Murder Point: A Tale of Keewatin Read online

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE DEAD SOUL SPEAKS OUT

  The Man with the Dead Soul was drunk, heartily and shamelessly drunk;Granger, the contriver of his condition, sat facing him, impatientlywaiting to see whether that was true which the Indians said, that,when drink had subdued his body, his soul returned for a little space.

  The nominal occasion of the carousal was the home-coming of Eyelidsand, as Granger had subtly put it, "the celebration of his ownentrance into the family of Ericsen." However, in a country from whichthere is no means of escape, save through the magic doors ofimagination, and where men get so bored with themselves, and theirenvironment, and one another, that they are willing to seek atemporary release by drinking such noxious drugs as pain-killer,essence of ginger, of peppermint, etc., for the sake of the alcoholwhich they contain, the only excuse necessary for intoxication isopportunity. Spirits of any kind are strictly forbidden in Keewatin,that the Indians may be protected from intemperance; nevertheless,despite all precautions of the Mounted Police, a certain quantityfinds its way up in disguised forms, or smuggled in sacks of flour andbales of traders' merchandise.

  Granger, being well aware that the fool says with his lips what thewise man knows in his heart, had determined that both the menfolk ofhis adopted house should play the fool that night. Whatever Beorn andEyelids might do or say, and however intoxicated they might become, hehad planned for himself that he would keep quite sober, with his witsabout him, that he might recall next day what they had done and saidwhen thus taken off their guard. There were two problems which he wasanxious to solve; the first, the reason for his brother-in-law's longdelay; the second, what it was that they watched for with sucheagerness, and waved to at the bend.

  The latter problem had become still more perplexing since Eyelids'return that morning, for in the afternoon, when they were sittingtogether outside the shack, he also had seen something down-river,and, following his father's and sister's example, had risen to hisfeet, commenced to wave, and, when it had disappeared, had inquired,"Who was that fellow?" Straightway Beorn had scowled him into silence,and Peggy, leaning over, had whispered some words in a Cree-dialect,which Granger did not understand; whereupon an expression of fear andwonder had come into Eyelids' face. When Granger, having taken himapart, had asked him for an explanation, he had only shaken his headstupidly, saying that he must have been mistaken, and that there wasnothing there. This was manifestly false, for during all the remainingportion of the daylight his eyes had kept continually furtivelyreturning down-river towards the bend.

  The fact that he also had seen something, did away with Granger'ssupposition that it was to her brother, lurking in the vicinity, thatPeggy had signalled with her hand--and made him the more curious toknow the real cause. Could it be Spurling, he wondered, who had madea compact with them and lay in hiding there? If that was so, then whathad been the reason of Eyelids' delay,--for he had not stayed tocollect any caches of furs, but had come back empty-handed, walking bythe river-bank. He had watched to see whether anyone had put out fromthe store to leave provisions at the bend; but no one had been there,unless at a time when he slept. His passion to share the secret hadbecome all-consuming, as curiosity must when it works in the mind of alonely man. To this end he had shadowed Eyelids all that day, givinghim no opportunity for private talk with his family, and, finally, hadprepared this trap of a drinking-bout, hoping that someone mightcommit himself. As yet he had this to his advantage, that thehalf-breed, though he had witnessed the signals, was almost asignorant as himself as to their real purport, and was therefore,probably, just as curious.

  They were sitting in a room, empty and comfortless, which was built onto the end of the oblong which comprised the store. Its walls weredamp, and the news-papers, with which they had been covered, saggeddown from the boards like monstrous goitres. It had one window, whichlooked riverwards, across whose panes, dust and cobweb smirched, amuslin curtain had been hung by a previous agent, who was reputed tohave drunk himself to death. This was its only attempt at decoration,save for a faded photo of a girl attired in early Victorian dress,across the right-hand corner of which was scrawled, "Yours, with love,from Gertrude." She looked a good girl, and Granger felt sorry for herbecause, by the ordinary laws of nature, she had probably been deadfor many years; and he also felt sorry for her because he was certainthat the man who had placed her picture there had gone away anddisappointed her in her love.

  Perhaps he had been the agent who, sitting there night after night,gazing upon her portrait, torturing himself with memories of thehappiness which he had lost, had drunk himself to death. If that wasso, she had had her revenge. Going closer, he saw that thephotographer's name was recorded there, "Joseph Dean, New Bedford,Mass." So she had been a New Englander, and her lover, whoever he was,had probably started life as a sailor in the whaling fleet which atthat time set out annually from New Bedford for the North. In Keewatinthe memories of men for their neighbours, especially if they happen tobe private traders, are very short.

