George Manville Fenn (continued 4)

I brought forth a tin of sugar and placed it on the table, and Gunson having tidied it a little by throwing the bacon rind away, and spreading the mugs about, we sat listening to the sputtering of the bacon and watching the flickering of the flames, which in the increasing darkness began to gild and tinge the rough boarded walls with red.

Just then the woman came back, with two cups, a saucer, and another tin.

“I thought I’d bring you a cup to dip with,” she said, “and a drop of milk. A neighbour of ours ten miles up the river has got two cows, and he brings me a little milk when he comes down to buy stores. He was here this morning, so it’s quite fresh.”

A few minutes later, and our landlady had finished her cup of tea, which she declared to be “lovely,” while upon a second one being dipped she took it up and carried it off, saying she was too busy to stay.

Left alone, we proceeded to discuss our own meal, slices of the cake-like bread forming our plates, and our pocket-knives doing double duty. Great draughts of hot tea washed down the bacon, and scarcely a word was spoken till Esau sighed, and began to wipe and polish his big new knife.

“Feel better, my lad?” said Gunson, smiling.

“Yes,” said Esau, speaking rather reluctantly. “I am a bit better now.”

“A bit? Why, you are like a new lad. Nothing like a good tea meal out in the wilds, my lad, to put life into one. Why I’ve known days when we’ve been ready to break down, or give up, or go back; then we’ve formed camp, got a bit of fire on the way, boiled the kettle with a pinch of tea in it, and eaten our cold bacon and damper, and been fit to do anything after. So are you two. To-morrow morning you’ll be ready to make your start up the river, and this will be like your first lesson in camping out.”

“Which way are you going, sir?” said Esau, after a long silence, during which we had been sitting gazing at the fire, but not until there had been a general tidy up of our table.

“Nor’-east,” said Gunson, laconically. Then in a very abrupt way, “Now then, you’ve a hard day’s work before you to-morrow, so roll yourselves up in your blankets and go to sleep.”

“Where?” I said. “She has not showed us our bedroom.”

“No, because this is, as the old song says, ‘parlour and kitchen and hall,’ with sleeping accommodation included. There are plenty of fine spreading spruces outside, though, if you prefer a bed there.”

“Oh no,” I said, as I began to realise that our journey now was going to be very rough indeed; and thoroughly appreciating the value of the blanket I had brought, I rolled myself in it, and lay down to think wonderingly of where we should be to-morrow. I knew that I could not go to sleep, but thought it better to obey Gunson in every way while he was with us; and as I lay there, I saw him rise and stand thoughtfully before the fire, while almost directly a sound arose from close by me as if Esau was practising ventriloquism, and wanted to give a good imitation of wood-sawing.

This grew so exasperating at last, that I should have kicked him to wake him up if I had not been prevented by my blanket, which was twisted so tightly round my legs that they would not move.

“I suppose he must be lying on his back,” I remember thinking; and directly after, as it seemed to me, when I looked at Gunson, whose figure just before stood out big and black before the glowing fire, he was not there.

I think I considered it rather strange, but I was under the impression directly after that he had lain down too. Then there was a low, dull, humming sound, which I knew came from the river, and then I was looking up at Gunson, who was standing over me, with the fire lighting him on one side, and the broad, warm glow of the rising sun on the other.

Chapter Twenty One.

Our Morning Bath.

“Well, have you had a good night’s rest?” cried Gunson, smiling at me.

“Have—have I been asleep?” I said, sitting up.

“Asleep? Yes, for a good eight hours. There, tumble up. Your washhand-basin is waiting for you. Now, Dean,” he continued, touching him with his foot, “are you going to lie there all day?”

“Don’t—I say, be quiet. I’ve only just closed my eyes. Why! Eh? If it ain’t to-morrow morning!”

He got up and shook himself, and then followed my example of folding up my blanket.

“Can you lads swim?”

“I can,” I said; and the words recalled our river at home, and the green bank off which I used to plunge.

“I learned in Lambeth Baths,” said Esau.

“Then if I were you I’d go and have a dip; freshen you both up for the day. There’s a place under the trees about a hundred yards from the wharf. I’ve had a swim there this morning.”

“Already?” I said.

“Yes, and done some business beside. But look here; keep to the shallows there, and don’t venture into the stream, for the current is exceedingly swift.”

A swim in the bright morning sunshine sounded so delightful that I made for the door at once.

“Remember about the current, my lads,” said Gunson; “and you, Dean, if you keep your eyes open you’ll see plenty of salmon.”

“That’s his way of making fun of me,” said Esau, as soon as we were outside. “Somehow he don’t like me.”

“And you don’t like him, Esau?”

“That’s about true, Mr Gordon,” cried Esau. “But oh my!—only look!”

I needed no telling, for as we stood on the banks of that swift river, with the forest rising behind us, and the sun glorifying everything around, all thoughts of the last night’s low spirits, and the trouble we had gone through, were forgotten, and I felt ready to shout for joy.

The axe of the woodman had been at work, but so little that it was hardly noticeable, and, look which way we would, all was lovely, glorious, more beautiful than words can paint.

“Here, I want to shout. I want to lie down and roll. Here, lay hold of my ankles and hold me,” cried Esau, “Why? What are you going to do?”

“I feel as if I must stand on my head, or I shall go mad. I do indeed.”

“Don’t be so stupid.”

“But it ain’t stupid. It’s all so—so—Oh! I can’t tell you how beautiful it is.”

“Never mind now. We are here, and can go on liking it.”

“Yes, I know; but—I say, lookye here. What a tree to climb, with all its branches standing out like steps, and—Why, it must be a hundred feet high.”

“It’s more than two,” I said as I gazed up at the grand green spire of a Douglas pine, tapering gradually up, as if it intended to pierce the bright blue sky.

“Can’t be so high as that,” said Esau. “But I don’t know,” he cried. “Look at this stump; why, it must be twenty or thirty feet round. And look at ’em, hundreds and thousands of ’em, all standing as close together as they can. Oh, look! look! look! Can’t help it, I must shout. I don’t care about the trouble or the work, or the long voyage. I’d go through it all again to come to such a place as this. Oh, I do wish mother was here to see.”

I did not give vent to my feelings in the same way, but I felt as much; and all the time, as my heart seemed to swell with joy, there were tears rising to my eyes, and dimming the glorious view of river, mountain, and forest, while I kept on saying to myself, “Thank God for making such a lovely world.”

The first excitement over, and the feeling of wonder that we had not seen all this last night passed away, we went on along the clearing to the bank of the river, overlooking the shallows where we were to have our bathe.

The sun was shining down through the opening formed by the stream, and its waters were sparkling and flashing in the light, as we reached the spot Gunson evidently meant, and just then I caught hold of Esau’s arm, and stood pointing away toward the middle.

“I see ’em,” cried Esau, “just over those shallows. Just like shoals of roach in the Lea or the New River. They must be gudgeon.”

“Gudgeon!—nonsense! You forget how big everything is here. They’re salmon.”

“Go along with you,” he cried. “Think I don’t know better than that? Well, I am—”

This last was on seeing a bar of silver about three feet long shoot out of the water, describe a curve, and fall with a tremendous splash not half a stone’s throw from where we stood.

“Why, it is!” cried Esau, excitedly. “That was a salmon, and I can see ’em now—they are big—hundreds of ’em, and oh! not a bit o’ fishing-tackle of any sort, not so much as a line.”

“Are you coming to bathe?” I cried, laughing.

“Who’s to bathe when there’s everything to look at like this? Here, don’t let’s go any further; let’s write to mother and the others to come over here.”

“There, I shan’t wait for you, Esau,” I cried, slipping off my clothes; while he began more slowly, gazing about him all the while.

“Can’t help it,” he said. “I never thought there could be such places as this. I say, ain’t it too beautiful a’most?”

Splash!

That was my answer as I plunged in, only to shout as I rose to the top again, for the water was so cold it sent quite a thrill through me, and the next minute I was swimming about in the full enjoyment of the dip, after having to be content for months with a miserable allowance of water for washing purposes.

“Here I come: look out!” cried Esau; and the next moment he too sprang in, sending the water up sparkling in the morning sunshine. “Oh!” he cried; “oh! ice! Isn’t it cold?”

“You’ll soon feel warm,” I shouted; and a minute later he was up close beside me, swimming easily, and every now and then dipping his head under water like a duck.

“I shan’t go away from here,” panted Esau. “It’s too lovely to leave. I shall build a cottage down by the river side and live there, and then we can fish for salmon. What more does a fellow want?”

“Let’s wait a bit, and see what the rest of the country is like. We may find a better place.”

“Couldn’t,” cried Esau. “I say, one don’t feel the water so cold now. I don’t want a place to be any better than this. It’s just right.”

“Well, let’s swim back now, and dress. I want my breakfast, and I dare say Gunson’s ready.”

“Bother old Gunson!” puffed Esau. “He’s a regular nuisance. Is he going to-day?”

“I can’t talk in—the water.”

“What?”

“Come on back now.”

I had turned, and begun swimming steadily back, for the water hardly flowed here close to the shore; and as I swam I kept on glancing up at the huge trees, which were four or five times the size of any I had ever seen before.

