Smoke Bellew by Jack London (chrome ebook reader txt) š
- Author: Jack London
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āThen we jumped cities for keeps. Knocked around on the Pacific coast and southern Oregon looked good to us. We settled in the Rogue River Valleyāapples. Thereās a big future there, only nobody knows it. I got my landāon time, of courseāfor forty an acre. Ten years from now itāll be worth five hundred.
āWeāve done some almighty hustling. Takes money, and we hadnāt a cent to start with, you knowāhad to build a house and barn, get horses and plows, and all the rest. She taught school two years. Then the boy came. But weāve got it. You ought to see those trees we plantedāa hundred acres of them, almost mature now. But itās all been outgo, and the mortgage working overtime. Thatās why Iām here. Sheād āaā come along only for the kids and the trees. Sheās handlinā that end, and here I am, a goshdanged expensive millionaireāin prospect.ā
He looked happily across the sun-dazzle on the ice to the green water of the lake along the farther shore, took a final look at the photograph, and murmured:
āSheās some woman, that. Sheās hung on. She just wouldnāt die, though she was pretty close to skin and bone all wrapped around a bit of fire when she went out with the sheep. Oh, sheās thin now. Never will be fat. But itās the prettiest thinness I ever saw, and when I get back, and the trees begin to bear, and the kids get going to school, she and I are going to do Paris. I donāt think much of that burg, but sheās just hankered for it all her life.ā
āWell, hereās the gold that will take you to Paris,ā Smoke assured him. āAll weāve got to do is to get our hands on it.ā
Carson nodded with glistening eyes. āSayāthat farm of ours is the prettiest piece of orchard land on all the Pacific coast. Good climate, too. Our lungs will never get touched again there. Ex-lungers have to be almighty careful, you know. If youāre thinking of settling, well, just take a peep in at our valley before you settle, thatās all. And fishing! Say!ādid you ever get a thirty-five-pound salmon on a six-ounce rod? Some fight, boā, some fight!ā
āIām lighter than you by forty pounds,ā Carson said. āLet me go first.ā
They stood on the edge of the crevasse. It was enormous and ancient, fully a hundred feet across, with sloping, age-eaten sides instead of sharp-angled rims. At this one place it was bridged by a huge mass of pressure-hardened snow that was itself half ice. Even the bottom of this mass they could not see, much less the bottom of the crevasse. Crumbling and melting, the bridge threatened imminent collapse. There were signs where recent portions had broken away, and even as they studied it a mass of half a ton dislodged and fell.
āLooks pretty bad,ā Carson admitted with an ominous head-shake. āAnd it looks much worse than if I wasnāt a millionaire.ā
āBut weāve got to tackle it,ā Smoke said. āWeāre almost across. We canāt go back. We canāt camp here on the ice all night. And thereās no other way. Shorty and I explored for a mile up. It was in better shape, though, when we crossed.ā
āItās one at a time, and me first.ā Carson took the part coil of rope from Smokeās hand. āYouāll have to cast off. Iāll take the rope and the pick. Gimme your hand so I can slip down easy.ā
Slowly and carefully he lowered himself the several feet to the bridge, where he stood, making final adjustments for the perilous traverse. On his back was his pack outfit. Around his neck, resting on his shoulders, he coiled the rope, one end of which was still fast to his waist.
āIād give a mighty good part of my millions right now for a bridge-construction gang,ā he said, but his cheery, whimsical smile belied the words. Also, he added, āItās all right; Iām a cat.ā
The pick, and the long stick he used as an alpenstock, he balanced horizontally after the manner of a rope-walker. He thrust one foot forward tentatively, drew it back, and steeled himself with a visible, physical effort.
āI wish I was flat broke,ā he smiled up. āIf ever I get out of being a millionaire this time, Iāll never be one again. Itās too uncomfortable.ā
āItās all right,ā Smoke encouraged. āIāve been over it before. Better let me try it first.ā
āAnd you forty pounds to the worse,ā the little man flashed back. āIāll be all right in a minute. Iām all right now.ā And this time the nerving-up process was instantaneous. āWell, here goes for Rogue River and the apples,ā he said, as his foot went out, this time to rest carefully and lightly while the other foot was brought up and past. Very gently and circumspectly he continued on his way until two-thirds of the distance was covered. Here he stopped to examine a depression he must cross, at the bottom of which was a fresh crack. Smoke, watching, saw him glance to the side and down into the crevasse itself, and then begin a slight swaying.
āKeep your eyes up!ā Smoke commanded sharply. āNow! Go on!ā
The little man obeyed, nor faltered on the rest of the journey. The sun-eroded slope of the farther edge of the crevasse was slippery, but not steep, and he worked his way up to a narrow ledge, faced about, and sat down.