  The room contained little furniture. There was a wooden shelf, knockedtogether out of packing-cases, which ran along one side of the walland had probably done service as a bed. There was an upturned box, onwhich a man might seat himself; and a low three-legged stool whichwould serve as a table--that was all. In imitation of the no morelavish accommodation set apart for single men at the Hudson BayCompany's forts, the room was commonly known as Bachelors' Hall. Thedoor was fast-shut; the curtain was half-drawn before the window,shutting out the long-tarrying June twilight; the three men had beenthere together for four hours, and as yet nothing of importance hadtranspired, and no word had been spoken.

  Eyelids, with his lashless lids (hence his sobriquet) half-closed,squatted on the floor, Indian fashion, directing his pipe to his mouthwith uncertain hand. The other hand fumbled continually in hisbreast, as if he kept something hidden there. Granger wondered what itwas.

  Beorn sprawled his great length of legs along the shelf, his back andhead resting against the wall. His eyes were very bright, and a longand ugly scar, which extended from the right of his forehead to hislower jaw, and which Granger did not remember to have noticed before,showed swollen and red through the tangled mass of his grey beard. Hispipe also was in his mouth, but his hand was still steady. Under theinfluence of drink a new intentness had come into his face, all hisfeatures seemed to be more keen and pointed. Every now and again hewould remove his pipe, as if he were about to break into speech; then,either through laziness or from the tyranny of his habitual caution,he would replace it and, as it seemed to Granger, relapse intomemories. He watched him closely, and he thought he saw the elation ofold successes, and emotions of forgotten defeats, flit across hiscountenance. Granger himself was quite sober, having only pretended todrink; if he sat a trifle huddled on his box and lurched unsteadily,it was only that he might keep his companions unsuspicious.

  On the crazy little stool between them stood a candle from which thewax occasionally dripped, so that for a moment the flame would diedown, causing the shadows to shorten. A jam-jar did service as atumbler; there was one between the three of them, which meant thatthey had to drink quickly in order not to keep the next man waiting.Granger served out the whisky, and he served it neat--when men areintent on getting drunk they do not procrastinate by adding water.

  Eyelids was getting more and more peaceful and foolish, smiling firstto himself and then slily to Granger, as though he had some very happyknowledge which he was burning to communicate. At last he pulled outhis hand from his shirt, and there was something in it. Beorn, raisedthree feet from the floor on his shelf, could not see what his son wasdoing, nor did he care; he was reliving the past, when there was noEyelids.

  But Granger watched; the fingers opened a trifle and revealed theshining of something yellow. Quick as thought, before the fingerscould close over it again, he pretended to lose his balance, and,shooting out his foot as if to save himself, sent the yellow lumpflying from the half-breed's palm. It shot
into the air, fell with athud, and rolled scintillating into the darkness across the boardedfloor. Before he could be detained, Granger had sprung after it andheld it in his hand. He faced round, ready to defend himself; butthere was no necessity. Eyelids, having attempted to rise and havingfound that his legs would not carry him, had sunk back to hissquatting position on the floor, where he was smiling foolishly andnodding his head as much as to say, "I've been telling you allevening, but you would not believe me; now I have proved my word!"

  Beorn was sitting upright on his shelf, looking at him keenly. AsGranger approached, he held out his hand; Granger placed the yellowlump in it.

  "Gold," he cried, and his eyes flashed; "a river nugget!" Thenweighing it carefully, "Three ounces," he said; "it's worth aboutforty dollars."

  "How do you know that?" asked Granger. "Was it river gold that youfound on the Comstock? I thought that it was quartz."

  "It was quartz afterwards, but nuggets and dust first." Then,remembering himself, he asked suspiciously, "But what d'you know aboutit?"

  "I ought to know something," Granger replied, speaking thickly andshamming intoxication; "I ought to know something; I was one of thefirst men in on the Klondike gold-rush."

  "Damn it! So you were one of the Klondike men? Tell me about it."

  Granger had intended to spin him a yarn about great bonanzas in Yukon,which he had discovered. It was to have been a hard-luck tale ofclaims which had been stolen, and claims which had been jumped, andclaims which had been given away for a few pounds of flour or slicesof bacon in crises of starvation; but in the presence of the old man'seagerness, and with the shining nugget of temptation between them, hedrifted unconsciously into straight talk and told him his own truestory.