“Don’t you want your breakfast, Esau?” I said, after a few minutes’ swim, but he did not answer. “Esau, come along.” But still there was no answer; and I turned round and looked back, to see that he was still swimming in the other direction, and a long way from me.

“Esau,” I roared, “come back!” and I had the satisfaction of seeing him turn, and begin to swim in my direction.

Striking out strongly, I was making for the place where I had left my clothes, when I suddenly heard him hail me.

“Hallo!” I shouted.

“Can’t seem to get along here.”

I stopped to watch him, and then a cold shudder ran through me, for I could see that though he was swimming with his face toward me, he was slowly gliding away by the trees on the opposite bank.

“He has got into the current,” I thought; and I was going to shout a warning, but I had the good sense not to do so, for I felt that it would alarm him, and beginning to swim back, I cried—

“Turn in for the shore.”

“Eh?”

“Make for the shore.”

“Can’t, lad,” came back; and the cold chill I had before felt thrilled me; while feeling as if I dared not speak, I swam towards him, in agony all the time, for fear I should get into the current with which he was struggling.

“Don’t get much nearer,” he shouted, coolly enough, for he had not yet realised his clanger; and making an effort to speak as calmly, I raised my voice and shouted—

“Of course you don’t. Turn round and swim the other way, sloping for the bank.”

He did not answer, but he had evidently heard my words, for he rose in the water, turned with a bit of a splash, and began to swim in the other direction; while I followed, keeping close in where there was hardly any current.

Then I stopped and uttered a hoarse cry, for I saw him suddenly shoot right out toward the centre of the stream, and begin going down at a rate that was terrible. For I could see that any attempt to fight against the stream would be folly; all he could do was to keep himself afloat, and trust to being swept into some other cross current which might take him shoreward.

I felt willing enough to go to his help, but I could do nothing, and the feeling of impotence began to rob me of such little power as I possessed.

And now I saw that he realised his peril, for he raised one arm above the water and waved it to me, lowering it again directly, and swimming with the side-stroke, so that it seemed to me that he was drowning, for his head was nearly hidden by the water.

“Now, my lads, breakfast,” came from the bank, and I saw Gunson appear from among the pines. “Out with you. Where is Dean?”

I rose in the water, and pointed to where the poor fellow was rapidly passing out of eye-shot, being now quite three hundred yards away, and rapidly increasing the distance.

“What madness! He’ll be—”

I didn’t hear him finish the sentence, but I know what he meant to say; and in despair I swam to the shallows, waded out, and stood shading my eyes and watching Esau, who was still afloat, but rapidly being carried away.

As I reached the bank, I just caught a glimpse of Gunson running along the clearing beyond the little settlement, and my feeling of despair increased, for I knew that at the end of the opening the forest went down to the water’s edge, and that any one would have to struggle through the tangle of branches and fallen trees.

“No,” I thought; “he will get a boat.”

But I could not remember that there was a boat about the place. I had not seen one. As I thought all this in a wild, excitable way, I snatched up some of my clothes, slipped them on partly as I ran; and even then, incongruous as it may sound, I could not help thinking how the wet hindered me. Then running on, I came upon Gunson, with his face cut and bleeding, struggling back from among the trees.

“Boat! boat!” he shouted, hoarsely. “Is there no boat?”

His words brought out the settler’s wife, and a couple of men from one of the shanties.

“No boat here,” said one of the men. “Anything the matter?”

Gunson tried to speak, but no words came, and in a despairing way he pointed down the river in the direction poor Esau had been swept.

The man looked as he pointed, but nothing was visible, and just then the woman cried out—

“Why, where’s your mate?”

Neither could I say more than one word—“Bathing,” and I too pointed down the river.

“Bathing, and swep’ away,” said one of the men. “Ah, she runs stronger nor a man can swim. None on us here don’t bathe.”

“No,” said the other man quietly; and they stood looking at us heavily.

“But is there no boat to be had?” cried Gunson, hoarsely. “The Indians. A canoe!”

“Went down the river last night, after bringing the fish,” said the woman wildly, and then—“Oh, the poor boy—the poor boy!” and she covered her face with her apron and began to sob.

“And we stand here like this,” groaned Gunson, “shut in here by these interminable trees. Is there no way through—no path?”

“No,” said the man who had spoken first, “no path. Only the river. We came by the water and landed here.”

“Gordon,” said my companion bitterly, “I’d have plunged in and tried to save him, but I knew it was impossible. Poor lad! poor lad! I’d have given five years of my life to have saved him.”

“But will he not swim ashore somewhere lower down?” I cried, unwilling to give up all hope. “Where the stream isn’t so strong. Let’s try and find a way through the trees.”

“Yes; let’s try a way along by the river if we can,” he said, wearily. “Poor lad! I meant differently to this.”

He led the way back to the end of the clearing, and then hesitated.

“If we could contrive something in the shape of a raft, we might float down the river. Hark! What’s that?”

For there was a faint hail from somewhere down the river—in the part hidden from us by the trees. “Ahoy!” came quite distinctly this time. “He has swum to one of the overhanging branches, and is holding on,” I cried, excitedly. “Can’t we make a raft so as to get to him?”

Gunson turned, and was in the act of running toward our stopping-place, with some idea, as he afterwards told me, of tearing down two or three doors, when more plainly still came the hail. “Ahoy! Gordon. Ahoy!”

“Why, he is swimming back,” I cried. “Ah!” shouted Gunson, running back. “The Indians! It was about their time.”

Almost as he spoke, the end of a canoe propelled by four Indians came into sight slowly from behind the trees, and as it drew a little further into view, I could see Esau’s head just above the side right back in the stern, and this was followed by one bare arm, which was waved in the air, and he shouted—“Gordon. Ahoy! Got my clothes?” Gunson gave his foot an angry stamp, and walked back to the settler’s house.

Chapter Twenty Two.

We start up the River.

“Esau!” I cried, half hysterically, as the canoe was paddled up to the wharf; “you frightened us horribly.”

“You?” he said, coolly, “frightened you? Why, you should have been me.”

I said nothing then, but made signs to the Indians, who, partly from my motions, and partly from their understanding a few words of English, paddled the boat up to where we had undressed; and as Esau leaped ashore, and hurried on his clothes, he went on talking readily enough, though I could hardly say a word.

“Yes, I did begin to get a bit scared when I found I couldn’t do anything to paddle ashore,” said Esau quietly. “It does run fast. And as soon as I was in the full stream, away I went. Didn’t have no trouble about swimming, only a stroke now and then to keep one’s head right; river did all the rest. I could have gone on for an hour, I dare say, if I could have kept from being frightened, but—don’t tell old Gunson—I was scared, and no mistake.”

“Till you saw the Indians with the canoe,” I said huskily.

“What?” cried Esau, staring at me in astonishment. “Why that made me ever so much more frightened. How did I know but what they wanted to pull all the hair off my head? Why, I tried to swim away from them, and dived down when they were getting close, so as to let them paddle right by. I stopped under too as long as I could, and when I came up, if they hadn’t managed their boat just so as one of ’em could duck his hand down and catch hold of my curly hair.”

“Esau!”

“I shouted and struggled, but he held tight, and another came to help him, and they dragged me over the side into the boat, where I durstn’t kick for fear of poking my feet through the bottom, for it’s only skin stretched over a frame, just as you might make a boat as one would an umbrella, only I don’t think they could shut it up.”

“But they didn’t attempt to hurt you.”

“No; they were civil enough their way, and kept on jabbering at me, and saying something about Si wash, si wash. I’d had si wash enough, but they never offered to lend me a towel, and I had to get dry in the sun.”

“Esau,” I said, as he was finishing dressing, “you ought to be thankful that you have had such an escape.”

“Ought I? Well, I suppose I ought, lad; and I am thankful, though I take it so easy, for my poor mother would have broke her heart if I’d been drowned. She thinks a deal of me.”

“Of course,” I said.

“I say, what did old Gunson say?”

“Don’t ask me; don’t talk about it,” I said, for I felt half choking, I was so overset by the whole scene.

“Why, Mayne Gordon,” said Esau softly, as he laid his hand on my shoulder, “don’t go on like that. I ain’t nothing to you, and—”

“Esau,” I cried angrily, “will you hold your tongue? Hush! don’t say another word. Here’s Mr Gunson.”

“Yes,” said Esau, in rather an ill-used tone, “it always is ‘Here’s Mr Gunson!’”

“Breakfast’s waiting, my lads,” he said. “Make haste; I don’t want to keep the Indians long.”

“Keep the Indians?” I said. “Ah, you mean we ought to pay them something for saving him.”

“Yes, for one thing; but that is not all. They will easily be satisfied.”

“I sha’n’t give them anything,” said Esau sourly. “One of ’em tried to pull the hair off my head.”

“Nonsense! It must have been to get you into the boat. Here we are.”

He signed to us to go into our room in the shanty, and I felt puzzled at his quiet calm way of speaking now, just as if there had been nothing the matter that morning. But it was not so with Esau. The shock and its accompanying fright had had a peculiar effect upon his temper.

As we entered the room there was the bright fire with the boiling water; and the landlady had been busy for us, and broiled some bacon, the smell of which was very welcome at that time in the morning; but as Esau was about to take his place he looked sharply round.

“Where’s my box?” he said. And as he spoke I saw that mine and the others were gone.

