Smoke Bellew by Jack London (chrome ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: Jack London
- Performer: -
Book online «Smoke Bellew by Jack London (chrome ebook reader txt) đ». Author Jack London
Cultus George debated with himself. He was no coward. Perhaps this was the extent of their bluff, and if he gave in now he was a fool. And while he debated, Smoke suffered from secret worry lest this stubborn aborigine would persist in being hanged.
âHow much?â said Cultus George.
Smoke started to raise his hand for the signal.
âMe go,â Cultus George said very quickly, before the rope could tighten.
âAnâ when that rescue expedition found me,â Shorty told it in the Annie Mine, âthat ornery Cultus George was the first in, beatinâ Smokeâs sled by three hours, anâ donât you forget it, Smoke comes in second at that. Just the same, it was about time, when I heard Cultus George a-yellinâ at his dogs from the top of the divide, for those blamed Siwashes had ate my moccasins, my mitts, the leather lacinâs, my knife-sheath, anâ some of âem was beginninâ to look mighty hungry at meâme beinâ better nourished, you see.
âAnâ Smoke? He was near dead. He hustled around a while, helpinâ to start a meal for them two hundred sufferinâ Siwashes; anâ then he fell asleep, settinâ on his haunches, thinkinâ he was feedinâ snow into a thawinâ-pail. I fixed him my bed, anâ dang me if I didnât have to help him into it, he was that give out. Sure I win the toothpicks. Didnât them dogs just naturally need the six salmon Smoke fed âem at the nooninâ?â
IX. THE MISTAKE OF CREATION
âWhoa!â Smoke yelled at the dogs, throwing his weight back on the gee-pole to bring the sled to a halt.
âWhatâs eatinâ you now?â Shorty complained. âThey ainât no water under that footing.â
âNo; but look at that trail cutting out to the right,â Smoke answered. âI thought nobody was wintering in this section.â
The dogs, on the moment they stopped, dropped in the snow and began biting out the particles of ice from between their toes. This ice had been water five minutes before. The animals had broken through a skein of ice, snow-powdered, which had hidden the spring water that oozed out of the bank and pooled on top of the three-foot winter crust of Nordbeska River.
âFirst I heard of anybody up the Nordbeska,â Shorty said, staring at the all but obliterated track covered by two feet of snow, that left the bed of the river at right angles and entered the mouth of a small stream flowing from the left. âMebbe theyâre hunters and pulled their freight long ago.â
Smoke, scooping the light snow away with mittened hands, paused to consider, scooped again, and again paused. âNo,â he decided. âThereâs been travel both ways, but the last travel was up that creek. Whoever they are, theyâre there nowâcertain. Thereâs been no travel for weeks. Now whatâs been keeping them there all the time? Thatâs what I want to know.â
âAnd what I want to know is where weâre going to camp tonight,â Shorty said, staring disconsolately at the skyline in the southwest, where the mid-afternoon twilight was darkening into night.
âLetâs follow the track up the creek,â was Smokeâs suggestion. âThereâs plenty of dead timber. We can camp any time.â
âSure we can camp any time, but we got to travel most of the time if we ainât goinâ to starve, anâ we got to travel in the right direction.â
âWeâre going to find something up that creek,â Smoke went on.
âBut look at the grub! Look at them dogs!â Shorty cried. âLook atâoh, hell, all right. You will have your will.â
âIt wonât make the trip a day longer,â Smoke urged. âPossibly no more than a mile longer.â
âMen has died for as little as a mile,â Shorty retorted, shaking his head with lugubrious resignation. âCome on for trouble. Get up, you poor sore-foots, youâget up! Haw! You Bright! Haw!â
The lead-dog obeyed, and the whole team strained weakly into the soft snow.
âWhoa!â Shorty yelled. âItâs pack trail.â
Smoke pulled his snowshoes from under the sled-lashings, bound them to his moccasined feet, and went to the fore to press and pack the light surface for the dogs.
It was heavy work. Dogs and men had been for days on short rations, and few and limited were the reserves of energy they could call upon. Though they followed the creek bed, so pronounced was its fall that they toiled on a stiff and unrelenting up-grade. The high rocky walls quickly drew near together, so that their way led up the bottom of a narrow gorge. The long lingering twilight, blocked by the high mountains, was no more than semi-darkness.
âItâs a trap,â Shorty said. âThe whole look of it is rotten. Itâs a hole in the ground. Itâs the stampinâ-ground of trouble.â
Smoke made no reply, and for half an hour they toiled on in silenceâa silence that was again broken by Shorty.
âSheâs a-workinâ,â he grumbled. âSheâs sure a-workinâ, anâ Iâll tell you if youâre minded to hear anâ listen.â
âGo on,â Smoke answered.
âWell, she tells me, plain anâ simple, that we ainât never goinâ to get out of this hole in the ground in days anâ days. Weâre goinâ to find trouble anâ be stuck in here a long time anâ then some.â
âDoes she say anything about grub?â Smoke queried unsympathetically. âFor we havenât grub for days and days and days and then some.â
âNope. Nary whisper about grub. I guess weâll manage to make out. But I tell you one thing, Smoke, straight anâ flat. Iâll eat any dog in the team exceptinâ Bright. I got to draw the line on Bright. I just couldnât scoff him.â
âCheer up,â Smoke girded. âMy hunch is working overtime. She tells me thereâll be no dogs eaten, and, whether itâs moose or caribou or quail on toast, weâll all fatten up.â
Shorty snorted his unutterable disgust, and silence obtained for another quarter of an hour.
