch and twist the other arm under his head. At the end of two hours, he foucht with Antonsen to

rouse him. Then they started. -Lake Bennett, 30 miles in length, was like a mill pond, but half-way across a gale from the south smote them and turned'the water white. Hour after Jiour they repeated the struggle on Tagish, over the side, pulling and shoving on the canoe, up to their waists and necks, and over their heads «in the icy water. Toward the last the good-natured giant played completely out. Churchill drove him mercilessly ; but when he pitched forward; and bade fair to drown in three feet of water, the other. dragged him into tho canoe. After that, Churchill fought on alone, arriving at the police-post at the head of Bennett in the early afternoon. He trieu to help Antonsen out of the canoe, but failed. He listened to the exhausted man's heavy, breathing; and envied ( when, he thought of what lie himself had yet to undergo. Antonsen could lie there and sleep ; but he, behind time, must go on over mighty Chilcoot and down, to the sea. The real struggle lay before him, and he almost regretted the strength that resided in his frame because of the torment it could inflict upon that frame. ■ Churchill pulled the canoe up to the beach, seized Bundell's grip, and started on a limping-dog trot for the police-pOst. '■"x Here's a canoe down there, consigned to you from Dawson," he hurled at the oilier who answered his knock. " And there's man in it pretty near dead. Nothing serious—only played out. Take care Qt' him. l'vo got to rusn. Good-bye. Want to catch the Athenian." ' A mile portage connected Lake Bennett and Lake Linderman, and his last words ho flung back after him as he resumed the trot. It was a very painful trot, but he clenched his teeth and kept on,! forgetting his pain most of the time in the fervent hoat with which he regarded the gripsack. It was a severe handicap. He swung it from one hand to the other, and back again. He tucked it under his arm. Ho threw one hand over the opposite shoulder, and the bag bumped and pounded on his back as he ran along. He could scarcely hold it in his bruised and swollen fingers, and several times he dropped it. Once, in changing from one hand to the other, it escaped his clutch and fall in front of him violently to the ground. At the far end of the portage he bought an old eet of pack . straps for a dollar, and in them he swung the grip. Also, ho chartered a launch to run him the six miles to the upper end of Lake Linclerman, where he arrived at four in tho afternoon. The Athenian sailed from Dyea next morning at seven. Dyea was 28 miles away, and between towered Chilcoot. He sat down to adjust his footgear for the long climb, and woke up. Ho had dozed the instant he sat down, though he had not slept 30 seconds. He was afraid his next doze might be longer, so he finished fixing his foot gear standing up. Even then he was overpowered for a fleeting moment. Ho experienced tho 'flash of unconsciousness, becoming aware of it in mid-air, as his relaxed body was sinking to the ground and as he caught himself together, stiffened his muscles with a spasmodic wrench, and escaped the fall. The sudden jerk back to consciousness left him sick and trembling. He beat his head with the heel of his hand, knocking wakefulness into the numb brain. ■ Jack Burns's pack train was starting back light for Crater Lake, and Churchill was invited to a mule. Burns wanted to put the gripsack on another animal, but Churchill held on to it, carrying it on his saddle pommel. But he dozed, and the grip persisted in dropping off the pommel, one side or the other, each time wakening him with a sickening start. Then, in the early darkness, Churchill's mule brushed him against a projecting branch that laid his cheeks open. To cap it, the mule blundered off the trail and fell, throwing rider and gripsack out upon tho rocks. After that Churchill walked, or stumbled, rather, over tho apology for * a trail, leading the mule. Stray and awful odours, drifting from either side of the trail, told of the horses that had died in the rush for gold. But lie did not mind. He was too sleepy. By the time Long Lake was reached, however, he had recovered from his sleepiness, and at Deep Lake he resigned the gripsack to Burns. But thereafter, by the light of the dim stare, he kept his ■ eyes on Burns. There were not going to bo any accidents with that bag. At Crater Lake the pack train went into camp, and Churchill, slinging the grip on his back, started the -steep climb for the summit. . For the first time, on that precipitous wall,'he realised how tired he was. He crept and crawled like a crab, burdened by the weight of his limbs. A distinct and painful effort of will was required each time he lifted a foot. An hallucination came to him that he was shod with lead, like a deep sea diver, and it was all he could do 'to resist the desire to reach down and feel the lead. As for Bondell's gripsack, it was inconceivable that forty pounds could weigh so much. It pressed him down like a mountain, and he looked back with unbelief to the year before, when he had climbed that same pass with a hundred and fifty pounds