Authors: Robert W Service
"Yes," I said; "not quite so good as we expected, but we'll all have a tidy
sum."
"I'm glad. Well, I suppose you'll go outside this Fall."
"No, I think I'll stay in. You see, we've the Gold Hill property, which looks
promising; and then we have two claims on Ophir."
"Oh, Ophir! I don't
think you'll ever take a fortune out of Ophir. I bought a claim there the other
day. The man pestered me, so I gave him five thousand for it, just to get rid of
him. It's eight below."
"Why," I said, "that's the claim I staked and got beaten out of."
"You don't say so. Well, now, that's too bad. I bought it from a man named
Spankiller; his brother's a clerk in the gold office. Tell you what I'll do.
I'll let you have it for the five thousand I gave for it."
"No," I answered, "I don't think I want it now."
"All right; think it over, anyway. If you should change your mind, let me
know. Well, I must go. I've got to get into town to-night. That's my mule-train
back there on the trail. I've got pretty nearly ten thousand ounces over
there."
I looked and saw the mules with the gold-packs slung over their backs. There
were four men to guard them, and it seemed to me that in one of these men I
recognised the little wizened figure of the Worm.
I shivered.
"Yes, I've done pretty well," he continued; "but it don't make any
difference. I spend it as fast as I get it. A month ago I didn't have enough
ready cash to pay my cigar bill, yet I could have gone to the bank and borrowed
a hundred thousand. It was there in the dump. Oh, it's a rum business this
mining. Well, good-bye."
He was turning to go when, suddenly, he stopped.
"Oh, by the way, I
saw a friend of yours before I left. No need to mention names, you lucky dog.
When's the big thing coming off? Well, I must congratulate you again. She looks
sweeter than ever. By-by."
He was off, leaving a very sinister impression on my mind. In his parting
smile there was a trace of mockery that gravely disquieted me. I had thought
much of Berna during the past few months, but as the gold fever took hold of me
I put her more and more from my mind. I told myself that all this struggle was
for her. In the thought that she was safe I calmed all anxious fear. Sometimes
by not thinking so much of dear ones, one can be more thoughtful of them. So it
was with me. I knew that all my concentration of effort was for her sake, and
would bring her nearer to me. Yet at Locasto's words all my old longing and
heartache vehemently resurged.
In spite of myself, I was the prey of a growing uneasiness. Things seemed
vastly different, now success had come to me. I could not bear to think of her
working in that ambiguous restaurant, rubbing shoulders with its unspeakable
habitues. I wondered how I had ever deceived myself into thinking it was all
right. I began to worry, so that I knew only a trip into Dawson would satisfy
me. Accordingly, I hired a big Swede to take my place at the shovel, and set out
once more on the hillside trail for town.
I found the town more animated than ever, the streets more populous, the
gaiety more unrestrained. Everywhere were flaunting signs of a plethoric wealth.
The anxious Cheechako had vanished from the scene, and the victorious miner
masqueraded in his place. He swaggered along in the glow of the Spring sunshine,
a picture of perfect manhood, bronzed and lean and muscular. He was brimming
over with the exuberance of health. He had come into town to "live" things, to
transmute this yellow dust into happiness, to taste the wine of life, to know
the lips of flame.
It was the day of the Man with the Poke. He was King. The sheer animalism of
him overflowed in midnight roysterings, in bacchanalian revels, in debauches
among the human debris of the tenderloin.
Every one was waiting for him, to fleece him, rob him, strip him. It was also
the day of the man behind the bar, of the gambler, of the harpy.
My strange, formless fears for Berna were soon set at rest. She was awaiting
me. She looked better than I had ever seen her, and she welcomed me with an
eager delight that kindled me to rapture.
"Just think of it," she said, "only two weeks, and we'll be together for
always. It seems too good to be true. Oh, my dear, how can I ever love you
enough? How happy we are
going to be, aren't we?"
"We're going to be happier than any two people ever were before," I assured
her.