  At first, while he was feeling his way, he gave the history of BobbieHenderson, and Siwash George, and Skookum Jim, the real discoverers ofthe Klondike; and of how Bobbie Henderson was done out of his share,so that he still remained a poor man and prospector when others, whohad come into the Yukon years later, had worked their claims, grownwealthy, and departed. Then he recited the Iliad of the stampede fromForty-Mile, when the rumour had spread abroad that Siwash George hadfound two-dollars-fifty to the pan at the creek which he had named"Bonanza"; how drunken men were thrown into open boats, and men whorefused to credit the report were bound hand and foot with ropes bytheir friends and compelled to go along, lest they should lose thechance of a lifetime; and how, where to-day Forty-Mile had been anoisy town, to-morrow it was silent and deserted, with none left savea few old men and sickly women to tell the story.

  To all of this Beorn listened with small attention, for he keptmuttering to himself, "But how did he know that there was gold there?How did he discover it?" Granger wondered to whom he was referring--tohis own son, to Siwash George, or to someone else; but he dared notask him a leading question lest his suspicion should be aroused. Hewent on with his narration feverishly, forgetting in his excitementhis resolution to keep sober, emptying the tumbler of whiskyrecklessly, turn and turn about with his companion, waiting andwatching to see whether, in the Indian phrase, the dead soul wouldreturn. When he commenced to speak of himself, of his passage fromSkaguay to Dawson, of the wealth which he found and lost at Drunkman'sShallows, and of his flight, Beorn became interested; his eyes blazedand every few seconds he would give him encouragement, ejaculatinghoarsely, "Go on. Go on."

  So he carried his history to an end with a rush, for now he knew thatthe dead soul had come back. He finished with the sentence, "And thenI went to Wrath, for I was nearly starving. 'For God's sake, man, giveme some employment,' I said. 'I can't steal; they'd put me in gaol forthat, and so I should disgrace my mother. And I can't cut throats forbread, for then I should get hanged. But, if I have to endure thisagony much longer, I shall do both.' And his reply was to send me uphere, to this ice-cold hell of snow and silence, to mind his store andwatch the Last Chance River flowing on and on, until the day of mydeath. God curse the reptile and his charity."

  The Man with the Dead Soul turned his head aside and there was silencefor a moment. Then, bending down and having assured himself thatEyelids was asleep. "I've known all that," he said; "but, unlike you,I did more 'an intend--I killed my man. I guess you an' I are o' onefamily now, so there's no harm in tellin'. I don't just remember whoyou are, nor how we happen to be here this night; but you placed thatgold in my hand, so I reckon you're all right. You ain't a Mormon, areyou?" he asked abruptly.

  Granger, taken aback by the question, smiled slowly and shook hishead.

  "Well, then, I'd have you to know," Beorn continued, "that I wasbrought up in the Mormon faith. One o' the earliest memories I have iso' the massacre o' the Latter-Day Saints at Gallatin, when GovernorBoggs issued his order that we should be exterminated an' driven out.I can still see the soldiery ridin' up an' down, pillagin' our city,insultin' our womenfolk, an' cuttin' down our men. I can just rememberthe misery o' the winter through which we fled, an' the tightness o'my mother's arms about me as we crossed the Mississippi, goin' intoIllinois for safety. From my earliest childhood my mind has bin madeaccustomed to travellin's, an' privations, an' deeds o' blood. That'sthe sort o' man I am.

  "It was six years after the Gallatin affair, when our city o' Nauvoohad been founded, that the mob once more rose agin us an' murdered ourprophets, an' placed our lives in danger. Again we fled, crossin' theMississippi on the ice, till we gained a breathin' space at CouncilBluffs. A year after that, under Brigham Young, we passed through theRockies to the Great Salt Lake an' came to rest. All this persecootioncaused our people to become a hard an' bitter race; but I'd have beentrue to 'em if it hadn't bin for my mother, an' the manner o' herdeath. How did she die? Don't ask me, for I can't tell you. She was aSwede, a kind o' white slave, who was kept with several other women bymy father. She went out one day, an' never came back. I believe she'dgot heartsick, an' was plannin' t' escape with a feller o' her ownnationality, a newcomer. Anyhow, when I asked my father about her, hethreatened me into silence. He was a priest o' the order o'Melchizedek, a powerful man among the prophets. From that hour I hatedMormonism, an' determined t' escape whenever my chance occurred. Itcame sooner 'an I expected.

