An Odyssey of the North
The sleds were singing their eternal lament to the creaking of
the harness and the tinkling bells of the leaders; but the men
and dogs were tired and made no sound. The trail was heavy with
new-fallen snow, and they had come far, and the runners, burdened
with flint-like quarters of frozen moose, clung tenaciously to
the unpacked surface and held back with a stubbornness almost
human.
Darkness was coming on, but there was no camp to pitch that
night. The snow fell gently through the pulseless air, not in
flakes, but in tiny frost crystals of delicate design. It was
very warm--barely ten below zero--and the men did not mind.
Meyers and Bettles had raised their ear flaps, while Malemute Kid
had even taken off his mittens.
The dogs had been fagged out early in the after noon, but they
now began to show new vigor. Among the more astute there was a
certain restlessness--an impatience at the restraint of the
traces, an indecisive quickness of movement, a sniffing of snouts
and pricking of ears. These became incensed at their more
phlegmatic brothers, urging them on with numerous sly nips on
their hinder quarters. Those, thus chidden, also contracted and
helped spread the contagion. At last the leader of the foremost
sled uttered a sharp whine of satisfaction, crouching lower in
the snow and throwing himself against the collar. The rest
followed suit.
There was an ingathering of back hands, a tightening of traces;
the sleds leaped forward, and the men clung to the gee poles,
violently accelerating the uplift of their feet that they might
escape going under the runners. The weariness of the day fell
from them, and they whooped encouragement to the dogs. The
animals responded with joyous yelps. They were swinging through
the gathering darkness at a rattling gallop.
'Gee! Gee!' the men cried, each in turn, as their sleds abruptly
left the main trail, heeling over on single runners like luggers
on the wind.
Then came a hundred yards' dash to the lighted parchment window,
which told its own story of the home cabin, the roaring Yukon
stove, and the steaming pots of tea. But the home cabin had been
invaded. Threescore huskies chorused defiance, and as many furry
forms precipitated themselves upon the dogs which drew the first
sled. The door was flung open, and a man, clad in the scarlet
tunic of the Northwest Police, waded knee-deep among the furious
brutes, calmly and impartially dispensing soothing justice with
the butt end of a dog whip. After that the men shook hands; and
in this wise was Malemute Kid welcomed to his own cabin by a
stranger.
Stanley Prince, who should have welcomed him, and who was
responsible for the Yukon stove and hot tea aforementioned, was
busy with his guests. There were a dozen or so of them, as
nondescript a crowd as ever served the Queen in the enforcement
of her laws or the delivery of her mails. They were of many
breeds, but their common life had formed of them a certain
type--a lean and wiry type, with trail-hardened muscles, and
sun-browned faces, and untroubled souls which gazed frankly
forth, clear-eyed and steady.
They drove the dogs of the Queen, wrought fear in the hearts of
her enemies, ate of her meager fare, and were happy. They had
seen life, and done deeds, and lived romances; but they did not
know it.
And they were very much at home. Two of them were sprawled upon
Malemute Kid's bunk, singing chansons which their French
forebears sang in the days when first they entered the Northwest
land and mated with its Indian women. Bettles' bunk had suffered
a similar invasion, and three or four lusty voyageurs worked
their toes among its blankets as they listened to the tale of one
who had served on the boat brigade with Wolseley when he fought
his way to Khartoum.
And when he tired, a cowboy told of courts and kings and lords
and ladies he had seen when Buffalo Bill toured the capitals of
Europe. In a corner two half-breeds, ancient comrades in a lost
campaign, mended harnesses and talked of the days when the
Northwest flamed with insurrection and Louis Riel was king.
Rough jests and rougher jokes went up and down, and great hazards
by trail and river were spoken of in the light of commonplaces,
only to be recalled by virtue of some grain of humor or ludicrous
happening. Prince was led away by these uncrowned heroes who had
seen history made, who regarded the great and the romantic as but
the ordinary and the incidental in the routine of life. He passed
his precious tobacco among them with lavish disregard, and rusty
chains of reminiscence were loosened, and forgotten odysseys
resurrected for his especial benefit.
When conversation dropped and the travelers filled the last pipes
and lashed their tight-rolled sleeping furs. Prince fell back
upon his comrade for further information.