“In the canoe,” said Gunson, quietly.

“What’s it in the canoe for?” cried Esau. “Those Indian chaps will run away with it.”

“If they do,” said Gunson, who was busy making the tea, “they’ll take your companion’s and mine too.”

“What’s the good o’ that to me?” cried Esau angrily. “That won’t bring mine back. Here, I want my box.”

“Sit down, and don’t be stupid, my lad. You’ve given us quite enough trouble this morning.”

“But I want my box,” cried Esau. “There’s lots o’ things in that I wouldn’t lose on no account.”

He moved toward the door, but Gunson set down the kettle and stepped before him.

“Go and sit down,” he said sternly.

“But I want—”

“Sit down!” roared Gunson. “Your companion here does not make an idiot of himself because his box is in the canoe. Do you think I want to run away with it?”

“No; but those Indians—”

“Are more honest than you are, my lad, or as honest.”

“But who told them to take the boxes?”

“I did. For if you go and nearly drown yourself there is no opportunity for consulting you about matters. You want to go up the river, do you not?”

“Well, I don’t know,” cried Esau, whose anger was now comical.

“Then we know for you. As it happens, my first halting-place is at a settlement twelve miles up the river. I wanted my chests taken up there, and I ventured to think it would be doing you lads a good turn to take you and your boxes as well. So I engaged these Indians with their canoe. They will paddle us up there and land us.”

“Oh,” said Esau discontentedly. And I burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry you do not like it, Mr Dean; but if you wish it, I will apologise for the liberties my Indians have taken in saving your life as they came, as well as in taking your chest.”

“Well, I—that is—if I’d—”

“Will you hold your mug this way for some tea, Mr Dean?” said Gunson, with mock politeness.

“Oh!” exclaimed Esau.

“There, help yourself to sugar and milk. Gordon, my lad, help the bacon, and give our much-injured friend the best piece.”

“Look here,” cried Esau fiercely, “you may hit me, or you may kick me, but I can’t stand being made fun of. Say another word like that, and I won’t eat a bit.”

“I have said my say,” cried Gunson, with a look at me. And after gulping down his tin mug of tea, Esau seemed to get better, and the meal was hastily finished in peace.

“Now, Gordon,” said Gunson, “our landlady has been very civil to us, what shall we give her beside the pay for what we have had?”

“If I did what I liked, I should give her a little paper of tea.”

“Well done, Solomon of wisdom,” said Gunson, taking something from his pocket; “here it is, done up all ready. Now then, the sooner we start the better.”

Our arrangements with the settler’s wife were soon concluded, and it was still early morning when we took our places in the big skin canoe with all our personal belongings under our eyes now; and the Indians having been well fed, pushed off rather sluggishly. But they kept time with their paddles, and soon set up a low, sad, crooning kind of chorus as they carefully avoided the powerful stream by keeping well inshore, where I gazed up in wonder at the magnificent trees which appeared in masses and clumps at every turn.

It was a wonderful experience that first ride on the fierce river, whose snow-charged waters gave quite a sting to the fingers whenever they were immersed. And there was always something fresh to see. Now it was a vast shoal of salmon gliding up over the shallows, or collecting about the edges of one of the many falls we passed, where some stream or another came down from the high grounds to swell the already full bed of the river. Then some bird flew up within tempting distance for one who handled a gun, and then there would be a little bit of excitement as we neared some fierce part of the river where the bed was dotted with rocks, a touch upon any of which must mean a hole through the bottom of our canoe, and her freight sent whirling helplessly down the stream.

It was at one of these rapids that Esau, who had been very quiet and rather ashamed of himself, suddenly half rose in his place, exclaiming—

“Don’t let them go there; it isn’t safe.”

“They know best how to manage the canoe,” said Gunson quietly.

“But you won’t let them go up that bit of water? It’s like a mill-race.”

“Yes; only fiercer,” said Gunson coolly. “Feel startled, Gordon?”

“I do feel a bit nervous,” I said.

“And not ashamed to say so,” he replied, laughing. “Well, you are a strange lad. Of course you are not frightened, Dean?”

“Why it’s enough to scare any one,” cried Esau. “We shall all have to swim for it directly, and nice chance we shall have. Get stunned with stones before we know where we are. Here, look! what are they going to do?”

“Sit still, and you’ll see,” said Gunson; and he joined me in looking eagerly at the men, who ran the boat as far as they could go toward the shallow rapids by energetic use of their paddles, and then, at a grunt from the one who seemed to take the lead, they dropped their paddles in the canoe, and, as if by one movement, swung themselves over into the rapids, and began to wade and drag the vessel against the surging stream.

“Look here,” said Gunson, with his lips close to my ear, for the noise of the rushing water was deafening, “if we do go over, make for that big piece of rock below there, and try to climb up.”

“Yes,” I said rather breathlessly; “but tell Esau too.”

“Oh no; there is no need,” he said sarcastically. “Your companion is too clever to want help.”

Meanwhile we were being dragged slowly up and up against the fierce current, and in and out among rocks, any one of which would have overset the canoe; and as I looked forward and to right and left, where the sides of the river were formed by precipices which ran up so high that the trees growing here and there on the ledges looked quite small, I felt a kind of shrinking sensation at my own insignificance, and turned at last to see what effect all this had upon Esau.

He was seated holding on to the bottom of the canoe with all his might, and staring at the threatening rocks with eyes and mouth wide open.

“Afraid?” I shouted in his ear.

“Not a bit,” he replied; “but be ready for a swim if some of those rocks up above don’t tumble down and sink us.”

And all the time the Indians dragged hard at the canoe, and with so much success that they proceeded over some three hundred yards of rapid, and then stopped where the water looked deep and glassy, and where it was evident that they could wade no further.

Here, as they held the canoe fast to keep it from being swept back down the rapids, one of the foremost swung himself in, took his paddle, and began to use it with all his might. Then another sprang in on the other side, and paddled hard to keep the canoe stationary, two still holding tightly. Then the third leaped in, and the one still holding uttered a hoarse cry, which made the others ply their paddles with all their might, for it seemed as if the stream would be too strong for them. Finally the fourth gave another cry, and his muscles stood out in the sunshine on his forehead and neck, as he gave the boat a tremendous thrust, swung himself in, and began to paddle rapidly.

The thrust he gave the boat sent it on a couple of yards, and then it became stationary, with the water, which looked white and glassy, now rushing by us, and threatening to drive the canoe on to the rocks just behind, or else to capsize us, and sweep the party headlong down the long water slope up which we had been so toilsomely drawn. And I believe we should have been mastered, for what with three passengers and the chests, the canoe was heavily laden; but Gunson suddenly pressed himself close to the last Indian, reached out one strong arm, and grasped his paddle, swaying with him, and bringing the full force of his powerful muscles to bear.

The hint was sufficient. I gave Esau a look, and crawled right forward to the first paddler, and did precisely the same, and Esau acted likewise, so that there was the addition of our arms on the port side of the boat to balance Gunson’s on the starboard.

For the moment my Indian, the first, seemed ready to start up, leap overboard, and swim for his life, evidently thinking I was attacking him; but he saw what it meant directly, and as soon as we boys were in regular swing with them, the chief man gave a shout, and the paddles were plied with such effect that the canoe began to move from where it had been stationary, as if one end were fixed on a rock, which allowed the hows to sway a little. Then we gained a foot or two, the feet became yards, and the Indians set up a triumphant chorus, as we glided on and on, more into smoother water, and at last right in, under the lowering precipice on our left, where we got along more rapidly, till the vessel was steered in behind a huge projecting mass of rock, where one paddle was sufficient to hold her in the eddy that was caused by the stone, and here all paused to rest.

“Well done, Bri’ish muscles!” said Esau, looking round, and smiling as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I say, I thought it was all over once.”

“Yes,” said Gunson, “they had all they could do to hold their own, and of course they would soon have given way.”

“Is there much more like this?” I asked.

“You know the river as well as I do, my lad,” said Gunson. “As far as I can make out, it is nearly all like this, and runs through canons and wild places, where at times the sides are so high that it is quite gloomy below.”

“Well, I like it,” said Esau. “There’s something in it. I’ve been on the river at home in the steamers, but there’s nothing to see.”

“You’ll see enough here,” said Gunson, dryly. “What do you think of your journey up the river now? Didn’t I hear one of you speak about walking on the bank?”

I looked to right and left, and felt my forehead pucker up as I saw the difficulties we should have to contend with.

“But will the banks be always like this?” I said.

“Of course not. I should say that we shall find everything, from piled-up masses of rock to pleasant patches of meadow, and no two miles alike.”

“But no steamers could ever come up here,” said Esau.

“Oh yes, out there in the broad channel in the middle, but they will need very powerful engines and careful pilots. Ah, they are getting ready for a fresh start.”

“But it will take us a long time to get up to where we are to stop for to-night,” I said.

“Twelve miles at the outside,” replied Gunson. “Yes, I am beginning to be in doubt as to whether we shall get there to-night.”