âThereâs the beginning of your trouble,â Smoke said, halting on his snowshoes and staring at an object that lay on one side of the old trail.
Shorty left the gee-pole and joined him, and together they gazed down on the body of a man beside the trail.
âWell fed,â said Smoke.
âLook at them lips,â said Shorty.
âStiff as a poker,â said Smoke, lifting an arm, that, without moving, moved the whole body.
âPick âm up anâ drop âm and heâd break to pieces,â was Shortyâs comment.
The man lay on his side, solidly frozen. From the fact that no snow powdered him, it was patent that he had lain there but a short time.
âThere was a general fall of snow three days back,â said Shorty.
Smoke nodded, bending over the corpse, twisting it half up to face them, and pointing to a bullet wound in the temple. He glanced to the side and tilted his head at a revolver that lay on top of the snow.
A hundred yards farther on they came upon a second body that lay face downward in the trail. âTwo things are pretty clear,â Smoke said. âTheyâre fat. That means no famine. Theyâve not struck it rich, else they wouldnât have committed suicide.â
âIf they did,â Shorty objected.
âThey certainly did. There are no tracks besides their own, and each is powder-burned.â Smoke dragged the corpse to one side and with the toe of his moccasin nosed a revolver out of the snow into which it had been pressed by the body. âThatâs what did the work. I told you weâd find something.â
âFrom the looks of it we ainât started yet. Now whatâd two fat geezers want to kill theirselves for?â
âWhen we find that out weâll have found the rest of your trouble,â Smoke answered. âCome on. Itâs blowing dark.â
Quite dark it was when Smokeâs snowshoe tripped him over a body. He fell across a sled, on which lay another body. And when he had dug the snow out of his neck and struck a match, he and Shorty glimpsed a third body, wrapped in blankets, lying beside a partially dug grave. Also, ere the match flickered out, they caught sight of half a dozen additional graves.
âB-r-r-r,â Shorty shivered. âSuicide Camp. All fed up. I reckon theyâre all dead.â
âNoâpeep at that.â Smoke was looking farther along at a dim glimmer of light. âAnd thereâs another lightâand a third one there. Come on. Letâs hike.â
No more corpses delayed them, and in several minutes, over a hard-packed trail, they were in the camp.
âItâs a city,â Shorty whispered. âThere must be twenty cabins. Anâ not a dog. Ainât that funny!â
âAnd that explains it,â Smoke whispered back excitedly. âItâs the Laura Sibley outfit. Donât you remember? Came up the Yukon last fall on the Port Townsend Number Six. Went right by Dawson without stopping. The steamer must have landed them at the mouth of the creek.â
âSure. I remember. They was Mormons.â
âNoâvegetarians.â Smoke grinned in the darkness. âThey wonât eat meat and they wonât work dogs.â
âItâs all the same. I knowed they was something funny about âem. Had the allwise steer to the yellow. That Laura Sibley was goinâ to take âem right to the spot where theyâd all be millionaires.â
âYes; she was their seeressâhad visions and that sort of stuff. I thought they went up the Nordensjold.â
âHuh! Listen to that!â
Shortyâs hand in the darkness went out warningly to Smokeâs chest, and together they listened to a groan, deep and long drawn, that came from one of the cabins. Ere it could die away it was taken up by another cabin, and anotherâa vast suspiration of human misery. The effect was monstrous and nightmarish.
âB-r-r-r,â Shorty shivered. âItâs gettinâ me goinâ. Letâs break in anâ find whatâs eatinâ âem.â
Smoke knocked at a lighted cabin, and was followed in by Shorty in answer to the âCome inâ of the voice they heard groaning. It was a simple log cabin, the walls moss-chinked, the earth floor covered with sawdust and shavings. The light was a kerosene-lamp, and they could make out four bunks, three of which were occupied by men who ceased from groaning in order to stare.
âWhatâs the matter?â Smoke demanded of one whose blankets could not hide his broad shoulders and massively muscled body, whose eyes were pain-racked and whose cheeks were hollow. âSmallpox? What is it?â
In reply, the man pointed at his mouth, spreading black and swollen lips in the effort; and Smoke recoiled at the sight.
âScurvy,â he muttered to Shorty; and the man confirmed the diagnosis with a nod of the head.
âPlenty of grub?â Shorty asked.
âYep,â was the answer from a man in another bunk. âHelp yourself. Thereâs slathers of it. The cabin next on the other side is empty. Cache is right alongside. Wade into it.â
In every cabin they visited that night they found a similar situation. Scurvy had smitten the whole camp. A dozen women were in the party, though the two men did not see all of them. Originally there had been ninety-three men and women. But ten had died, and two had recently disappeared. Smoke told of finding the two, and expressed surprise that none had gone that short distance down the trail to find out for themselves. What particularly struck him and Shorty was the helplessness of these people. Their cabins were littered and dirty. The dishes stood unwashed on the rough plank tables. There was no mutual aid. A cabinâs troubles were its own troubles, and already they had ceased from the exertion of burying their dead.
âItâs almost weird,â Smoke confided to Shorty. âIâve met shirkers
Comments (0)