  "The Californian gold-rush had robbed the Saints o' the seaboard towhich they was hopin' to lay claim. They began to get nervous lest thesouthern territories, from Salt Lake to the Mexican frontier, mightalso be lost to 'em if they didn't do something so they organised theState of Deseret, an' sent out expeditions to take it up before itcould fall into the Gentiles' hands. My father, I believe, had grown'fraid o' me, lest I should take his life; so he had me included inthe first expedition, which consisted o' eighty men, an' was sent togarrison a Mormon station in Carson Valley, Nevada.

  "I've allaws had a nose for gold, an' we hadn't bin there a monthbefore I'd discovered an' washed out a little dust from a neighbourin'gulch. I kept my secret to myself, an' when I'd gathered enough,bought provisions, stole a horse, an' ran away, escapin' over theSierras into California, where I hoped that the Mormons, an'especially my father, would lose all trace o' me an' give me up fordead. For eight years I drifted along the coast from camp to camp,but didn't have much luck. I even went so far south as Mexico, where Ilaboured in the silver mines an' learned the Mexican method o'crushin' quartz with arrastras.

  "All this time I was haunted by the memory o' the gold which I'dwashed out in Carson Valley; the more I thought about it, the morecertain I was that untold riches lay buried there. However, I wasfearful to return, lest I should fall into the clutches o' thepriesthood o' Melchizedek or o' the spies o' Brigham Young. I was anapostate, an' my father was my enemy; I knew that, should I once berecovered by the Mormons, no mercy would be shown me. At last the newscame that the struggle o' the Saints for possession o' Nevada had beengiven up, an' that messengers had bin sent out from Salt Lake biddin'all emigrants return. For eight years I'd bin unmolested; I thoughtthat I'd bin forgotten, an' that it was safe to turn my stepseastward.

  "I travelled day an
' night to get back to my first discovery; I wastortured wi' the thought that before I got there someone might haverediscovered it, an' have staked it out. I'd crossed the Sierras, an'was within a two-days' journey o' my destination, when I came to alonely valley as the sun was settin', an' there I camped. The placelooked God-forsaken; there was nothin' in sight but rocks, an' sand,an' sage-brush. I lit my fire, an' tethered my horse, an', beingdog-tired, was soon asleep. Suddenly I woke up, an' was conscious o'footsteps goin' stealthily, away from me into the darkness. I jumpedto my feet an' seized my gun; but my eyes were dazed with sleep an'firelight so that I could see nothin'. I ran out into the shadows,followin' the footsteps, but, before I could come up with 'em, theirsound had changed to that o' a horse, gallopin' northward, growin'fainter and fainter.

  "I returned to my camp an' examined my baggage; nothin' was missin',not even the gold which I'd carried--all seemed safe. I sat up an'watched till daybreak, an', havin' snatched a hasty breakfast,commenced t' pack my animal. Then it was that I discovered, slippedbeneath a strap o' my saddle, a sheet o' paper. Unfoldin' it, I sawthat it was scrawled over in a rude an' almost unreadable hand. Thiswas what it said, 'This demand of ours shall remain uncancelled, an'shall be to you as was the Ark o' God among the Philistines. Unlessyou return to your father's house an' to the people o' your father'sfaith, you shall be visited by the Lord o' Hosts wi' thunder an' wi'earthquakes, wi' floods, wi' pestilence, wi' famine, an' wi'bloodshed, until the day of your death, when your name shall not beknown among men.'

  "I was seized with panic, for then I knew that the spies o' Mormon hadtraced me. But I wouldn't turn back, for I knew that the treasure forwhich I had waited, as Jacob waited for Rachel, lay straight ahead. SoI rode forward, tremblin' as I went, carryin' my gun in my hand. Atthe end o' the second day I came t' Johntown, an' found that manythings had changed since I had left. There were a dozen shanties inthe town; these were occupied wi' gamblers, storekeepers, an'liquor-sellers, includin' two white women an' Sarah Winnemucca, thePiute princess. But the placer-miners had been at work, an' thegulches were dotted with the tents an' dugouts o' men who haddiscovered my secret for themselves. Thomas Paige Comstock was in thegang, the man who gave his name to the first great strike. Theycalled 'im Old Pancake, 'cause he was too busy searchin' for gold tobake bread. Even at that time, as wi' spoon in hand he stirred thepancake batter, he kept his eyes on the crest o' some distant peak,an' was lost in dreams o' avarice.

