The Trail of 98 | Page 8

with much
politeness, never raising his eyes from the book.
"Well," I said, "I've just got to thank you. And look here, let's make it
up. Don't let the business of that wretched money come between us.
Can't we be friends anyway?"
He sprang up and gripped my hand.
"Sure! nothing I want more. I'm sorry. Another time I'll make
allowance for that shorter-catechism conscience of yours. Now let's go
over to that big fire they've made and chew the rag."
So we sat by the crackling blaze of mesquite, sagebrush and live-oak
limbs, while over us twinkled the friendly stars, and he told me many a
strange story of his roving life.
"You know, the old man's all broke up at me playing the fool like this.
He's got a glue factory back in Massachusetts. Guess he stacks up about
a million or so. Wanted me to go into the glue factory, begin at the

bottom, stay with it. 'Stick to glue, my boy,' he says; 'become the Glue
King,' and so on. But not with little Willie. Life's too interesting a
proposition to be turned down like that. I'm not repentant. I know the
fatted calf's waiting for me, getting fatter every day. One of these days
I'll go back and sample it."
It was he I first heard talk of the Great White Land, and it stirred me
strangely.
"Every one's crazy about it. They're rushing now in thousands, to get
there before the winter begins. Next spring there will be the biggest
stampede the world has ever seen. Say, Scotty, I've the greatest notion
to try it. Let's go, you and I. I had a partner once, who'd been up there.
It's a big, dark, grim land, but there's the gold, shining, shining, and it's
calling us to go. Somehow it haunts me, that soft, gleamy, virgin gold
there in the solitary rivers with not a soul to pick it up. I don't care one
rip for the value of it. I can make all I want out of glue. But the
adventure, the excitement, it's that that makes me fit for the foolish
house."
He was silent a long time while my imagination conjured up terrible,
fascinating pictures of the vast, unawakened land, and a longing came
over me to dare its shadows.
As we said good-night, his last words were:
"Remember, Scotty, we're both going to join the Big Stampede, you
and I."
CHAPTER VI
I slept but fitfully, for the night air was nipping, and the bunkhouse
nigh as open as a cage. A bonny morning it was, and the sun warmed
me nicely, so that over breakfast I was in a cheerful humour.
Afterwards I watched the gang labouring, and showed such an
injudicious interest that that afternoon I too was put to work.
It was very simple. Running into the mountain there was a tunnel,

which they were lining with concrete, and it was the task of I and
another to push cars of the stuff from the outlet to the scene of
operations. My partner was a Swede who had toiled from boyhood,
while I had never done a day's work in my life. It was as much as I
could do to lift the loaded boxes into the car. Then we left the sunshine
behind us, and for a quarter of a mile of darkness we strained in an
uphill effort.
From the roof, which we stooped to avoid, sheets of water descended.
Every now and then the heavy cars would run off the rails, which were
of scantling, worn and frayed by friction. Then my Swede would storm
in Berserker rage, and we would lift till the veins throbbed in my head.
Never had time seemed so long. A convict working in the salt mines of
Siberia did not revolt more against his task than I. The sweat blinded
me; a bright steel pain throbbed in my head; my heart seemed to
hammer. Never so thankful was I as when we had made our last trip,
and sick and dizzy I put on my coat to go home.
It was dark. There was a cable line running from the tunnel to the camp,
and down this we shot in buckets two at a clip. The descent gave me a
creepy sensation, but it saved a ten minutes' climb down the mountain
side, and I was grateful.
Tired, wet and dirty, how I envied the Prodigal lying warm and cosy on
his fragrant hay. He was reading a novel. But the thought that I had
earned a dollar comforted me. After supper he, with Ginger and Dutchy,
played solo till near midnight, while I tossed on my bunk too weary and
sore to sleep.
Next day was a repetition of the