āYour turn,ā he called across. āBut just keep a-coming and donāt look down. Thatās what got my goat. Just keep a-coming, thatās all. And get a move on. Itās almighty rotten.ā
Balancing his own stick horizontally, Smoke essayed the passage. That the bridge was on its last legs was patent. He felt a jar under foot, a slight movement of the mass, and a heavier jar. This was followed by a single sharp crackle. Behind him he knew something was happening. If for no other reason, he knew it by the strained, tense face of Carson. From beneath, thin and faint, came the murmur of running water, and Smokeās eyes involuntarily wavered to a glimpse of the shimmering depths. He jerked them back to the way before him. Two-thirds over, he came to the depression. The sharp edges of the crack, but slightly touched by the sun, showed how recent it was. His foot was lifted to make the step across, when the crack began slowly widening, at the same time emitting numerous sharp snaps. He made the step quickly, increasing the stride of it, but the worn nails of his shoe skated on the farther slope of the depression. He fell on his face, and without pause slipped down and into the crack, his legs hanging clear, his chest supported by the stick which he had managed to twist crosswise as he fell.
His first sensation was the nausea caused by the sickening up-leap of his pulse; his first idea was of surprise that he had fallen no farther. Behind him was crackling and jar and movement to which the stick vibrated. From beneath, in the heart of the glacier, came the soft and hollow thunder of the dislodged masses striking bottom. And still the bridge, broken from its farthest support and ruptured in the middle, held, though the portion he had crossed tilted downward at a pitch of twenty degrees. He could see Carson, perched on his ledge, his feet braced against the melting surface, swiftly recoiling the rope from his shoulders to his hand.
āWait!ā he cried. āDonāt move, or the whole shooting-match will come down.ā
He calculated the distance with a quick glance, took the bandana from his neck and tied it to the rope, and increased the length by a second bandana from his pocket. The rope, manufactured from sled-lashings and short lengths of plaited rawhide knotted together, was both light and strong. The first cast was lucky as well as deft, and Smokeās fingers clutched it. He evidenced a hand-over-hand intention of crawling out of the crack. But Carson, who had refastened the rope around his own waist, stopped him.
āMake it fast around yourself as well,ā he ordered.
āIf I go Iāll take you with me,ā Smoke objected.
The little man became very peremptory.
āYou shut up,ā he ordered. āThe sound of your voice is enough to start the whole thing going.ā
āIf I ever start goingāā Smoke began.
āShut up! You aināt going to ever start going. Now do what I say. Thatās rightāunder the shoulders. Make it fast. Now! Start! Get a move on, but easy as you go. Iāll take in the slack. You just keep a-coming. Thatās it. Easy. Easy.ā
Smoke was still a dozen feet away when the final collapse of the bridge began. Without noise, but in a jerky way, it crumbled to an increasing tilt.
āQuick!ā Carson called, coiling in hand-over-hand on the slack of the rope which Smokeās rush gave him.
When the crash came, Smokeās fingers were clawing into the hard face of the wall of the crevasse, while his body dragged back with the falling bridge. Carson, sitting up, feet wide apart and braced, was heaving on the rope. This effort swung Smoke in to the side wall, but it jerked Carson out of his niche. Like a cat, he faced about, clawing wildly for a hold on the ice and slipping down. Beneath him, with forty feet of taut rope between them, Smoke was clawing just as wildly; and ere the thunder from below announced the arrival of the bridge, both men had come to rest. Carson had achieved this first, and the several pounds of pull he was able to put on the rope had helped bring Smoke to a stop.
Each lay in a shallow niche, but Smokeās was so shallow that, tense with the strain of flattening and sticking, nevertheless he would have slid on had it not been for the slight assistance he took from the rope. He was on the verge of a bulge and could not see beneath him. Several minutes passed, in which they took stock of the situation and made rapid strides in learning the art of sticking to wet and slippery ice. The little man was the first to speak.
āGee!ā he said; and, a minute later, āIf you can dig in for a moment and slack on the rope, I can turn over. Try it.ā
Smoke made the effort, then rested on the rope again. āI can do it,ā he said. āTell me when youāre ready. And be quick.ā
āAbout three feet down is holding for my heels,ā Carson said. āIt wonāt take a moment. Are you ready?ā
āGo on.ā
It was hard work to slide down a yard, turn over and sit up; but it was even harder for Smoke to remain flattened and maintain a position that from instant to instant made a greater call upon his muscles. As it was, he could feel the almost perceptible beginning of the slip when the rope tightened and he looked up into his companionās face. Smoke noted the yellow pallor of sun-tan forsaken by the blood, and wondered what his own complexion was like. But when he saw Carson, with shaking fingers, fumble for his sheath-knife, he decided the end had come. The man was in a funk and was going to cut the rope.
āDonāt m-mind m-m-me,ā the little man chattered. āI aināt scared. Itās only my nerves, goshdang them. Iāll b-b-be all right in a minute.ā
And Smoke watched him, doubled over, his shoulders between his knees, shivering and awkward, holding a slight tension on the rope with one hand while with the other he hacked and gouged holes for his heels in the ice.
āCarson,ā he breathed up to him, āyouāre some bear, some bear.ā
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