The Tales of the Wild North (39 Novels & Stories in One Volume). James Oliver Curwood
was hastening across the lake, attracted by the shots, and both reached the slain bull at about the same time. Rod quickly perceived that three shots had taken effect; one, which was undoubtedly Mukoki's carefully directed ball, in a vital spot behind the fore leg, and two through the body. The fact that two of his own shots had taken good effect filled the white youth with enthusiasm, and he was still gesticulating excitedly in describing the bull's flight to Wabi when the old Indian came over the hill, grinning broadly, and holding up for their inspection a magnificent mink.
The day could not have begun more auspiciously for the hunters, and by the time Mukoki was ready to leave upon his long trail the adventurers were in buoyant spirits, the distressing fears of the preceding night being somewhat dispelled by their present good fortune and the glorious day which now broke in full splendor upon the wilderness.
Until their early dinner Wabi remained in camp, securing certain parts of the moose and assisting Rod in putting the cabin into a state of defense according to their previous plans. It was not yet noon when he started over Mukoki's trap-line.
Left to his own uninterrupted thoughts, Rod's mind was once more absorbed in his scheme of exploring the mysterious chasm. He had noticed during his inspection from the top of the ridge that the winter snows had as yet fallen but little in the gloomy gulch between the mountains, and he was eager to attempt his adventure before other snows came or the fierce blizzards of December filled the chasm with drifts. Later in the afternoon he brought forth the buckskin bag from a niche in the log wall where it had been concealed, and one after another carefully examined the golden nuggets. He found, as he had expected, that they were worn to exceeding smoothness, and that every edge had been dulled and rounded. Rod's favorite study in school had been a minor branch of geology and mineralogy, and he knew that only running water could work this smoothness. He was therefore confident that the nuggets had been discovered in or on the edge of a running stream. And that stream, he was sure, was the one in the chasm.
But Rod's plans for an early investigation were doomed to disappointment. Late that day both Mukoki and Wabi returned, the latter with a red fox and another mink, the former with a fisher, which reminded Rod of a dog just growing out of puppyhood, and another story of strange trails that renewed their former apprehensions. The old Indian had discovered the remnants of the burned jackpine, and about it were the snow-shoe tracks of three Indians. One of these trails came from the north and two from the west, which led him to believe that the pine had been fired as a signal to call the two. At the very end of their trap-line, which extended about four miles from camp, a single snow-shoe trail had cut across at right angles, also swinging into the north.
These discoveries necessitated a new arrangement of the plans that had been made the preceding night. Hereafter, it was agreed, only one trap-line would be visited each day, and by two of the hunters in company, both armed with rifles. Rod saw that this meant the abandonment of his scheme for exploring the chasm, at least for the present.
Day after day now passed without evidences of new trails, and each day added to the hopes of the adventurers that they were at last to be left alone in the country. Never had Mukoki or Wabigoon been in a better trapping ground, and every visit to their lines added to their hoard of furs. If left unmolested it was plainly evident that they would take a small fortune back to Wabinosh House with them early in the spring. Besides many mink, several fisher, two red foxes and a lynx, they added two fine "cross" foxes and three wolf scalps to their treasure during the next three weeks. Rod began to think occasionally of the joy their success would bring to the little home hundreds of miles away, where he knew that the mother was waiting and praying for him every day of her life; and there were times, too, when he found himself counting the days that must still elapse before he returned to Minnetaki and the Post.
But at no time did he give up his determination to explore the chasm. From the first Mukoki and Wabigoon had regarded this project with little favor, declaring the impossibility of discovering gold under snow, even though gold was there; so Rod waited and watched for an opportunity to make the search alone, saying nothing about his plans.
On a beautiful day late in December, when the sun rose with dazzling brightness, his opportunity came. Wabi was to remain in camp, and Mukoki, who was again of the belief that they were safe from the Woongas, was to follow one of the trap-lines alone. Supplying himself well with food, taking Wabi's rifle, a double allowance of cartridges, a knife, belt-ax, and a heavy blanket in his pack, Rod set out for the chasm. Wabi laughed as he stood in the doorway to see him off.
"Good luck to you, Rod; hope you find gold," he cried gaily, waving a final good-by with his hand.
"If I don't return to-night don't you fellows worry about me," called back the youth. "If things look promising I may camp in the chasm and take up the hunt again in the morning."
He now passed quickly to the second ridge, knowing from previous experience that it would be impossible to make a descent into the gulch from the first mountain. This range, a mile south of the camp, had not been explored by the hunters, but Rod was sure that there was no danger of losing himself as long as he followed along the edge of the chasm which was in itself a constant and infallible guide. Much to his disappointment he found that the southern walls of this mysterious break between the mountains were as precipitous as those on the opposite side, and for two hours he looked in vain for a place where he might climb down. The country was now becoming densely wooded and he was constantly encountering signs of big game. But he paid little attention to these. Finally he came to a point where the forest swept over and down the steep side of the mountain, and to his great joy he saw that by strapping his snow-shoes to his back and making good use of his hands it was possible for him to make a descent.
Fifteen minutes later, breathless but triumphant, he stood at the bottom of the chasm. On his right rose the strip of cedar forest; on his left he was shut in by towering walls of black and shattered rock. At his feet was the little stream which had played such an important part in his golden dreams, frozen in places, and in others kept clear of ice by the swiftness of its current. A little ahead of him was that gloomy, sunless part of the chasm into which he had peered so often from the top of the ridge on the north. As he advanced step by step into its mysterious silence, his eyes alert, his nerves stretched to a tension of the keenest expectancy, there crept over him a feeling that he was invading that enchanted territory which, even at this moment, might be guarded by the spirits of the two mortals who had died because of the treasure it held.
Narrower and narrower became the walls high over his head. Not a ray of sunlight penetrated into the soundless gloom. Not a leaf shivered in the still air. The creek gurgled and spattered among its rocks, without the note of a bird or the chirp of a squirrel to interrupt its monotony. Everything was dead. Now and then Rod could hear the wind whispering over the top of the chasm. But not a breath of it came down to him. Under his feet was only sufficient snow to deaden his own footsteps, and he still carried his snow-shoes upon his back.
Suddenly, from the thick gloom that hung under one of the cragged walls, there came a thundering, unearthly sound that made him stop, his rifle swung half to shoulder. He saw that he had disturbed a great owl, and passed on. Now and then he paused beside the creek and took up handful after handful of its pebbles, his heart beating high with hope at every new gleam he caught among them, and never sinking to disappointment though he found no gold. The gold was here—somewhere. He was as certain of that as he was of the fact that he was living, and searching for it. Everything assured him of that; the towering masses of cleft rock, whole walls seeming about to crumble into ruin, the broad margins of pebbles along the creek—everything, to the very stillness and mystery in the air, spoke this as the abode of the skeletons' secret.
It was this inexplicable something—this unseen, mysterious element hovering in the air that caused the white youth to advance step by step, silently, cautiously, as though the slightest sound under his feet might awaken the deadliest of enemies. And it was because of this stealth in his progress that he came very close upon something that was living, and without startling it. Less than fifty yards ahead of him he saw an object moving slowly among the rocks. It was a fox. Even before the animal had detected his presence he had aimed and fired.
Thunderous echoes rose up about him. They rolled down the chasm, volume upon volume, until in the