  "I hadn't bin there long before I took up wi' a feller named PeterO'Riley, an' we became pards. We determined to try our luck in theWalker River Mountains, where some new placers had bin started; but wehadn't got the money, so we agreed t' work a claim in Six-Mile Canontill we'd taken out enough dust t' pay for an outfit. We dug a trenchstraight up the hillside, by Old Man Caldwell's Spring, through blueclay an' a yellowish kind o' gravel. But the spring wasted down theslope, so we stopped work on the trench an' commenced to sink a pit tocollect the water an' make a reservoir. We hadn't sunk more 'an fourfeet when we struck a darker an' heavier soil, which sparkled as weshovelled it above ground. We washed out a panful, an' found that thebottom was fairly covered in gold. This was the top o' the famousOphir, had we only known it. We jumped to our feet an' shouted, for itwas the richest placer that had as yet bin found. We gave up ournotion o' the Walker River, an' I began to laugh int' myself at theMormon threat, that I should suffer from all the plagues o' Egypt, an'die an unknown man. We were rich--rich--rich.

  "Just as we were finishin' our day's work, Old Pancake rides up. He'dbin lookin' for a mustang that he'd lost, an' came gallopin' over theridge, with his long legs brushin' the sage tops. We tried to hide ourdiscovery, but his eyes were too sharp for that. He saw the gold fromour last clean-up glistenin' in the bottom o' the pan, as the sunsetlit on it. 'You've struck it, boys,' he cried.

  "Jumpin' from his horse, he went down into the pit t' examine forhisself. He stayed down there some time; when he come up his face wasgrave. He'd done a lot of thinkin' in a very short while. He sat downon the hillside, an' was silent for so long that we began to suspectthere was somethin' up.

  "At last he said, 'Now, see here, boys, this spring was old manCaldwell's. I an' Manny Penrod bought his claim last winter, an' wesold a tenth to Old Virginia th' other day. If you two fellers'll letManny an' myself in on equal shares, it's all right; if not, it's allwrong.'

  "We were a bit afraid o' Old Pancake; he'd bin longer in the district'an we had. We didn't think to doubt his word, though, as weafterwards discovered, every word that he spoke was false. Anyhow,after a lot 'o argiment, we agreed to let him an' Manny Penrod in onthe terms which he'd suggested. That was the beginnin' o' the Johntowngold-rush, an' I, for the second time, was one o' the discoverers. Atfirst we named the place Pleasant Hill Camp, an' I can tell you it wasmighty pleasant to be takin' out a thousand dollars a day per man. Butlater, when a city commenced t' spring up, it was necessary t' findsome other name. We quarrelled a good deal about what we'd call it;but one night, when Old Virginia was goin' home with the boys drunk,carryin' a bottle o' whisky in 'is hand, he stumbled as he reached hiscabin, an' the bottle fell an' was broke. Risin' to his knees, withthe neck o' the bottle held fast in 'is hand, he coughed out, 'Ibaptise this ground Virginia town.' An' so Virginia town, which wasafterwards changed t' city, the handful o' shanties was named.

  "For all that my prospects were lookin' so rosy, I was really havin'bad luck. Day after day, I was throwin' away wagon-loads o' 'bluestuff,' as all th' other miners were doin', an' as those who had gonebefore us had done--we damned it, an' didn't know its value. A monthafter I'd sold out, a feller had some o' it assayed, an' it was foundto be worth nearly seven thousand dollars in gold an' silver per ton.

  "I guess that curse o' the Mormons was more powerful 'an it seemed atfirst sight--it's followed me through life an' ruined all the men withwhom I've come in touch. Old Virginia was thrown from his horse, an'killed while drunk. O'Riley sold out his share for forty thousanddollars, the bulk o' which he spent in wildcat speculations, so that,what wi' disappointment an' loss, he finished out his days in amadhouse. Penrod sold for eight thousand, an' soon spent everything hehad. Old Pancake sold for eleven thousand, an' lost every dollar.Then, gettin' sick o' seein' other fellers grow rich out o' what hadbin his, he wandered off prospecting an' blew out his brains wi' hisown gun in the mountains o' Montana. A chap named Hansard, one o' ourfirst millionaires, died a pauper an' was buried at the publicexpense. As for myself, you can see what I've become--the Man wi' theDead Soul."