The leader of the Indians shouted, they plunged in their paddles, and the next minute we were again struggling with a rapid bit of the river between two rocks; but they soon got into smooth water again, and, evidently quite at home in the intricacies of the navigation, they took advantage of every sheltering clump of rocks, and cut across swift rapids to get into eddies here, there, and everywhere. Now we were right in the middle of the stream, now crossing under the left bank, now making for the right, but always advancing slowly, with the sides of the river growing grander every hour, and Gunson smiling at our ecstasies, as we kept getting glimpses of ravines down which tumbled silvery streams, whose spray moistened the gigantic pines which shot up like spires.

“Wouldn’t have ketched me sitting on the stool in old Dempster’s office all that mizzable time,” cried Esau, “if I’d known there were places like this to come and live at.”

“It is a grand valley,” said Gunson thoughtfully, and looking at me as he spoke; “but as it is, what is it? Only something beautiful to be admired. You couldn’t live on waterfalls and pine-trees here. Suppose I landed you two lads in that lovely gorge, where the water comes down like a veil of silver, and—yes, look, there’s a rainbow floating in that mist just above the big fall. Look at the ferns, and perfect shape of that great fir-tree, with its branches drooping right to the ground. You could sleep under its spreading boughs, and find a soft bed of pine-needles; but I don’t think it would be possible to climb up the sides of the gorge, and in a short time you would starve.”

“Oh would we?” cried Esau. “We’d soon build a hut, and we could catch the salmon.”

“Yes, you might catch some salmon in the season; but there is nothing else you could eat. It is very beautiful too, and those pine-trees that stand there are as they stand worth nothing, but if you had them cut into square timbers, and lying in one of the London docks, they would be worth from ten to forty pounds each.”

“But it is glorious to see all this,” I said eagerly.

“Yes; glorious. In all my travels I have seen nothing more beautiful,” said Gunson; and he added laughing, “I never went up a river that was so rugged and so swift.”

It was just in such a nook as that which we had admired so much that the Indians ran the boat ashore about midday, and after making her fast in a glassy little pool, they signed to us to get out, after which they all sat down among the ferns, and under the shelter of the spreading boughs of a pine, and brought out some food. We imitated their example, and made a hearty meal, washing it down with a tin of water from a little fountain which gushed from a moss-covered rock.

By this time the Indians were lying down apparently asleep, and it set me thinking about what our position would be if we followed their example and they decamped with our boxes and stores. Suppose there was no way out of this neck, for the sides looked as if it would be impossible to climb them, and it was evidently a rare thing for any boat to go up or down.

However, these were only fancies, for after about an hour’s rest the Indians suddenly jumped up and pointed to the boat. We got in, and the struggle with the river began again, to be kept up till the sun had descended behind the mountains, and it was beginning to look gloomy where the river ran. Places that would have been glorious to the eye in the bright sunshine now seemed weird and terrible, impressing even our hard, stern friend, so that he suddenly said—

“We had better land at the first suitable place, and make camp for the night. We can easily get a good fire.”

I was glad to hear him say this, for with the advancing evening the waters looked cold, and the echoing roar of torrent and fall had an awful sound that began to affect my spirits, and Esau’s as well, for he suddenly said to me—

“I say, this part ain’t half so beautiful as some of the others.”

Gunson set himself the task of explaining to the Indians that we wanted to land, a want that they grasped directly; the leader nodding and pointing forward beyond a sudden bend of the river, where it made a sweep to our right round a towering buttress of rock, which projected so far that it seemed to block up the channel, and turn the place into a lake. Then bending once more to their paddles, they set up their monotonous chant, and in about an hour we were round the great rocky buttress, and making for a meadow-like patch surrounded by magnificent trees, and upon which dotted here and there were rough shanties.

“Why this is the settlement!” cried Gunson. “They have done as they promised after all. Now, my lads,” he said, “what do you say?—shall we try and get shelter at one of those places, or camp out for the first time, and you can try what it’s like?”

“Camp out,” I said eagerly, for there was an attraction about the idea. “What do you say, Esau?”

“Same as you do, sir, same as you.”

“Then we will camp out,” said Gunson; and directing the Indians to a nook away from the tents, they landed us there by a spring of cold water, and then began to take out the chests.

“No, no. To-morrow,” said Gunson. “Now then; first thing is a fire when we have chosen our tent.”

Just then Esau cried sharply—“I say, lookye there!” and burst into a fit of laughter.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Esau has a Dream.

I laughed too as I saw the little yellow-faced figure of our Chinese companion of the boat, as he came up with his small bundle swinging from one finger.

“Why how did you get up here?” I said.

“Indian—chinook come along, walkee, walkee,” he said; and he pointed toward the west. “Wantee fire—make blead?” he said laconically; and then without losing a moment, he selected a sheltered spot, collected a quantity of pine-needles and fir-cones, produced a box of matches from somewhere,—I think it was from up his sleeve,—started the fire, nursed it carefully, and as soon as it began to burn freely, ran here and there to collect dry wood, and after building this up round, dragged up bigger pieces, and then added these, making a famous fire in a very short time.

Gunson laughed at the Chinaman’s busy, officious way, and with us to help him, brought our stores ashore, while the Indians prepared their own camping-place some little distance off.

“We may as well make ourselves comfortable for the night,” he said. “We shall work all the better to-morrow.”

“Where floul—make blead?” said the Chinaman, looking up suddenly.

“Don’t want any. Got plenty of bread.”

“Don’tee want any. Plenty blead?” said the Chinaman. “Want pot makum boil tea; want bacon—good fi’ cook bacon.”

I was just unpacking the latter, which had been tucked in the kettle safe receptacle, and our new acquaintance’s fingers were soon busy. He seized the kettle, went to the spring, rinsed it out, and brought it full to the fire. Then, before I could interfere, he had seized upon the bacon, taken out a long ugly knife, whetted it upon his boot, and began to cut off thin slices, which he laid upon a thin square of iron, whose purpose I had not divined when Gunson unpacked it, bore them to the fire, and stood there ready for a clear place where one side was all aglow with embers.

This done, the Chinaman placed one or two branches in more favourable positions for burning, and turned to Gunson again.

“Kettle nealy leady. Want tea?”

Gunson handed the tin to him, and the little yellow face lightened up as the cover was taken off.

“Melican tea? No. Good tea. Ah!”

There was a long, eager sniff taken, and then a look was given round.

“One, two, thlee,” said the little fellow, raising finger after finger as he counted. “One, two, thlee,” and he gave the tea a shake in the canister.

“Not enough,” said Gunson; “we like a good cup.”

“Hey? like good cup? Yes, plenty tea fo’ good cup,” and he took off the lid of the tin, and went and squatted down by the kettle, set the tea aside, ready for the boiling of the water, and so brought the bacon over the glowing embers slowly and carefully, using the point of his knife in place of a fork. That tea proved to be excellent, and the bacon so delicious that we felt kindly disposed toward the Chinaman as we ate it; and the more so that as soon as he saw us well started, in place of hanging about to be asked to join, he whetted his knife again, trotted off, and began to collect pine-needles, and cut down boughs of fir and spruce to pack together under the biggest tree for our bed.

“Here, what are you doing?” said Gunson. “Hey?” cried the little fellow, trotting up. “Doing! Want mo’ bacon—make blead. Blead gone high.”

“No, no. Sit down and have some tea.”

“By and by!” said the little fellow. “Cut much bed. Velly black dleckly; no see.”

He went off, and we heard his knife hacking away again, and the rustling of the boughs, as he laid them neatly together in the big, pine natural tent that was to be our home that night.

“Well,” said Gunson, “what do you think of real camping out?”

“Lovely,” said Esau. “Oh! I say!”

“What’s the matter?” I said. “Gnat sort of thing bit me on the side of the neck. Why, if there ain’t another.”

He gave his face a sharp smack, and I was engaged too, and directly after Gunson was smacking his hands and legs, for a cloud of mosquitoes had found us out, and were increasing in number every moment.

“This is intolerable,” cried Gunson. “Old friends. Haven’t been bitten for years. We shall have to shift our quarters.”

Just then the Chinaman came up, and took in the situation at a glance.

“Skittum,” he said, sharply. “I mudjums.”

Running to the fire, he took hold of the end of a branch, drew it out, gave it a wave to put out the flame, and then held it smoking low down by us on the side where the wind blew, with the result that a thick cloud of aromatic vapour was wafted by us, stinging our eyes a little, but making the vicious little insects turn their attention to the Indians, who started a burning branch as well, after which we could hear our enemies making their sharp, threatening hum all about us, but they rarely ventured to attack us through the smoke.

“I say,” cried Esau, “I hope there ain’t many of these things about. My! how the bites itch.”

As he spoke he moved out from under the protecting smoke, but a sharp trumpeting hum sent him back directly with his head in the cloud.

“Wants a good sharp wind to blow ’em away,” he muttered, as he began to rub at the bites viciously, while Gunson turned to the Chinaman and nodded toward the remains of our food.

“Have some tea,” he said, “and something to eat?”

The little fellow nodded and smiled.

“All a done?” he said. “Tea velly good?” and filling himself a tin mug from the supply in the kettle, he sat sipping it with his eyes closed. Then helping himself moderately to the remains of the bread and bacon, he rinsed out the kettle and mugs, and set all aside under a big fern.

“All leady fo’ bleakfass,” he said, nodding. “Keep a fi’. Quong mind. Leady fo’ bleakfass, mollow. You want?”

He looked at Gunson, who shook his head.

“You want?” he said again, looking at Esau.