on his back. If those loads had weighed a hundred and fifty pounds, then Bondell's grip weighed five hundred. The first rise of the divide from Crater Lake was across a small glacier. Here was a well-defined trail. But above the glacier, which was also above the timber line, was naught but a chaos of naked rock and enormous boulders. There was no way of seeing the trail in the darkness and ho blundered on, paying thrice the ordinary exertion for all that he accomplished. He won the summit in the thick of howling wind and driving snow, providentially stumbling upon a small, deserted tent, into which he crawled. There he found and bolted some ancient fried potaties and half a dozen raw eggs. When the snow ceased and the wind eased down , ho began the almost impossible desoent. , There was no trail, and he stumbled and blundered, often finding himself, at the last moment, on the edge of rocky walls and 6teop slopes, the depth of which he had no way of judging. Part way down the stars clouded over again, and in the consequent obscurity ho slipped and rolled and slid for a hundred feet, landing bruised and bleeding on the bottom of a, large shallow hole. From all about him arose the stench of dead horses. The hole was handy to the trail, and the packers had made a practice of tumbling into it their broken and dying animals. The stench overpowered him, making him deathly sick, and as in a nightmare he scrambled out. Halfway up he recollected Bondell's gripsack.' It had fallen into the hole with him; the pack strap had evidently broken, and he had forgotten it. Back he went into the pestilential charnel pit, where he crawled around on hands and knees, and vainly groped for half an hour. . Altogether he encountered and counted seventeen dead horses (and one horse still alive that he shot with his revolver), before he found Bondell's grip. Looking back upon a life that had not been without valour and achievement, he unhesitatingly declared to himself that this rainrn after the grip was the most heroic act he had ever performed. So heroic was it that ho was twice on the verge of fainting before he crawled out of the hole. By the tune ho had descended to the Scales, the steep pitch of Chilcoot : was past, and the way became easier. Not that it was an easy.way, however, in the best of places ; but it became a really passable trail, along which he could have made good time if he had not been worn out, if he had had light with which to pick up his steps, and if it hadn't been for Bondell's gripsack. To him, in his exhausted condition, it was the last straw. Having barely strength to carry himself along the additional weight of the grip was sufficient to throw him nearly every time' he tripped or stumbled. And, when he escaped tripping, branches reached out in the darkness, hooked the grip between his shoulders and held him back. His mind was made up that if he missed the Athenian it would be the fault of the gripsack. In fact, but two things remained in his consciousness—Bondell's grip and the steamer. He knew only those two things, and they became identified, in a way, with some stern mission upon which he had journeyed • and toiled for centuries. He walked and struggled on as in a dream. As part of the dream was his arrival at* Sheep Camp. He stumbled into a saloon, slid his shoulders but of the straps, and started to deposit the grip at his feet, ' But it slipped # from his fingers and struck the floor with a heavy thud that was not unnoticed by two men who were just leaving. ; .Churchill.

drank a glass of whisky, told the barkeeper to call ; him in ten minutes, and sat down, hie feet on the grip, his head on his knees. ' _ / _ So badly did his <- misused* body stiffen that when he was called it required an-; other ten minutes and a • second glass of whisky to unbend his joints and limber up the muscles. ; "v ' ~.~.. . " Hey ! Not . that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and started him through the darkness to- '.. wards Canyon City. Some little husk of. inner consciousness told Churchill that the direction was right, and, still as in a dream, he took the canyon trail. -He did not know what warned him, but, after what seemed several centuries of travelling, he scented danger and drew his revolver. Still in the dream he saw two' men step out and heard them halt him. His revolver wont off four times, and he saw the flashes and heard the explosions of their revolvers. Also, he was aware that he had been hit, in the thigh: He saw one man go down, and, as the other cam© for him he smashed him a straight blow with a heavy revolver full in the face. Then he turned and ran. He came from the dream shortly afterwards, to find himself plunging down a trail at a limping lope. His first thought was for the gripsack. It was still on his back. He Was convinced that what had happened was a dream, till he felt for his revolver and found it gone. Next he became aware of the sharp stinging of his thigh, and after investigating he found his hands warm with blood. It was a superficial wound, but it was incontestable He became wider awake, and kept up the lumbering run "to Canyon City\ He found a man, with a team of horses and a waggon, who got out of bed and harnessed up for twenty dollars. Churchill crawled in on the waggon bed and elopt, the gripsack still on his back. It was a rough ride, over water-washed boulders down the Dyea Valley ; but he only roused when the waggon hit the highest places. Any altitude of his body above the waggon bed of less than a foot did not wake him. The last mile was smooth going and he slept soundly. He came -to in the grey dawn, the driver shaking him ' savagely and howling into his ear that the Athenian was gone.' Churchill looked blankly at the deserted harbour. "There's a smoke over at Skaguay," the man said. , Churchill's eyes were too swollen to see that far. but he said, " It's she. Get me a boat." .