  He paused, and looked round at Granger. "_The Man wi' the Dead Soul_,"he repeated, "that's what I am. When I die, my name will not be knownamong men."

  "I don't suppose there's any of us'll be remembered long," saidGranger. "There's a man out there on the bend; I was at Oxford withhim. He was one of the finest oars that England ever had. The paperswere full of him once. A sporting edition never came out but . . ."

  He was interrupted. "Pass the whisky," Beorn said; "if we're goin' tobe forgot, it don't much matter what we do or have done; an' we may aswell forget."

  He swallowed the spirit greedily at one quick gulp. "Where'd I got to?Oh, yes, I'd sold out my claim for money down, an' made a fool o'myself. You see I thought that my find was a gash-vein an' would soonpeter out, an' that I was doin' somethin' mighty clever to sell atall. Instead o' which, I'd only skimmed the surface an' hadn't gonedeep enough. The men who bought from us sank down till they came tothe main lode, an' then there was the discovery o' what that 'bluestuff,' which we'd bin throwin' away, was really worth; from them twocauses came the Washoe gold-rush. You never saw anythin' like that,not even in the Klondike. It was maddenin' for me to stand by an'watch these men, who'd come from a thousand miles east an' west, justt' handle the pickin's o' the wealth which I had once possessed an'hadn't had the sense to know about. They lived in tents, an' huts, an'holes in the hillsides, an' paid seventy-five cents for a pound o'flour, in the hopes that, when the summer 'ad come, they migh
t get achance to prospect.

  "Before winter 'ad gone, they was leadin' strings o' mules across themountains, on blankets spread above the snow, that they might getprovisions in an' prevent us from starvin'. An' I, the feller asthey'd come to rob, had to sit still an' watch it all.

  "Before the roads were fit for travel, all the world was journeyin'towards us. There were Irishmen, pushin' wheelbarrows; an' Mexicanswith burros; an' German miners, an' French, an' English, an' Swedes,ploddin' through the mud across the Sierras with their tools upontheir backs; there were organ-grinders an' Jew pedlars, an' womendressed as men, all comin' to Virginia City to claim the gold which I'ad lost. I sat every day idly watchin' their approach, an' I hatedthem. I'd begun to believe in the Mormon's curse, an' to let thingsslide. There didn't seem to be much sense in stakin' out a newclaim--if I made another fortune, I felt certain that I'd surely loseit all.

  "Along wi' the adventurers an' prospectors came desperadoes, whointended to make their fortune at the gun's point, by shootin'straight! There was the Tombstone Terror, an' the Bad Man from Bodie,an' Sam Brown, the greatest bully o' them all. One night a half-wittedfeller asked him how many men he'd chopped. 'Ninety-nine,' says Sam,'an' you're the hundredth.' He seizes him by the neck an' rips him topieces wi' his bowie-knife. Then he lay down an' went to sleep on thebilliard table, while the father gathered up what remained o' his sonfrom the floor.

  "An' there was El Dorado Johnny, who, whenever he was goin' to shoot aman, bought a new suit o' clothes an' had a shave, an' got his haircut an' his boots polished so that, in case there was any mistake, hemight make a handsome corpse. These were some o' the men that I livedamong, an', like God, I said nothin' to any of 'em, but watched an'was interested in 'em all.

  "I suppose I enjoyed myself, for I couldn't help laughin' quietly attheir expense. 'What went ye out for to seek?' I would ask as, sittin'by the outskirts o' the town, I saw this army o' men an' womenstruggle in from the mountain trail. An' then I'd answer myself, 'Wehave come that we may dig out gold, that others may take it from us.We have come to exchange our health an' hope for disease an'disappointment. We have come to gain all the world, which we shall notgain--an' to lose our own souls.'

  "I tell you, it's mighty strange to think o' where all the gold, whichthose brave chaps o' the Old Virginia days dug out, has gone. Some o'it's been made into a necklace t' hang about a lady's throat; and someo' it's gone to Rome t' gild a cross; and some o' it's been made intoa weddin' ring that a young girl might get married. I don't supposethe folk in the old lands ever think of how far the gold which theywear has travelled, nor how many have died in its gettin'. Some, which'as bin made into a watch and goes to the city every day, may havecome from King Solomon's mines in ships o' Tarshish; an' the king mayhave worn it hisself in his temple, or have given it away to thedark-skinned girl that he wrote that song about.