“No, I don’t want you,” replied Esau; and the same question was addressed to me, of course with the same result.

“Velly ti’e. Go sleep,” said the little fellow; and, selecting a tree about half way between us and the Indians’ camp, I saw him, in the fast-fading light, put his bundle down for a pillow, and curl up directly.

“Good example,” said Gunson. “Let’s follow it, and be off in good time.”

We took his advice; but this time I lay awake for long enough, listening to the murmur of the wind in the pines, and the low, deep bass roar of the river. It had rapidly grown dark, and the fire flickered and flashed, and sent up curls of golden smoke; while on one side there was a bough of a pine-tree with every needle standing out clear and bright against the intense blackness beyond. And as I lay there listening to the heavy breathing of my two companions, I began to think how easy it would be for the little Chinaman to crawl silently up and rob us of our money and valuables; then that there was nothing to prevent the Indians from making their way round among the trees and killing us all. I had read of Indian massacres, and a curious, hot sensation of dread came over me as I looked nervously round, half expecting that my fancies might not be without cause, and that my wakefulness was due to a sense of coming danger.

But the various objects dimly seen by the firelight by degrees took their proper form; and I saw that one which I had believed to be an Indian’s head was only a tuft of some low growth; that it was a fern and not a crouching enemy just beyond the fire; and the group to my left, a curious shadowy group, consisted of young pines which the falling in and following blaze of the fire made quite plain.

I told myself that it was foolish to feel so nervous, and that I was as safe out there in the forest as in some room at home; but myself would not believe it, and kept on conjuring up dangers surrounding us till I felt irritable with my two companions for sleeping so peaceably.

The time went on, and I began wondering how Mr John Dempster and those with him were getting on; how long it would be before we should meet—if we ever did meet; and then the end of my journey here became a great trouble to me, as the question rose in a very portentous fashion—what would Uncle Dan, as they familiarly called him, say when I presented myself and said I had come?

Those hours—perhaps they only seemed to be hours—passed on very wearily, and I turned and turned again, troubled as I was by a painful, burning itching where I had been bitten, and never once thinking of attributing my wakefulness to the real cause—the mosquitoes.

At last, just when I was most miserable, nervous, and low-spirited, I suddenly saw a bright, flashing eye appear over the edge of the black ridge on the other side of the river, and begin peering at me through the pine boughs, so full of peace and beauty that I lay gazing at it, feeling more and more calm as I recalled the times when I had seen that same planet shining so brightly in the dear old home; till at last my leaden eyelids closed, and I slept profoundly, but only to start into wakefulness as some one trampled upon me heavily; and as I leaped up, there close to me came the sounds of heavy blows, of the pine twigs being broken, and loud gaspings and pantings, mingled with heavy trampling, a low hoarse cry, and a heavy fall.

My heart stood still, and I was paralysed for a few moments as I stood there in the dark; then the instinct of self-preservation rose strong in me, and I took out and drew the great knife I had bought, and stood there ready to sell my life as dearly as I could, but unwilling to move lest I should indicate to the Indians where they might make their next attack.

For I felt convinced that my imaginations had been realised; that the Indians had stolen upon us, and murdered my two companions in their sleep, while I alone was left helpless in that wild place, and not daring to call for help.

I suppose all this could not have taken a minute, long as in my agony it seemed to me before a voice close by me said—

“Dean—Gordon! Wake up, lads. A light—a light!”

A thrill of joy shot through me as I recognised Gunson’s voice, although it was changed by excitement, and panting, just as it sounded to me after his encounter with the big settler; while before I could speak there came an answer to his appeal in the shrill tones of the Chinaman.

“Wantee lightee? Yes.”

Then there was a blaze, and directly after I saw the little fellow bearing a great pine branch which he had dragged out of the fire.

“What is it?” I said, eagerly.

“I don’t know yet, boy. One of the Indians, I think. He struck me with a club, but fortunately it was only on the shoulder, and when I leaped up and struck out he went down. I’ve got him here. Don’t come till we can see. He may sting.”

The light flashed in under the pine boughs then, and I could see Gunson’s back as he knelt down, evidently holding his enemy there by the throat.

“Why, hang it!” he cried, drawing back sharply; “it’s Dean.”

“Dean!” I cried. “There must be some one else.”

“No; only him. He was striking about with—yes, here it is,” he continued, picking up a stout piece of pine, one of the branches that had been in the fire till the small twigs were burned off, leaving it as a strong cudgel about two feet long. “He struck me with this, and he was dashing it about among the branches.”

“He trampled on me too. I thought it was the Indians,” I said.

“Then it’s a false alarm, and I’m afraid I’ve hurt the poor lad a good deal.”

But just then Esau sat up, and began rubbing the side of his head.

“Where’s my stick?” he said. “Oh, you’ve got it. Have you driven ’em away?”

“Driven whom away?” I said.

“Injuns. I thought they would. They came at us, and I’d got that stick ready.”

“Injun allee seepee,” said the Chinaman, waving the pine branch to make it blaze.

“No; they came and attacked us, and I fought ’em till one of ’em knocked me down and held me on the ground.”

“Did you see them come?” said Gunson.

“Couldn’t see ’em because it was so dark; but I sprang up at them, and did the best I could.”

“Quong fuss wake. No Injun came all ’long. Quong been make fire all light fo’ bleakfass.”

“I tell you they came,” cried Esau, angrily. “Look here at my cheek. It’s cut, and bleeds. That was one of their knives.”

“That was my knuckles, my lad,” said Gunson, “after you had hit me with this cudgel.”

“What?” cried Esau.

“Why, Esau, you were dreaming of Indians, and got up. You stamped on me.”

“Oh, come, if you won’t believe it’s of no use for me to talk,” cried Esau, angrily.

“Not a bit, so lie down again and go to sleep.”

“Yes; allee go seep,” said the little Chinaman. “No Injun. Allee seep.”

“Take away that branch, or you’ll set this tree on fire,” said Gunson. “Then it’s a false alarm. Too much supper, I suppose.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” said Esau, surlily.

“Don’t be stubborn,” I cried, angrily. “Lie down.”

“Here, I ain’t your dog, Mr Gordon,” said Esau, sourly. “I did all I could to fight for you both.”

“Yes, and jumped on your companion, and nearly broke my collar-bone.”

“Well, you’ve cut my cheek. Why, I shall have a black eye to-morrow.”

“I think you and I may as well shake hands about that,” said Gunson. “There, good-night.”

As he lay down once more, and the fire flashed up consequent upon the little Chinaman throwing back the branch, Esau turned to me.

“I say,” he whispered, “was I really dreaming?”

“No doubt about it.”

“And walked in my sleep?”

“Yes, and fought in your sleep.”

“But it was so real. I could see their grinning teeth and rolling eyes, and every one had got a knife in one hand and a chopper in the other as they sprang at me.”

“That proves it, Esau,” I said. “How could you see their knives, and eyes, and teeth here in this darkness! Why, you can’t see my face, not even your own hands, and yet the fire’s brighter than it was before.”

“Well, that is rum,” cried Esau, as if to himself. “I saw ’em all as plain as could be, and they shouted their war-cry.”

“War!—gammon!” said Gunson, crossly. “Lie down, you two fellows, and go to sleep. He was dreaming, Gordon. Don’t listen to his cock-and-bull nonsense.”

“All right,” I said. “Good-night.”

“Good-night.”

“Good-night, Esau.”

“Good-night. But dreaming! Well, of all! And they were as plain as could be, and had got feathers in their heads.”

“Yes, blue ones,” I said, grumpily. “And look here, Esau, if you’re going to dance a war-dance on my chest again, please to take off your boots.”

Esau chuckled, and the last thing I heard as I dropped asleep again was Esau muttering to himself—

“Asleep!—dreaming! Well, of all!”

Chapter Twenty Four.

I see Footprints.

Esau was quite right; he had a terribly discoloured eye next morning, and it was the first thing I saw as we both sat up together in the soft light under the great pine, though I was half asleep still. But I had started up on hearing a shrill voice close to me say—

“Bleakfass all ready.”

“Come and bathe your face, Esau,” I said; and I led the way down to the water’s edge to have a good wash, Gunson and Esau following my example, while when we got back to the fire it was to find that Quong had been making himself quite at home with our stores. For not only had he cut up and cooked some bacon, and made the tea, but he had found the flour-bag; and there, upon a piece of sheet-iron, was a large bread-cake freshly baked in the embers.

Gunson laughed as he saw these preparations, but he said no more till we had partaken of a hearty meal. Then the four Indians came up to be paid, readily taking the dollars promised for the trip, and going back directly to the boat to land the boxes; but Gunson followed them, and they agreed to take them to the front of the biggest shanty about half a mile higher up, waiting till we were ready.

Quong was busy now making his breakfast, and Gunson turned to him.

“Now, my Celestial friend,” he said; “we’re going to say good-bye to you. Where are you bound for?”

“Up libber, washee gole.”

Gunson started.

“What?” he cried.

“Up libber, washee gole.”

“Who told you that there was gold there?”

“Melican man come down, show bit gold to Melican man. Big man you chuckee chuckee down in boat.”

Gunson looked disturbed, but he made no remark then, and at last I said to him—

“I suppose we shall part company to-day, Mr Gunson?”