We crossed the Yukon to the green glades of North Dawson, and there, on a
little rise, we sat down, side by side. How I wish I could put into words the
joy that filled my heart! Never was lad so happy as I. I spoke but little, for
love's silences are sweeter than all words. Well, well I mind me how she looked:
just like a picture, her hands clasped on her lap, her eyes star-bright,
angel-sweet, mother-tender. From time to time she would give me a glance so full
of trust and love that my heart would leap to her, and wave on wave of
passionate tenderness come sweeping over me.
It may be there was something humble in my stintless adoration; it may be I
was like a child for the pleasure of her nearness; it may be my eyes told all
too well of the fire that burned within me, but O, the girl was kind, gentler
than forgiveness, sweeter than all heaven. Caressingly she touched my hair. I
kissed her fingers, kissed them again and again; and then she lifted my hand to
her lips, and I felt her kiss fall upon it. How wondrously I tingled at the
touch. My hand seemed mine no longera consecrated thing. Proud, happy me!
"Yes," she went on, "doesn't it seem as if we were dreaming? You know, I
always thought it was a dream, and now it's coming true. You'll take me away
from this place, won't you, boy?far, far away.
I'll tell you now, dear, I've borne it all for your
sake, but I don't think I could bear it any longer. I would rather die than sink
in the mire, and yet you can't imagine how this life affects one. It's sad, sad,
but I don't get shocked at things in the way I used to. You know, I sometimes
think a girl, no matter how good, sweet, modest to begin with, placed in such
surroundings could fall gradually."
I agreed with her. Too well I knew I was becoming calloused to the evils
around me. Such was the insidious corruption of the gold-camp, I now regarded
with indifference things that a year ago I would have shrunk from with
disgust.
"Well, it will be all over very soon, won't it, dear? I don't know what I'd
have done if it hadn't been for the rough miners. They've been so kind to me.
When they saw I was straight and honest they couldn't be good enough. They
shielded me in every way, and kept back the other kind of men. Even the women
have been my friends and helped me."
She looked at me archly.
"And, you know, I've had ever so many offers of marriage, too, from honest,
rough, kindly menand I've refused them ever so gracefully."
"Has Locasto ever made any more overtures?"
Her face grew grave.
"Yes, about a month ago he besieged me, gave me no rest, made all kinds of
proposals and promises. He wanted to divorce his 'outside' wife and marry me. He
wanted to settle a hundred thousand dollars on me. He tried everything in his
power to force
me to
his will. Then, when he saw it was no use, he turned round and begged me to let
him be my friend. He spoke so nicely of you. He said he would help us in any way
he could. He's everything that's kind to me now. He can't do enough for me. Yet,
somehow, I don't trust him."
"Well, my precious," I assured her, "all danger, doubt, despair, will soon be
over. Locasto and the rest of them will be as shadows, never to haunt my little
girl again. The Great, Black North will fade away, will dissolve into the land
of sunshine and flowers and song. You will forget it."
"The Great Black North.I will never forget it, and I will always bless it.
It has given me my love, the best love in all the world."
"O my darling, my Life, I'll take you away from it all soon, soon. We'll go
to my home, to Garry, to Mother. They will love you as I love you."
"I'm sure I will love them. What you have told me of them makes them seem
very real to me. Will you not be ashamed of me?"
"I will be proud, proud of you, my girl."
Ah, would I not! I looked at that flower-like face the sunshine glorified so,
the pretty, bright hair falling away from her low brow in little waves, the lily
throat, the delicately patrician features, the proud poise of her head. Who
would not have been proud of her? She awoke all that was divine in me. I looked
as one might look on a vision, scarce able to believe it real.
Suddenly she pointed
excitedly.
"Look, dear, look at the rainbow. Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it
beautiful?"
I gazed in rapt admiration. Across the river a shower had fallen, and the
clouds, clearing away abruptly, had left there a twin rainbow of matchless
perfection. Its double arch was poised as accurately over the town as if it had
been painted there. Each hoop was flawless in form, lovely in hue, tenderly
luminous, exquisite in purity. Never had I seen the double iris so immaculate in
colouring, and, with its bases resting on the river, it curved over the
gold-born city like a frame of ethereal beauty.
"Does it not seem, dear, like an answer to our prayer, an omen of good hope,
a promise for the future?"