'Well, you know what the cowboy is,' Malemute Kid answered,
beginning to unlace his moccasins; 'and it's not hard to guess
the British blood in his bed partner. As for the rest, they're
all children of the coureurs du bois, mingled with God knows how
many other bloods. The two turning in by the door are the
regulation 'breeds' or Boisbrules. That lad with the worsted
breech scarf--notice his eyebrows and the turn of his jaw--shows
a Scotchman wept in his mother's smoky tepee. And that handsome
looking fellow putting the capote under his head is a French
half-breed--you heard him talking; he doesn't like the two
Indians turning in next to him. You see, when the 'breeds' rose
under the Riel the full-bloods kept the peace, and they've not
lost much love for one another since.' 'But I say, what's that
glum-looking fellow by the stove? I'll swear he can't talk
English. He hasn't opened his mouth all night.' 'You're wrong. He
knows English well enough. Did you follow his eyes when he
listened? I did. But he's neither kith nor kin to the others.
When they talked their own patois you could see he didn't
understand. I've been wondering myself what he is. Let's find
out.' 'Fire a couple of sticks into the stove!'
Malemute Kid commanded, raising his voice and looking squarely at
the man in question.
He obeyed at once.
'Had discipline knocked into him somewhere.' Prince commented in
a low tone.
Malemute Kid nodded, took off his socks, and picked his way among
recumbent men to the stove. There he hung his damp footgear among
a score or so of mates.
'When do you expect to get to Dawson?' he asked tentatively.
The man studied him a moment before replying. 'They say
seventy-five mile. So? Maybe two days.' The very slightest accent
was perceptible, while there was no awkward hesitancy or groping
for words.
'Been in the country before?' 'No.' 'Northwest Territory?' 'Yes.'
'Born there?' 'No.'
'Well, where the devil were you born? You're none of these.'
Malemute Kid swept his hand over the dog drivers, even including
the two policemen who had turned into Prince's bunk. 'Where did
you come from? I've seen faces like yours before, though I can't
remember just where.' 'I know you,' he irrelevantly replied, at
once turning the drift of Malemute Kid's questions.
'Where? Ever see me?' 'No; your partner, him priest, Pastilik,
long time ago. Him ask me if I see you, Malemute Kid. Him give me
grub. I no stop long. You hear him speak 'bout me?' 'Oh! you're
the fellow that traded the otter skins for the dogs?' The man
nodded, knocked out his pipe, and signified his disinclination
for conversation by rolling up in his furs. Malemute Kid blew out
the slush lamp and crawled under the blankets with Prince.
'Well, what is he?' 'Don't know--turned me off, somehow, and then
shut up like a clam.
'But he's a fellow to whet your curiosity. I've heard of him. All
the coast wondered about him eight years ago. Sort of mysterious,
you know. He came down out of the North in the dead of winter,
many a thousand miles from here, skirting Bering Sea and
traveling as though the devil were after him. No one ever learned
where he came from, but he must have come far. He was badly
travel-worn when he got food from the Swedish missionary on
Golovin Bay and asked the way south. We heard of all this
afterward. Then he abandoned the shore line, heading right across
Norton Sound. Terrible weather, snowstorms and high winds, but he
pulled through where a thousand other men would have died,
missing St. Michaels and making the land at Pastilik. He'd lost
all but two dogs, and was nearly gone with starvation.
'He was so anxious to go on that Father Roubeau fitted him out
with grub; but he couldn't let him have any dogs, for he was only
waiting my arrival, to go on a trip himself. Mr. Ulysses knew too
much to start on without animals, and fretted around for several
days. He had on his sled a bunch of beautifully cured otter
skins, sea otters, you know, worth their weight in gold. There
was also at Pastilik an old Shylock of a Russian trader, who had
dogs to kill. Well, they didn't dicker very long, but when the
Strange One headed south again, it was in the rear of a spanking
dog team. Mr. Shylock, by the way, had the otter skins. I saw
them, and they were magnificent. We figured it up and found the
dogs brought him at least five hundred apiece. And it wasn't as
if the Strange One didn't know the value of sea otter; he was an
Indian of some sort, and what little he talked showed he'd been
among white men.
'After the ice passed out of the sea, word came up from Nunivak
Island that he'd gone in there for grub. Then he dropped from
sight, and this is the first heard of him in eight years. Now
where did he come from? and what was he doing there? and why did
he come from there? He's Indian, he's been nobody knows where,
and he's had discipline, which is unusual for an Indian. Another
mystery of the North for you to solve, Prince.' 'Thanks awfully,
but I've got too many on hand as it is,' he replied.
Malemute Kid was already breathing heavily; but the young mining
engineer gazed straight up through the thick darkness, waiting
for the strange orgasm which stirred his blood to die away. And
when he did sleep, his brain worked on, and for the nonce he,
too, wandered through the white unknown, struggled with the dogs
on endless trails, and saw men live, and toil, and die like men.