“What for? Like your friend there, Esau—tired of me?”

“No,” I said; “but we are going on tramp now up to Fort Elk.”

“Yes,” said Esau, “that’s what we’re going to do; but I don’t quite see what we’re to do with our boxes.”

“Leave them in charge, as I shall mine, at this settlement,” said Gunson. “You’ll have just to make a bundle in your blanket that you can carry easily. I shall do the same, and we may as well go on together, and protect one another as we did last night.”

He laughed and looked at Esau, who coloured up. “But we are going to Fort Elk,” I said.

“So am I,” said Gunson, coolly; and I saw Esau give quite a start, and look at me with a countenance full of dismay.

Gunson saw it, and went on quietly—

“I did not mean to go on there, only up this river for some distance, and then off here or there toward the sources of one or other of the streams that run into it from the mountains; but as I have run up against you two, why we may as well go on together; it will give me a chance to knock you both on the head, and then come back here, and get your chests, as well as the money you have in your belts under your clothes.”

I stared at him in a horrified way for a moment, and then, as I seemed to understand him, I burst out laughing.

“Nonsense!” I said.

“Oh no. That’s the idea of me your companion here has taken.”

“Never said nothing of the sort,” cried Esau, defiantly, and with his face scarlet.

“Your face says you thought so, my lad.”

“Well, a chap can think what he likes, can’t he?”

“No, boy,” said Gunson, and his one eye seemed to blaze; “not of a man who has done nothing but kindness for you ever since we met, even if it was in a rough way.”

“How was I to know you didn’t mean artful, and it was all a trick?” said Esau sourly.

“Ah, how indeed?”

“Everybody out here’s been trying to get the better of us, and rob us. I couldn’t tell you wasn’t one of ’em.”

“Why, you ill-conditioned cub!” cried Gunson, angrily, “you make me feel as if I should like to thrash you till you could not stand.”

“Better not try it,” grumbled Esau; “you go your way, and let us go ours. We told you all about ourselves, and where we were going; but you’ve done nothing but shut yourself up, and look as if you were after no good.”

“Esau!” I cried angrily; “it isn’t fair. Mr Gunson has always been the best of friends to us, and given us good advice.”

“Ah, you always did take his part. I ain’t going to make friends with strangers.”

“Mr Gunson isn’t a stranger. We’ve known him nearly six months. If you don’t trust him, I do.”

I held out my hand to him as I spoke, and he brought his down in it heavily, giving me such a grip that I had hard work not to wince. “Thank you, my lad,” he said, cheerily. “Then you’re going to pitch me over?” said Esau, surlily.

“I’m going to kick you if you go on in this stupid, suspicious way. Don’t take any notice of him, Mr Gunson.”

“I do not intend to.”

“Oh, come, we can’t go on like that,” cried Esau quickly. “I don’t want to be bad friends. I don’t want to think you mean to rob us. I don’t think— I don’t—”

Esau stopped short, shuffled about from one leg to the other, faltered again in his speech as he tried to say something which would not come, and then in a sharp, short, decisive manner, cried—

“Beg your pardon, Mr Gunson. Couldn’t help thinking what I did.”

“That will do,” said Gunson, holding out his hand, which was eagerly seized by Esau. “I know you couldn’t help it, my lad. Mine is not a face to invite confidence. I’m an ill-looking dog, and I bite hard sometimes; but I never bite my friends, and they are very few. Look here, Mayne Gordon,” he continued, after glancing in Quong’s direction to see if he was within hearing, “I am going up this river on such a mission as needs silence, and you have to keep silence too. First of all, what do you suppose I am?”

I shook my head.

“Emigrant,” said Esau.

“No; I am a prospector.”

“I know,” cried Esau, eagerly. “I’ve copied lots of ’em for prospectors—prospectuses. You get up companies?”

“No,” said Gunson, smiling. “The companies follow sometimes. I am a prospector—a searcher for mineral veins and deposits in the mountains. I was convinced that there was gold up here, and we have just had proof that I am right. That Chinaman you see is bound on a similar mission, for those fellows have a wonderful scent for gold. And you see that those big roughs that he calls Melican men, but who were undoubtedly English, have been up here, and found gold. That is a surprise and an encouragement, and a damping, all in one, for it may mean a regular rush of people up the river. Now do you see why I have kept my counsel so long?”

“Yes,” I cried.

“Of course,” said Esau; “but why didn’t you say so before? You might have trusted us.”

“Why didn’t you become friendly before, my lad? you might have trusted me.”

Esau looked at him comically, and gave one ear a rub.

“Now then,” said Gunson, “shall we travel on together in company?”

“Of course,” I cried.

“Then the sooner the better. Your way will suit me as well as any, so let’s make up our packs, leave the boxes in some one’s charge here, and then the word is forward.”

Two hours later, under Gunson’s directions, we had made a pack each, consisting principally of provisions, and Gunson in addition had brought out of his case a rifle and ammunition.

“There, Dean,” he said, “you may as well shoulder that, and you may as well carry this, Gordon,” he continued, taking a small revolver with holster, strap, and cartridge-box. “You are not to use it except in a case of the most extreme urgency. Strap it on, my lad. It looks formidable, and the possession of such a weapon will often keep off danger.”

“What Quong cally?” said that gentleman when we were ready.

“Nothing,” said Gunson, shortly; “you don’t go our way.”

“Yes, go allee same way ’long libber. No other way. Quong cally pack.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Gunson; “if we don’t employ him, he’ll follow us, so one may as well make him useful. We can easily pay him; it will not mean much. Here, make yourself up a pack.”

Quong smiled with pleasure, and taking the blanket Gunson threw him out of his chest, he had it soon full of stores and necessaries, a bag of flour being added to his load.

“Want um fizzlum?” said Quong, suddenly.

“Want what?” I said.

“Fizzlum. Bakum powdum make blead.”

“Ah, I had forgotten,” said Gunson; and he took a small tin from his box.

An hour later the Indians were paddling slowly back along the river, and after a friendly good-bye from the settler who had taken charge of our boxes, we shouldered our packs, and began to trudge up the river-side, finding it easy going, for we were in quite an open part here, with a grassy margin for a short distance at the foot of the mountains on one side. But higher up the rocks began to close in the prospect, there was the faint roar of tumbling water, and dense black pine forests clothed the sides of the valley as far as we could see.

Before we had gone very far along the forest track, the perspiration was oozing out fast on my forehead; and lightly as I was loaded, I began to think regretfully of the boat, and of how much easier it was to sit or kneel there, and watch the Indians paddle, while over and over again I had come to the conclusion that it was a very fortunate thing that we were not alone, but backed up by such a tower of strength as Gunson, whose counsels were called in question every few minutes to decide which way we were to go next.

The direction was undoubted, for, so long as we kept to the valley in which the river ran, we could not be wrong, but the task was to keep along it by a way that was passable to people carrying loads.

For a mile or so beyond the tiny settlement we had left behind, we found, as we had been told, some traces of a track; but it was wanting more often than present, and several times over we thought we had come to the end of it, only for it to begin again some fifty yards further on.

At last though we had passed the final vestige of a trail, and there was the valley before us with the mountains rising up steeply on either side, and our way to make along the steep slope crowded with trees or covered with the débris of great masses of rock which had broken from their hold hundreds upon hundreds of yards above us to come thundering down scattering smaller fragments, and forming a chaos of moss-covered pieces, over and in and out among which we had to make our way.

“Rather rough,” Gunson said, “but keep up your spirits: it will soon be much better, or much worse.”

“It’s always like that—worse,” Esau grumbled to me at last, as our companion went forward, while the patient little Chinaman plodded on with his load as steadily as if he had been a machine.

“Never mind, Esau,” I said.

“I don’t,” he replied, sturdily; and he drew himself up, and tramped on with the rifle over his shoulder, evidently very proud of being trusted with it; but he had an unpleasant way of turning sharply round every now and then to look at something, with the result that, after being struck smartly by the barrel of the piece, I had to jump out of his way.

“Beg your pardon,” he would say, and a few minutes after forget all about it, and turn the barrel upon me again.

“I say, Esau,” I cried, at last, “do be careful with that gun.”

“’Tain’t a gun—it’s a rifle.”

“Call it what you like, but don’t shoot me.”

“Ain’t going to,” he said, drily. “What’s the good? We ain’t cannibals. But I say, I wish something nice would come along. I know I could hit it. What would you like—a deer? Deer’s very good to eat, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Wonder which is the best place to aim at. His head, I suppose. I should like to bring one down.”

“I don’t think you’ll have a chance, Esau. Besides, we couldn’t carry it. We’ve got as much as we can manage now.”

“Ah, but there’s another way of carrying meat,” said Esau, with a curious cock of the eye. “I mean after it’s roasted.”

“But we are not hungry yet.”

“Not hungry!” cried Esau. “Not hungry! Why, what a fellow you are!” and we trudged on in silence.

After a time Gunson turned round and let us overtake him, laughing the while at our tired and weary looks.

“Loads feel heavy, eh?” he said. “You are not used to them yet. I’ve been talking to Mr Quong, and he tells me that he is going to hunt about till he finds gold. Then I suppose he’ll leave us to ourselves.”