"Yes, beloved, our future, yours and mine. The clouds are rolling away. All
is bright with sunshine once again, and God sends His rainbow to cheer and
comfort us. It will not be long now. On the first day of June, beloved, I will
come to you, and we will be made man and wife. You will be waiting for me, will
you not?"
"Yes, yes, waiting ever so eagerly, my lover, counting every hour, every
minute."
I kissed her passionately, and we held each other tightly for a moment. I saw
come into her eyes that look which comes but once into the eyes of a maid, that
look of ineffable self-surrender, of passionate abandonment. Life is niggard of
such moments, yet can our lives be summed up in them.
She rested her head
on my shoulder; her lips lay on mine, and they moved faintly.
"Yes, lover, yes, the first of June. Don't fail me, honey, don't fail
me."
We parted, buoyant with hope, in an ecstasy of joy. She was for me, this
beautiful, tender girl, for me. And the time was nigh when she should be mine,
mine to adore until the end. Always would she be by my side; daily could I plot
and plan to give her pleasure; every hour by word and look and act could I
lavish on her the exhaustless measure of my love. Ah! life would be too short
for me. Could aught in this petty purblind existence of ours redeem it and exalt
it so: her love, this pure sweet girl's, and mine. Let nations grapple, let
Mammon triumph, let pestilence o'erwhelm; what matter, we love, we love. O
proud, happy me!
I got back to the claim. Everything was going merrily, but I felt little
desire to resume my toil. I was strangely wearied, worn out somehow. Yet I took
up my shovel again with a body that rebelled in every tissue. Never had I felt
like this before. Something was wrong with me. I was weak. At night I sweated
greatly. I cared not to eat.
"Well," said the Prodigal, "it's all over but the shouting. From my
calculations we've cleaned up two hundred and six thousand dollars. That's a
hundred and three between us four. It's cost us about three to get out the
stuff; so there will be,
roughly speaking, about twenty-five thousand for each of
us."
How jubilant every one was lookingevery one but me. Somehow I felt as if
money didn't matter just then, for I was sick, sick.
"Why, what's the matter?" said the Prodigal, staring at me curiously. "You
look like a ghost."
"I feel like one, too," I answered. "I'm afraid I'm in for a bad spell. I
want to lie down awhile, boys ... I'm tired.... The first of June, I've got a
date on the first of June. I must keep it, I must.... Don't let me sleep too
long, boys. I mustn't fail. It's a matter of life and death. The first of
June...."
Alas, on the first of June I lay in the hospital, raving and tossing in the
clutches of typhoid fever.
I was lying in bed, and a heavy weight was pressing on me, so that, in spite
of my struggles, I could not move. I was hot, insufferably hot. The blood ran
boiling through my veins. My flesh was burning up. My brain would not work. It
was all cobwebs, murky and stale as a charnel-house. Yet at times were strange
illuminations, full of terror and despair. Blood-red lights and purple shadows
alternated in my vision. Then came the dreams.
There was always Berna. Through a mass of grimacing, greed-contorted faces
gradually there formed and lingered her sweet and pensive one. We were in a
strange costume, she and I. It seemed like that of the early Georges. We were
running away, fleeing from some one. For her sake a great fear and anxiety
possessed me. We were eloping, I fancied.
There was a marsh to cross, a hideous quagmire, and our pursuers were close.
We started over the quaking ground, then, suddenly, I saw her sink. I rushed to
aid her, and I, too, sank. We were to our necks in the soft ooze, and there on
the bank, watching us, was the foremost of our hunters. He laughed at our
struggles; he mocked us; he rejoiced to see us
drown. And in my dream the face of the man seemed
strangely like Locasto.
We were in a bower of roses, she and I. It was still further back in history.
We seemed to be in the garden of a palace. I was in doublet and hose, and she
wore a long, flowing kirtle. The air was full of fragrance and sunshine. Birds
were singing. A fountain scattered a shower of glittering diamonds on the
breeze. She was sitting on the grass, while I reclined by her side, my head
lying on her lap. Above me I could see her face like a lily bending over me.
With dainty fingers she crumpled a rose and let the petals snow down on me.