  "When I thought o' these things in Old Virginia, it made me sort o'happy, so that I didn't mind what the Mormons 'ad said. Time seemed soendless, an' life so short, that I didn't seem called on to worrymyself--only t' watch. If I found a new claim which panned out rich, Ididn't work it myself; for I knew that, though I seemed lucky, Ishould end unlucky. An' I didn't tell anyone else about it; an' ifthey found it out for theirselves, I was angry. I'd found the Ophir,an' hadn't made anythin' out o' it--that was a big enough present forone man to make to his world.

  "So I just looked on, an' saw the fools rushin' in who expected topile up fortunes. And I saw the camels comin' in an' out, carryin'salt to Virginia from the desert. They'd bin brought from Asia, an' Icould see that they felt as I felt, an' despised the greed an' hurryo' what was goin' on. Later some of 'em got so disgusted that theyescaped from their drivers--at that time they was bein' used inArizona t' carry ore. I've often smiled when I've fancied the terroro' some lone prospector, should one o' them long-legged brutes poke uphis nose above a ridge where gold had just been found, and sniffscornfully down on the feller. Some o' them camels may be still livin'an' doin' it at this very minute."

  Beorn opened his jaws wide and laughed. Granger had never heard himlaugh before, and the sound was not pleasant. There was nothing ofmirth about the man or in anything that he said--there was onlydisappointment and scorn. His bitterness became horrible when hepretended to be merry. "He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh;the Lord shall have them in derision." It was like the thunderousscoffing of the Lord God of the Hebrews.

  The candle had gone out, and the eerie light of the northland dawn,drifting into the room through the little space of window that wasuncovered, made him and his companion look old and comfortless. But hewas anxious to hear the last of the story before the soul departed, sohe said, "And how was it that you left the Comstock Mines and cameinto Keewatin?"

  "I told you that I'd done what you intended, that I killed a man. Idid more 'an that, I killed many. You see, at that time there was noproper minin' law in America; so when men got t'quarrellin', theysoon took t' fightin'. So long as the Comstock was onlyplacer-minin', we knew what we were about, an' there was notrespassin', but when we took t' tunnelling', it wasn't long before wewas borin' under one another's ledges. The Comstock veins, startin'near the surface, dipped toward the west, an' therefore the firstgreat conflict came with the nearest line o' claims t' the westward.The ledges here were very rich an' almost perpendicular, an' so theslopin' shafts o' the Ophir, Mexican, etc., soon ran int' the verticalshafts on the 'middle lead.'

  "The earliest case t' be tried, which I remember, was that o' theOphir against McCall. The court met in a stable, an' each side comearmed. One witness was shot at several times as he was ridin'homeward, down a ravine at nightfall. Party spirit ran too high, an'the danger o' bringin' in a unanimous verdict was too great for anyjury t' risk their lives by comin' to an agreement. There was nojustice; so there was nothin' left but to fight it out, the same aswhen nations go to war. An' what were they goin' to fight about? Ametal which was only val'able because o' its rarity--which had novalue in itself, an' couldn't help men t' godliness; one which youcouldn't make an engine out o', nor a plough, nor even a sword,because it was too soft. But in order to possess it, they was goin' totake each other's lives. I, an' every other man in that town, hadthrown away or were throwin' away our souls for a thing which wastruly worthless.

  "One night as I slept, I heard a voice callin' to me an' sayin', 'Iwill make a man more precious than gold; even a man than the goldenwedge o' Ophir. Therefore I will shake the heavens, an' the earthshall remove out o' her place, in th' wrath o' the Lord o' Hosts, an'in the day o' his fierce anger.' I heard that voice callin' to me notonce, but several times; an' when I woke up, an' walked through thetown, an' saw the men o' the Ophir preparin' to shoot down the men o'the McCall, I could still hear the voice repeating, 'Even a man thanthe golden wedge o' Ophir.'

  "I went back to my shanty, an' found my Bible, an' read it many days,never stirrin' out. I remember there was one passage that seemed toaccuse myself, an' to explain my own failure--'If I have made gold myhope, or have said to the fine gold, "Thou art my confidence"; if Irejoiced because my wealth was great, an' because mine hand had gottenmuch; if I beheld the sun when it shined, or the moon walkin' inbrightness, an' my heart hath been secretly enticed, or my mouth hathkissed my hand: this also were an iniquity to be punished by thejudge, for I should have denied the God that is above.'