We were both too hot and tired to trouble about the Chinaman, and were very glad when, about midday, Gunson called a halt under the shade of a great tree, that grew beside a little brawling stream which came hurrying down from above.

Here we dropped our burdens with a sigh of relief, and partook of some cold bacon and bread, which seemed about the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.

Quong was given a lunch for himself, and he took it aside, ate it quickly, and then, in place of lying down as we did for a good two hours’ rest during the heat of the day, he produced a little tin plate and picked his way down to the stream’s edge, and then amongst the rocks, till he came upon a patch of gravelly sand over which a few inches of water danced merrily.

Gunson watched him curiously; I did the same, Esau having dropped off to sleep as soon as he had eaten his midday meal.

For it was interesting to see the busy little fellow. His first step was to roll up his sleeves to the elbow, stoop down, and scoop up as much gravel and sand as the tin plate would hold. This he shook about a little under water, brought it all up again, and picked out the stones. Then he held it down low again and worked it about, and picked out a second batch of much smaller stones. Again he placed the tin beneath the water, where it ran pretty swiftly, and kept up a regular circular motion, which caused the fine dirt and sand to be washed out and pass over the side, till only a small patch of sand of a coarse grain remained on the tin; and at last, as if satisfied with his task, he stepped out on to the dry bank, and held the plate sidewise for the water to drain off. This took some few minutes, the hot sun drying the sand as he turned it about with one finger.

Every movement was performed with the most patient deliberation, and in utter unconsciousness of the fact that we were watching him, both eager to learn the result of his search.

It was a long time before we knew, for Quong turned the sand about over and over again, and then inspected it with a peculiarly magpieish air, before he shook his head, tossed the sand away, and selected another spot in the stream, where he went through the same process, while we lay and watched him till the final examination. This time, just as I fully expected to see him toss out the sand, he rose up with a triumphant look on his yellow face, and caught sight of us. His jaw dropped, and he appeared frightened, but the dread seemed to pass away, and he came towards us with his tin.

“Me washee gole,” he said, excitedly. “Fine gole.”

“Where?” said Gunson, abruptly. “Let’s look.”

He stretched out his hand for the tin, which was placed in it hesitatingly, Quong’s face betokening that he did not expect to see it again.

Gunson gave the half-dry sand a shake which spread part of it over the bottom of the tin, then another and another, while I looked on eagerly, and at last he uttered a contemptuous “pish!”

“I thought you said you had found gold.”

“Yes. Quong fine gole. Washee gole.”

“Washee gole! Where is it then?”

The Chinaman took back the tin, shook it, peered in among the grains of sand; shook it again and again; then shook his head instead, and looked up at Gunson.

“Yes; washee gole,” he said, in a tone of voice which seemed to mean, “but it’s gone away now.”

“Fancy, my lad, fancy. There, lie down and rest. I’ll have a try when we come to a likely place. We must work in the river.”

“No; too muchee water,” said Quong.

“Yes; here. We must go up higher.”

“Quong washee gole,” said the little fellow again.

“Well then, where is it?”

Quong shook his head despondently once more.

“Washee gole,” he whined, and again his tone of voice seemed to say to me, “and there was some in that plate, but where it’s gone to now I haven’t the least idea.”

“Come along and have a rest.”

“Ah! ah! ah!” cried Quong, excitedly, after giving the pinch of sand a final shake. “Gole—gole!”

He held out the tin once more to Gunson, pointing now with one thin yellow finger, and looking triumphantly at both in turn.

“Where?” said Gunson, laughing, as he followed the direction of the pointing finger, and took the plate in his hand to hold it in different directions in the sun. “Ah, I see it. Here, Gordon, come and have a look. He has found the contents of Aladdin’s cave all at once.”

“I don’t see any gold,” I said. “Not see it? Oh, there it is plain enough. My word, what patience these Chinese have! There it is, lad, just in the very centre of the plate. See it?”

“No.”

“Now try,” he cried, as he tilted the plate sidewise, and this time I saw a tiny glittering speck, about the twentieth part of a pin’s-head in size, but, small as it was, giving a suggestion of the peculiar yellow colour of gold.

“Is that all?” I cried, contemptuously. “Yes; that’s all. There you are, heathen. Take it, and—no, you can’t make much of it. That’s no use, my man. We must find better places than this, or you’ll never go back to China a rich man and become a Mandarin.”

“No good place?”

“No; not worth washing.”

“Not good to washum,” said Quong. “Wait till we get higher up.” Quong nodded, took a little phial bottle from somewhere under his garments, and after a great deal of trying, contrived to get the tiny scale on the end of the cork, which he carefully inserted in the bottle once more.

After this he settled himself down to rest till Gunson rose for us to continue our journey, which for the rest of that day was through pine forest, with the trees so closely packed that our progress was exceedingly slow; and evening was coming on fast as we reached a part where the trees opened out more like those in an English park, and there was soft grass beneath our feet.

I was in advance with my eyes fixed upon the ground, which had suddenly become soft and marshy, the reason being plain, for on my left I could hear the hum of falling water, when I suddenly stopped short, and drew back so quickly that I came in contact with Esau.

“What’s the matter?” he cried, sharply.

“Hush! Indians,” I whispered.

“Indians? Where?” cried Gunson, eagerly.

“They have gone along here,” I whispered. “Footmarks.”

“Well, don’t look so tragic, lad. They will be friendly ones no doubt; and perhaps there is a settlement near, and we can get some fish. Oh, those are their footprints, are they?” he said; and he turned and caught the rifle from Esau. “That fellow had a fine broad foot of his own.”

“Yes, he must have been a big man,” I said, as I gazed down at the plainly-marked sole and toes in the soft earth.

“Bigger than the one made by Robinson Crusoe’s savage,” whispered Gunson. “There, get out the revolvers, and mind how you handle them. Be ready to hand me one if I ask after I have fired.”

“But you said the Indians were friendly.”

“This tribe never is,” replied Gunson, cocking the rifle and looking sharply round. “They run away generally, but sometimes they show fight, and we must be ready.”

He looked carefully in every direction, and then signed to us to follow.

“He’s gone straight on, just in the track we want to follow.”

“Is there only one?” I whispered. “Only one, and it’s very awkward, for I was just thinking of making camp for the night.”

“But we needn’t be afraid of one Indian,” said Esau, boldly.

“No,” replied Gunson; “but we need be of one bear.”

“Bear?” I said. “Those are a man’s footsteps.”

“Those are the prints of a very large bear, my lad,” said Gunson; “and judging from their appearance, I should say it’s not very long since he passed. Now then, what had we better do?”

I did not feel myself capable of advising, and I suppose Esau was no more of an expert in bear, for he too was silent.

“Don’t speak. Follow me; and as we go, hold your packs loosely so that you can drop them in a moment and take to a tree.”

“But bears climb trees,” I whispered. “Not they,” said Gunson. “Come along.” And with the shades of evening closing in fast in that wild valley, we followed our companion as he went cautiously on, scanning every bush and rock, not knowing how soon the savage beast, whose prints continued right in the direction we seemed compelled to take, might rush out and dispute the way.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Quong takes Refuge.

Our way was the same as the bear’s, for the simple reason that it was the only open level part we could find on that side of the valley. To our left, the rocks went up in huge, precipitous steps, and then went down to the right to where the river foamed along a couple of hundred feet below. And there, with the greatest regularity, were the great footprints which had deceived me, pretty close beside a little stream which trickled on along the level, till suddenly it turned to the right, and plunged down towards the river.

“Look!” said Gunson, pointing, and there were the footprints again, but turning off now to our right, while our way lay straight on.

“Then he’s gone!” cried Esau, eagerly.

Crash! Rush! There was the sound of breaking twigs, as if some monstrous creature was forcing its way through the undergrowth to the right, and I heard another rush behind me as I stood there behind Gunson, too much paralysed to run, as I saw him drop on one knee and raise the rifle to his shoulder.

The rushing noise continued, but it grew more faint, and Gunson rose to his feet.

“We’ve frightened him as much as he has frightened us. Here, hi! Hallo! where are you?” he cried, as he caught sight of two bundles lying on the ground where they had been dropped.

There was no answer.

“Here, Dean, come along,” shouted Gunson again; and I shouted too.

“Ahoy!” came back from some distance away, and a good ten minutes elapsed before Esau reappeared, looking hot and white.

“Did you shoot him?” he said.

“How could I, when you ran away with the ammunition. Seen the bear?”

“No.”

“Well, have you seen Quong?”

“No,” said Esau, rather dolefully, and looking as if extremely dissatisfied with the part he had played.

“The bear can’t have seized him?” I said, looking at Gunson.

“Impossible,” he said. “It went the other way.”

Just then I caught sight of something blue, and burst out laughing.

“What is it?” cried Gunson.

I pointed upward to where, about fifty feet from the ground, the little Chinaman was perched in a great spruce fir, clinging tightly to one of the horizontal boughs, with his feet on another, and as he peered anxiously down, looking like a human squirrel on the watch for foes.

“Here, come down,” I cried. “It’s all right now. Come down.”

“Yes, come down, you little coward,” shouted Esau, who brightened up directly he found that some one had cut a worse figure than he. “I say,” he continued, with a forced laugh, “doesn’t he look comic up there?”