The next morning, hours before daylight, the dog drivers and
policemen pulled out for Dawson. But the powers that saw to Her
Majesty's interests and ruled the destinies of her lesser
creatures gave the mailmen little rest, for a week later they
appeared at Stuart River, heavily burdened with letters for Salt
Water.
However, their dogs had been replaced by fresh ones; but, then,
they were dogs.
The men had expected some sort of a layover in which to rest up;
besides, this Klondike was a new section of the Northland, and
they had wished to see a little something of the Golden City
where dust flowed like water and dance halls rang with
never-ending revelry. But they dried their socks and smoked their
evening pipes with much the same gusto as on their former visit,
though one or two bold spirits speculated on desertion and the
possibility of crossing the unexplored Rockies to the east, and
thence, by the Mackenzie Valley, of gaining their old stamping
grounds in the Chippewyan country.
Two or three even decided to return to their homes by that route
when their terms of service had expired, and they began to lay
plans forthwith, looking forward to the hazardous undertaking in
much the same way a city-bred man would to a day's holiday in the
woods.
He of the Otter Skins seemed very restless, though he took little
interest in the discussion, and at last he drew Malemute Kid to
one side and talked for some time in low tones.
Prince cast curious eyes in their direction, and the mystery
deepened when they put on caps and mittens and went outside. When
they returned, Malemute Kid placed his gold scales on the table,
weighed out the matter of sixty ounces, and transferred them to
the Strange One's sack. Then the chief of the dog drivers joined
the conclave, and certain business was transacted with him.
The next day the gang went on upriver, but He of the Otter Skins
took several pounds of grub and turned his steps back toward
Dawson.
'Didn't know what to make of it,' said Malemute Kid in response
to Prince's queries; 'but the poor beggar wanted to be quit of
the service for some reason or other--at least it seemed a most
important one to him, though he wouldn't let on what. You see,
it's just like the army: he signed for two years, and the only
way to get free was to buy himself out. He couldn't desert and
then stay here, and he was just wild to remain in the country.
'Made up his mind when he got to Dawson, he said; but no one knew
him, hadn't a cent, and I was the only one he'd spoken two words
with. So he talked it over with the lieutenant-governor, and made
arrangements in case he could get the money from me--loan, you
know. Said he'd pay back in the year, and, if I wanted, would put
me onto something rich. Never'd seen it, but he knew it was rich.
'And talk! why, when he got me outside he was ready to weep.
Begged and pleaded; got down in the snow to me till I hauled him
out of it. Palavered around like a crazy man.
'Swore he's worked to this very end for years and years, and
couldn't bear to be disappointed now. Asked him what end, but he
wouldn't say.
'Said they might keep him on the other half of the trail and he
wouldn't get to Dawson in two years, and then it would be too
late. Never saw a man take on so in my life. And when I said I'd
let him have it, had to yank him out of the snow again. Told him
to consider it in the light of a grubstake. Think he'd have it?
No sir! Swore he'd give me all he found, make me rich beyond the
dreams of avarice, and all such stuff. Now a man who puts his
life and time against a grubstake ordinarily finds it hard enough
to turn over half of what he finds. Something behind all this,
Prince; just you make a note of it. We'll hear of him if he stays
in the country--' 'And if he doesn't?' 'Then my good nature gets
a shock, and I'm sixty some odd ounces out.' The cold weather had
come on with the long nights, and the sun had begun to play his
ancient game of peekaboo along the southern snow line ere aught
was heard of Malemute Kid's grubstake. And then, one bleak
morning in early January, a heavily laden dog train pulled into
his cabin below Stuart River. He of the Otter Skins was there,
and with him walked a man such as the gods have almost forgotten
how to fashion. Men never talked of luck and pluck and
five-hundred-dollar dirt without bringing in the name of Axel
Gunderson; nor could tales of nerve or strength or daring pass up
and down the campfire without the summoning of his presence. And
when the conversation flagged, it blazed anew at mention of the
woman who shared his fortunes.
As has been noted, in the making of Axel Gunderson the gods had
remembered their old-time cunning and cast him after the manner
of men who were born when the world was young. Full seven feet he
towered in his picturesque costume which marked a king of
Eldorado. His chest, neck, and limbs were those of a giant. To
bear his three hundred pounds of bone and muscle, his snowshoes
were greater by a generous yard than those of other men.
Rough-hewn, with rugged brow and massive jaw and unflinching eyes
of palest blue, his face told the tale of one who knew but the
law of might. Of the yellow of ripe corn silk, his frost-incrusted
hair swept like day across the night and fell far down his coat of
bearskin.
