Hugh shouted out that they were crossing a lake, and there might be a camp along its edge. They came in due course to the other side of the lake, with the cliff so steep they could not climb it. They followed the sh.o.r.e to the right, facing the storm. They crossed another lake, and still another. The air had grown intensely cold; the wind was higher, and ever there came that terrible inclination to lie down and sleep.

After they had pa.s.sed over the last little lake Hugh shouted to John that they were surely now far from the proper trail, as he could recollect no such water near Bennett. Lake Lindeman was four miles long.

The wind was rising, and the increasing cold told that it came from the north. Hugh began now really to doubt whether they would live through the storm.

Soon afterwards fine ice crystals impinged against their faces. Great swirls of wind fell upon them. This new severe onslaught of nature aroused John, who called to his comrade. He had suddenly realized how very, very close they were to death.

"The snow is going--it's easier walking," he said suddenly.

They closed together, and struggled along abreast. They were too nearly dead to notice that the going was good. Suddenly John fell into the soft snow, and Hugh, exerting his worn powers, dragged him back.

"The trail, the trail," gasped John, with his face close to Hugh's.

"Trail! we ain't been on any trail for hours."

"Feel with your feet!"

Hugh stopped to feel with his feet two runner tracks of horse sled. Hope came to them, made a great call to their resources. Meanwhile their tired hearts and very weary bodies endured the bombardment of the snow-laden wind, which seemed to penetrate them, taking the heat of life from their vitals!

They came to another lake. How the wind cut! The snow, driven over the surface of the ice, gave a hard, grinding noise. Would ever they come to the end of that pitiless journey!

Bang! They stumbled against a sleigh standing in the middle of the road.

Hugh kicked at it; the singletree rattled; he recognized the sound. He gave a desperate shout; another and another.

Then, at last, the promise of relief and of life came to them. They smelt smoke. Just for a second!--that creosotic odour was to them as sweetest perfume. It meant life, warmth, comfort, human companionship.

The figure of a man with a lantern loomed up before them, and a deep voice asked,

"What's the matter?"

"We're lost," said John.

"No, you're not; you're right here on Crater Lake, just over the summit of the Chilkoot."

"Thank G.o.d!" said Hugh.

"We're the police; come inside." They staggered into a tent warmed by a tin stove, on which was a pot of coffee. The man quickly produced cups, and gave them to drink.

John Berwick just fell on a pile of wood, stacked near the stove, and fell asleep. Now that the great struggle against the elements, which force of personality rather than strength of limbs had carried him through, was over, he collapsed.

When the policeman returned with bread and meat for them, he found Hugh removing his friend's shoes, and brushing the snow from his legs.

"Let him sleep," said Hugh.

In far-away London at that very hour--in England high noon--Alice Peel was walking down Regent Street. Her spirits were restless. The bustling traffic, the interest of the shops, the pa.s.sing of the people, could not keep her thought from a far wanderer. She was weary of this ordered civilization; and remembering John in his adventures heard the call of the wilds.

There was now a possibility for this yearning to be satisfied. Her father, Surgeon-Major Peel, had lost his money through a sudden misfortune, and had been prompted by the news from the Klondike also to make a bid for fortune there, not as a gold-seeker, but in his own profession. He was convinced that a hospital in that desperate region would be in all ways a good venture.

Alice had determined to accompany him. To her that spring morning, even with all the fever of restlessness in her blood, was full of hope. The soft air and the sunshine were conditions--how different from those endured by Berwick and his comrade in their life-and-death march!

CHAPTER X

AN EMPIRE'S OUTPOST

After two hours of solid sleep, the blanket was lifted from the exhausted gold-seekers, and they were shaken back into life.

"Get up and eat, you need it."

Still aching in every bone the two poor fellows staggered to their feet.

A dim light was penetrating the canvas, as they looked about them.

Underneath was ice--the frozen surface of Crater Lake--on which were spread piles of blankets, the beds of the police.

Notwithstanding the fire, the air of the tent was chill and frosty, and the canvas flapped in the wind. The walls of the tent were dark, showing the level of the snow around them. The presence of this snow, no doubt, explained how the tent had withstood the fury of the gale.

The policeman led the way to the cook tent, where they were given bacon and slap-jacks.

"Can't make bread here, and don't get it very often from Dyea, and we're just out now," apologized the policeman who acted as cook.

While they were eating ravenously, the officer in command of the post called to see them and inquired if they were any the worse for their experiences.

"Hardly salubrious, the climate, eh?" he said, after they had answered his particular questions. "On several occasions we have had the tents blown down, and frequently the men had to sit up all night holding the poles to prevent a catastrophe. I must say our fellows have shown great grit under most trying circ.u.mstances. You see we are on a civil campaign here, and there is not the excitement of fighting to keep the men up."

With that the officer left the tent. A policeman glanced after him and muttered,

"Civil campaign! Hear the old man talk! We're holding down the blooming Pa.s.ses for the Queen! That's what we're doing. We could live in comfort at Lindeman, with all the wood we want for cabins and to burn."

"Where do you get your wood?"

"Down the trail--when we get any at all. They send a horse up from Lindeman. The last few days the trail has been pretty good, and some teams have been hauling from there to here: but we got only one load--which won't last us through the storm, if it holds much longer."

"Do you collect much duty here?"

"Well--rather! The old man just dumps the money he takes in a leather sack, and the other day he had thirty-five thousand dollars in it; but he hasn't got that much now. He sent one of the fellows down to Skagway with it. It was rather risky, for all the hard cases travelling the Pa.s.ses got to know the sack; and there was a good deal of risk of the fellow getting shot; but he went through the whole gang and got on the boat at Dyea, and crossed to Skagway."

"The man had pluck!"

"Yes; but human nature in many ways is alike in both red-skin and white men, and the police have learned to do these sort of things. Down on the plains in the old days, when the savages were mean, it was often the case that one or two policemen would ride into a reservation, arrest a red-skin, and take him away with hundreds of armed Indians yelling around them. The Indians thought the police were crazy, and it is against their religion to kill a crazy man. I guess if Soapy recognized the sack he thought it was a job of some kind."

"Do as many men come over this Pa.s.s as over the White Pa.s.s?"

"More! The Chilkoot is the poor man's Pa.s.s. Most of the fellows who come over here haul their own stuff, and pack it over the summit, or hire the Siwashes to put it to the summit, and haul from here themselves.

They get it up here, and then, when they get a fine day, run it through to Lindeman or Bennett, where they build their boats. An outfit is putting in an aerial tram: that is, a cable from the foot of the big hill to the top."