“Yes,” said Gunson, grimly, as he gazed fixedly at Esau, who turned uncomfortable directly, and made no remarks about Quong, as he walked to the foot of the tree, which was about a hundred yards away, and losing sight of its occupant now he was hidden by the intervening boughs.

“Come, Quong,” I said, “get down, or we shall leave you behind.”

“Gone?” he said in a weak voice.

“Yes; come along.”

He descended slowly, and stood before us shaking the grey moss and dead fir-needles from his blue cotton garment.

“Big blown beace,” he said. “Quong see him. Velly frighten.”

He followed us to where the pack lay, slung it over his shoulder, and we once more tramped on, till a suitable spot was found for our camp—a regular niche in the side of the valley, with a small pine spreading its boughs overhead for shelter.

Here, in spite of the risk of bears, we decided to halt for the night, and a good fire was soon blazing; and as if regularly engaged as our servant, Quong set to work at once, and soon prepared our tea-supper, which was discussed as enjoyably as if we were in good quarters; and that night passed away as I lay rolled up in my blanket, just as if I closed my eyes in the darkness and opened them directly to see the warm glow of the sun lighting up the east, and Quong busy baking cakes in the embers, the tea-kettle steaming away close at hand.

The weariness and low spirits had passed away with the darkness, and after a splash in the stream close by, I felt ready for any amount of journeying.

As I came back from the stream I met Gunson coming towards me.

“Did you see anything?” he said, quietly.

“See anything? Only a squirrel.”

“Look down there.”

He gave his head a nod a little to the left, and I followed the direction of his eyes.

“Don’t start; don’t run,” he said, quietly. “If the Chinaman knows of it he will make a stampede into the forest, and we shall lose him.”

“But perhaps there is one close by,” I said, nervously.

“Very likely; for there have been two promenading backwards and forwards about us all night. Look at their marks. These prints are a little smaller than those.”

I had not noticed it till he pointed to the fact, and then I saw the foot-marks of two bears plainly enough.

“I’m beginning to think,” continued Gunson, “that we have selected their lair for our camp; but as they have not interfered with us, I don’t think they will if we leave them alone.”

“But I can’t eat my breakfast with those things about,” I said.

“You have never tried yet, my lad. Try now. I will have the rifle and revolver ready to hand; but take not the slightest notice, and behave as if nothing was wrong.”

“But—”

“Come, Gordon, I thought better of you,” he said, smiling. “Where is your courage?”

“Come along,” I said, making an effort to master the feeling of dread which had come over me; and I saw him smile as Esau came up with his arms full of dead wood for the fire, and directly after we were seated at our meal.

If I had been alone I should have left that spot, beautiful as it was, directly, and I have no hesitation in confessing that it was the most uncomfortable meal I ever ate. But I kept my fears to myself, and only once was caught by Gunson looking anxiously around at the slope clotted with tree, bush, and clump of mossy rock, when his smile made me turn to my tin mug of tea directly.

“I thought you would be the first ready,” said Gunson, about half an hour later, when the sun was shining over the shoulder of one of the eastern mountains. “But look at Dean, how slow he is about shouldering the pack, and—what’s the matter with Quong?”

For that little individual suddenly came up smiling, with his hand under his blouse.

As he came close up, he drew his tin plate from where it had been tucked up his breast.

“Stop velly little while. Quong washee—see gole.”

“Yes,” said Gunson, giving me a meaning look, and then taking a step or two nearer the stream; “it looks a likely place; but hallo, arn’t these bears’ footprints?”

He pointed to the moist earth close to the water’s edge, and both Esau and the little fellow ran to look.

Directly after Quong came trotting back in a quick, comical manner, tucking his plate up under his blouse, and seizing and shouldering his pack, an example followed by Esau, who was the quicker of the two, and he kept a sharp look out all the time.

“Now if you went behind that rock and roared, Gordon, or I was to fire my piece, there would be a stampede.”

I looked so ready to do what he first proposed, that Gunson said seriously—

“No, no; we have no time to waste;” and we went on up the valley, both Esau and Quong stepping out famously, while I was not at all sorry to leave our baiting-place behind, my liking for bears being decidedly in association with pits, and a pole up which they can climb for buns.

It was a wonderfully beautiful walk that morning, and we determined to try and arrange our halts better, for at the end of about half an hour we found that had we known we could have rested under a roof; two men, who gave us a very friendly welcome, having started a rough kind of ranch, in a level nook close down by the river. In fact they were disposed to be so hospitable that they were half offended because we went almost directly.

We learned from them though that we should find for days to come shanties here and there.

“Where we can rest for the night?” I said to one of the men.

“Of course,” he said, with a smile. “We see anybody so seldom, that we’re glad of a visitor who can speak of the old country.”

“You’ve got a beautiful place here.”

“Yes; tidy, tidy,” he said; “only we don’t feel quite sure about the river.”

“What do you mean?” asked Gunson.

“Why, you see, mate, it’s a lively sort of a stream. Quiet enough in winter, unless there’s been a power of rain; but in the hot weather, when the snow’s melting, it gets so full, that like as not some day t’ll wash all this place away.”

“But it’s fifty feet down there to the water,” I said, smiling.

“What’s fifty feet to a river like that, boy? Why, after what I’ve seen I shouldn’t jump out of my skin if I saw it rise up a hundred.”

“See many bears about?” said Esau, rather anxiously.

“Tidy few, my lad; tidy few; and pretty big uns sometimes,” said the man, with a twinkle of the eye. “But berries has been rather plentiful these last two years, and they haven’t eat us yet. I wouldn’t interfere with ’em, though, if you met any.”

“Dangerous?” said Gunson, giving me a merry look.

“Well, it’s just as it happens,” said the man, watching Esau’s mouth, which had slowly opened; “if they takes a fancy to you, they opens their arms, and just gives you a friendly hug; if they don’t, they are a bit given to scratching and clawing. Where may you be going, squire?” he added, turning to me.

“Fort Elk,” I said.

“Oh! Fort Elk, where they collects the skins. I know. Well, you won’t get there to-morrow, nor yet next week. Pleasant journey to you. Don’t want to buy a bit o’ bacon, I suppose?”

But Gunson said he did, and the transfer was made for a handful of tobacco, Quong grinning with delight at the sight of the red streaks of lean amongst the pinky-white fat, and apparently pleased with the prospect of carrying a few more pounds.

That night we slept at a shanty, and for the next two nights we had no need to camp out; while, what was of great import to us, we found that we need be under no apprehension about provisions, the people, who had settled down where they found open patches of grazing land, being willing enough to sell or barter away flour enough for our wants.

Chapter Twenty Six.

A Difficult Path.

One day seemed so much like another that we soon lost count of time, as we followed the windings and turns of the river, the beauty of the deep ravines that struck into the valley, each with its little fall or torrent, and the glimpses we kept getting of snow-tipped mountains, keeping off the weariness we might have felt in some open monotonous land.

Every now and then Quong settled down to wash the sands and gravel of the little streams that came tumbling down from the heights; and I saw that Gunson took a good deal of interest in his proceedings; but in spite of Quong’s patient endeavours his efforts were always barren, or resulted in the discovery of some tiny speck, which was added to the others in the phial so slowly that, as Gunson laughingly said, it seemed likely to take a year to build up enough gold to make a sovereign.

“The gold is nearer the mountains if there is any, Gordon,” he said to me, “and it is impossible to search down here. We must go higher up before I begin after Quong has left us, for I expect that as soon as we get to a spot where he can wash out a scale or two with every pan of sand, he will bid us good-bye.”

But as the days went on that time did not arrive. The Chinaman did not seem to think anything about pay for his services, but was delighted to perform them for the sake of the protection of travelling with us, and a share of the food we provided.

So far our journey had been glorious. There had been plenty of hard work, forcing our way through bushes, climbing fallen trees, some so rotten that they crumbled to dust with our weight, and threading our way among rocks; but at every turn there was the grand river foaming and rushing down toward the sea, and masses of black-green forest with pines spiring up toward the sky. One morning as we toiled slowly on, it was very evident that the river was narrowing, and the sides growing steeper. We had often been at some height above it, but always on a slope, where, with a little scheming, we could have got down to the water; but now a sheer wall of rock rose up forty or fifty feet on either side, and below it, looking black and deep, the river swirled and eddied along.

There was hardly a vestige of a trail here, the ground being too stony to leave any traces; but the great stream was our guide, and we climbed and stumbled on, Quong in front bending down under his load, and always patient, calm, and smiling, as if it was quite natural to him to be doubled up under a big bundle which went along in front of us like some curious blanket-clothed creature with thin blue legs.

All at once the rough stony slope of the valley dived down, and Quong, who had just given his load a hitch up on his shoulders, disappeared. I was next, for Gunson had stepped back to take off one of his boots, with Esau holding his pack; and I had reached the spot where I had seen Quong last, prepared for a jump down on to a lower part or ledge of the valley slope, when I found myself face to face with the little fellow, and saw that he had dropped his bundle, and was hurrying back.

As soon as we met, he made a sign for me to be silent, and turned and pointed toward a clump of young firs. I could see no danger, and I whispered to him the one word “Bear?”

He shook his head, and pointed again, when, to my utter astonishment, the green boughs were parted, as there was a flash of silver, and a great salmon fell about a couple of yards away, to begin beating heavily with its tail, and flapping from side to side.