A vague tradition of the sea seemed to cling about him as he
swung down the narrow trail in advance of the dogs; and he
brought the butt of his dog whip against Malemute Kid's door as a
Norse sea rover, on southern foray, might thunder for admittance
at the castle gate.
Prince bared his womanly arms and kneaded sour-dough bread,
casting, as he did so, many a glance at the three guests--three
guests the like of which might never come under a man's roof in a
lifetime. The Strange One, whom Malemute Kid had surnamed
Ulysses, still fascinated him; but his interest chiefly
gravitated between Axel Gunderson and Axel Gunderson's wife. She
felt the day's journey, for she had softened in comfortable
cabins during the many days since her husband mastered the wealth
of frozen pay streaks, and she was tired. She rested against his
great breast like a slender flower against a wall, replying
lazily to Malemute Kid's good-natured banter, and stirring
Prince's blood strangely with an occasional sweep of her deep,
dark eyes. For Prince was a man, and healthy, and had seen few
women in many months. And she was older than he, and an Indian
besides. But she was different from all native wives he had met:
she had traveled--had been in his country among others, he
gathered from the conversation; and she knew most of the things
the women of his own race knew, and much more that it was not in
the nature of things for them to know. She could make a meal of
sun-dried fish or a bed in the snow; yet she teased them with
tantalizing details of many-course dinners, and caused strange
internal dissensions to arise at the mention of various quondam
dishes which they had well-nigh forgotten. She knew the ways of
the moose, the bear, and the little blue fox, and of the wild
amphibians of the Northern seas; she was skilled in the lore of
the woods, and the streams, and the tale writ by man and bird and
beast upon the delicate snow crust was to her an open book; yet
Prince caught the appreciative twinkle in her eye as she read the
Rules of the Camp. These rules had been fathered by the
Unquenchable Bettles at a time when his blood ran high, and were
remarkable for the terse simplicity of their humor.
Prince always turned them to the wall before the arrival of
ladies; but who could suspect that this native wife--Well, it was
too late now.
This, then, was the wife of Axel Gunderson, a woman whose name
and fame had traveled with her husband's, hand in hand, through
all the Northland. At table, Malemute Kid baited her with the
assurance of an old friend, and Prince shook off the shyness of
first acquaintance and joined in. But she held her own in the
unequal contest, while her husband, slower in wit, ventured
naught but applause. And he was very proud of her; his every look
and action revealed the magnitude of the place she occupied in
his life. He of the Otter Skins ate in silence, forgotten in the
merry battle; and long ere the others were done he pushed back
from the table and went out among the dogs. Yet all too soon his
fellow travelers drew on their mittens and parkas and followed
him.
There had been no snow for many days, and the sleds slipped along
the hardpacked Yukon trail as easily as if it had been glare ice.
Ulysses led the first sled; with the second came Prince and Axel
Gunderson's wife; while Malemute Kid and the yellow-haired giant
brought up the third.
'It's only a hunch, Kid,' he said, 'but I think it's straight.
He's never been there, but he tells a good story, and shows a map
I heard of when I was in the Kootenay country years ago. I'd like
to have you go along; but he's a strange one, and swore
point-blank to throw it up if anyone was brought in. But when I
come back you'll get first tip, and I'll stake you next to me,
and give you a half share in the town site besides.' 'No! no!' he
cried, as the other strove to interrupt. 'I'm running this, and
before I'm done it'll need two heads.
'If it's all right, why, it'll be a second Cripple Creek, man; do
you hear?--a second Cripple Creek! It's quartz, you know, not
placer; and if we work it right we'll corral the whole
thing--millions upon millions. I've heard of the place before,
and so have you. We'll build a town--thousands of workmen--good
waterways--steamship lines--big carrying trade--light-draught
steamers for head reaches--survey a railroad, perhaps--sawmills--
electric-light plant--do our own banking--commercial
company--syndicate--Say! Just you hold your hush till I get
back!' The sleds came to a halt where the trail crossed the mouth
of Stuart River. An unbroken sea of frost, its wide expanse
stretched away into the unknown east.
The snowshoes were withdrawn from the lashings of the sleds. Axel
Gunderson shook hands and stepped to the fore, his great webbed
shoes sinking a fair half yard into the feathery surface and
packing the snow so the dogs should not wallow. His wife fell in
behind the last sled, betraying long practice in the art of
handling the awkward footgear, The stillness was broken with
cheery farewells; the dogs whined; and He of the Otter Skins
talked with his whip to a recalcitrant wheeler.
An hour later the train had taken on the likeness of a black
pencil crawling in a long, straight line across a mighty sheet of
foolscap.