  "I'd done all that. When I'd looked at the sun, I'd seen gold; whenI'd looked at the moon, I'd thought of silver; an' when I'd found boththe silver an' the gold in the Ophir, by Old Man Caldwell's Spring, mymouth had kissed my own hand--an' not God's. An' what I'd done, everyone else was doin' in Virginia City; an' the Lord o' Hosts was angry,an' that was why men were killin' one another. So, when I'd sat stillan' figured it all out, I said, 'God spoke to me because I'm the oneman on the Comstock who, when he's found gold, tries to bury it; an'He spoke to me because He wants me to join with Him, an' help Him toshake the heavens.' So out I walked, day after day, an' watched thingsgrowin
' from bad to worse; an' when I'd seen all I wanted, I comehome an' read my Bible--I knew that when God had need o' me He wouldsend His messenger.

  "One night a miner come to my cabin, an' he said, 'Are you ready tofight for the Fair-Haired Annie?'

  "'I'm ready,' I said, 'but what's it all about?'

  "'From a drift, a hundred feet down,' said he, 'that we're workin' onat present, we can hear the picks o' the Bloody Thunder drawin' neareran' nearer; they'll break through to-morrer into one o' our ledges.'

  "'What then?' I asked.

  "'We're goin' to have a band o' men waitin' for 'em in the dark on ourside o' the ledge, an' everyone o' those men is goin' to be armed. Themoment that the picks o' the Bloody Thunder drive through an' the wallgoes down, the men o' the Fair-Haired Annie are goin' to fire.'

  "'All right,' I said. 'I'm wi' you. I'll be there.'

  "So next day I, an' twenty other men, were lowered down the shaft; an'before we saw daylight again, the Fair-Haired Annie an' the BloodyThunder had gone to war. That was the first o' the underground fightswhich took place on the Comstock. I picked my men, and paid 'em tendollars a day, an' called my gang 'The Avengers o' the Lord.' No one'cept myself knew what that meant, but they learnt t' fear us, for wefought to the death. Often when I was waitin' in the dark, listenin'to the sound o' the rival miners comin' nearer, I would repeat tomyself the words, 'I will make a man more precious 'an gold; even aman than the golden wedge o' Ophir.' An' when a poor chap lay dyin', Iwould say to him those words."

  "So you were sorry for the men you killed?"

  "Oh, I was sorry, though that did small good to 'em. When the Lord'sbent on destroyin', He don't take much account o' persons. When thefirst born o' Egypt were slain, He killed the evil wi' thegood--served 'em all alike. But it's heart-breakin' work to be made anavenger o' the Lord."

  "But I don't understand. What was there to avenge?"

  "What was there to avenge? Why, the sinfulness o' those men, who wasdiggin' out the power an' temptation to sin from the place where Godhad hidden it. He meant that it should stay there forever; but nowit'll be handed down from generation to generation, as is KingSolomon's gold, temptin' our sons' sons to lose their souls as ourswere lost."

  "And when all the fighting was done, did the soldiers get after you?"asked Granger. But Beorn's eyes were closing, and the soul wasdeparting as day returned. Already the sun was leaping above thehorizon, and the sigh of the waking forest was heard. Granger seizedhim by the arm and shook him--he had learnt only the least part ofthat which he desired to know. "Was it for that crime that you fled,till you came at last to Keewatin for safety?" he shouted. "Quick,Beorn, tell me. Why did you go to the Forbidden River?"

  The eyes did not open; but, as if the soul were answering him with alast warning as it passed out of the door of the body, the lipsstirred, "Ay, man, it's terrible--the things men give for gold."

  The face had become so ashy pale that Granger bent above it, painfullylistening for the intake of the breath, to assure himself that Beornwas not dead. His clamour had aroused Eyelids; looking down towardshim, he saw that his eyes were wide and motionless, gazing towardsthe window with an expression of drunken terror.

  "What's the matter?" he asked sharply.

  The half-breed did not reply, but crouched and pointed with his hand.

  Granger, turning his head and following the direction indicated,looked towards the triangle of uncovered window-pane, and there sawthe face of a man, gazing hungrily in upon him--yet, not upon him, butupon the nugget which lay sparkling by Beorn's side upon the shelf. Itwas a face that seemed dimly familiar, but thinner and more haggard.At first it seemed to be his own face--the face of that _self_ fromwhich he had fled. Then he recognized, and knew that Spurling hadreturned.