■-';■ The driver was obliging, and found a skiff and a rr»n to row it for ten dollars, payment in advance. Churchill paid, and was helped into the skiff.- It was beyond him to get in by himself. It was six milo:< to Skaguay, and he had a blissful thought of sleeping those six miles. But the man did not know how to row, and Churchill took the oars and toiled for a few more centuries. He never knew six longer and more excruciating miles. • A snappy little breeze blew up the inlet and held him back. He had a gone feeling at the pit of the stomach, and suffered, from faintness and numbness. At his command the man took the baler and threw salt water into his face. The Athenian's anchor was up and down when they came alongside, . and Churchill was at the end of his last remnant of strength. " Stop her ! Stop her !" ho shouted hoarsely. " Important messages Stop her : Then he dropped his chin on his chest and slept. When half a dozen men started to carry him up the gang-plank he awoke, reached for the grip, and clung to it like a drowning man. On deck he became a centre of horror and curiosity. The clothing in which he had left White Horse was represented by a few rags, and he was as fra3 r ed as his clothing. He had travelled 55 hours, and at the top notch of endurance. He had slept six hours in that time, and- he was 201b* lighter than when ho started. face and" hands and body were scratched and bruised, and he could scarcely see. He tried to stand up. but failed, sprawling cut on the deck, hanging on to the gripsack and delivering his message. " "Now put me to bed," he finished; " I'll eat when I wake up." - •• They did him honour, carrying him down in his rags, and dirt, and depositing him and Bondell's grip in the bridal chamber, which was the biggest and most luxurious stateroom in ; the ship. ; - Twice lie slept the clock around, and he , had oathed and shaved and eaten, and was leaning over the rail smoking a cigar when the 200 pilgrims from White Horse came alongside. . . By the time the Athenian arrived in Seattle, Churchill had fully recuperated, and he went ashore with Bondoll's grip in his hand. He felt proud of that grip. To him it stood for achievement and integrity and trust. " I've delivered; the goods'," was the way he expressed these various high terms to. himself. It was early in the evening, and he went straight to Bondell's home. Louis Bondell was c;lad to see him, shaking hands with both hands at the eamo time and dragging him into the house. ',','■ '. "Oh, thanks, old man; it was good" of you to brine it out," Bondell said when he received the gripsack. He tossed it carelessly upon a couch, and Churchill noted with an appreciative eye the rebound of its weight from the springs. Bondell was volleying j him with questions. < - v ' ; ; V "How did you make out? How's the boys ? What became of Bill Smithers? Is Del Bishop still with Pierce? Did he sell my dogs? How did Sulphur Bottom show up? You're looking fine what steamer did you come out on?" ;::,;, To all of which Churchill gave answer till hall an hour had gone by, and. the first lull in the conversation had arrived. "Hadn't, you better take a look at it," he suggested, nodding his head at the gripsack. "Oh", it's all right,''' Bondell answered. " Did Mitchell's dump turn out as much as ho expected?" " I think you had better look at it," Churchill insisted. " When I deliver . a thing I want to be satisfied that it's all right. There's always the chance that eomebody might have got into it when I was asleep or something." •" " It's nothing important, old man," Bondell answered, with a laugh. " Nothing important," Churchill echoed in a faint, small voice. Then he spoke with decision. "Louis, what's in that bag? I want to know." Louis looked at him curiously, then left the room and return*il with a bunch of keys. He inserted his hand and drew out a heavy 44 Colt's revolver. Next came cut a few boxes of ammunition for the revolver and several boxes, of Winchester cartridges. • Churchill took the gripsack and looked into it. Then he turned it upside down and shook it gently. " " The gun all rusted," Bondell said, "Must have been out in the rain." . " Yes," Churchill answered. "Too bad it cot wet. I guess I was a bit careless." m Ho got up and went outside. ; Ten minutes later Louis Bondell went out and found him on the steps, sitting down, elbows on knees and chin on hands, gazing steadfastly out into the darkness.