James Beardley Hendryx - Beyond the Outposts

“You say your father went in by way of Baker Lake, an’ he was prospectin’?”

“Yes,” answered the girl, wearily, “a year ago this spring. He’s trying to find the lost mines of the Indians—the gold and copper that lured old Captain Knight to his death in 1719. The mines that Hearn tried to find fifty years later.”

“I’ve heard about that gold,” said Downey, gloomily. “He ain’t the first that’s tried to find it. Why ain’t folks satisfied to hunt new gold?”

The girl’s eyes lighted. “But, he has found new gold—lots of it. He made his stake in the Klondike, in the days of the big stampede. Nobody can understand it unless they’ve felt it—the call of gold. When it comes men will leave home, friends, loved ones to answer the call. They will delve, and sweat, and starve, and freeze, and die for raw gold. But the call of a new strike, strong as it is, is nothing to the call of a lost mine. That is the call of calls! And in answering that call my father has travelled thousands of miles, and spent thousands of dollars. When my mother died he took me with him, to South America, and to China. When he returned from that trip, he swore he’d never take me again, so last year when he started into the North, he left me under the guardianship of a friend—that is, father thinks he’s his friend—he trusts him implicitly, but——”

The girl’s voice trailed off into silence.

“But, what?” asked Downey.

“Oh, I don’t know—exactly,” she answered evasively. “Only, sometimes I wonder if a man really knows his friends. I may be wronging Mr. Babcock, but—anyway, I put in the time reading everything I could get my hands on, about the North, and I’ve studied the maps. I think my father had bought everything that had ever been written on this country, not only books but the technical reports of Franklin, Rae, Richardson, Simpson, Hanberry, Dr. Bell, Stefansson—all of them.”

“Maps ain’t goin’ to help you much where you’re headin’,” said the officer. “There ain’t be’n any real explorin’ done there yet, an’ the maps is mostly wrong. But, why didn’t you go in the same way he did?”

“There are two reasons. In the first place, I know from the marginal notes and notations on the books and reports that he intended to work westward, and I shall probably find him sooner from this side. Then, Mr. Babcock is going in from the east, and—well, the farther I am away from him, the better I’ll like it.”

The officer smiled: “You don’t seem to think well of this Babcock. What’s he huntin’ your father for?”

“He says he’s worried for fear something has happened to dad. Says it’s his duty to start out and find him. You see, it’s sixteen months since dad started, and thirteen since we have heard from him. The last letter was mailed at the headquarters of the Baker Lake Detachment of Police. Not only is Babcock my guardian, but he is to be the sole administrator of dad’s estate under the terms of a will he drew just before he left. I think Babcock believes that my father is dead, and his object in going in search of him is to obtain proofs of his death, so he can begin to take up his duties as administrator. I have heard it hinted that Babcock is rather heavily involved financially, and if so, the handling of something like a million dollars would particularly appeal to him. Dad had hardly turned his back on civilization before Babcock tried to marry me. Smoothly and suavely, at first, with much talk of love—and failing in that, by threats.” The girl paused and a faint smile curved her lips, “I don’t think he’ll try that game again, but—do you know, I hadn’t even thought of worrying about father until I found out Babcock was going in search of him.”

Downey nodded his understanding: “I’m sorry the country east of the Coppermine is outside my territory,” he said, “I’d kind of like to keep my eye on how things goes. I’m doubtin’ if there’s any gold over there, but if there is, it’s devil’s gold—it’s cost a lot of lives before, an’ it’ll cost more. But here I am, keepin’ you up all night talkin’. You’d better turn in. You’ve got a hard trail ahead, shovin’ up Dease River. I just come down it, an’ it’s uncommon shallow for this time of year.” The Indians were already asleep, lying rolled in their blankets nearby, and bidding the officer good night, the girl entered her tent.

After an early breakfast Downey and the girl watched the loading of her two canoes. “Good outfit you’ve got,” approved the officer. “That’s half the game—the other half’s knowin’ what to do with it. Live off the country an’ save your grub. Most of ’em that comes into the North from the outside bring along a lot of food notions about balanced rations an’ scurvy. Besides bein’ pure bunk it handicaps ’em with a lot of unnecessary outfit. Balanced rations might be all right down in the settlements where there’s a doctor handy, but it ain’t any good up here. Straight meat with plenty of fat—that’s the secret—plenty of fat. Lean meat or fish straight will bring on starvation an’ scurvy no matter how much of it you eat. Fat, that’s all the balance you need along with your meat to keep healthy an’ fit.”

“I know,” smiled the girl. “You don’t notice any excess of dried or desiccated vegetables or fruit on my outfit, do you?”

“That’s why I said it was a good outfit,” grinned Downey, “an’ remember this, after you hit the Coppermine River, these Siwashes you’ve got are packers, not guides. Teddy Bye and Bye’s a good man. The rest ain’t much. They don’t know nothin’ about the country beyond, an’ when you get ready to hit north for the coast next fall, use Eskimos instead of Injuns. They know more about the country than anyone else, an’ you’ll run onto some of ’em. They’re supposed to fish in summer as far south as Back’s River.”

The loading was completed, and the girl’s face lighted with a smile as she extended her hand to the officer: “Thank you for the advice,” she said, “I’ll follow it. I’ll get along all right, I’m sure. It’s just the kind of thing I love to do. I’ve never had the chance before. Dad’s always been the commander of the outfit.”

“No letters you want to send?” asked Downey. “It’ll be your last chance for a long time.”

“No letters,” laughed the girl. “There’s only dad and me. And when he connects with his mail there will be so many of my letters that it would be a shame to inflict another one on him. Good-bye!”

“Good-bye, and good luck!” called Downey, cheerily, as the canoes pushed off and headed eastward, skirting the shore.

For a long time the officer stood, his eyes on the receding canoes. When, finally, he turned and with the precision of long practice, made up his own pack, the smile had faded from his face. From his pocket he produced note book and pencil, and for another long time he sat staring into the dying embers of the little breakfast fire. His unseeing eyes fixed the grey ashes, but his thoughts bridged the span of long years. He saw a Hudson’s Bay Post, far to the southward, another face, “like hers” he whispered, and then—a rotting cabin, and a lonely grave beside the thundering waters of a nameless lake. The pencil dropped unheeded from his hand, and the fingers lifted and pushed slowly through the grizzled hair. “ ’Twas to answer the same wild call that Murdo MacFarlane took her,” he murmured, “ ’tis fool’s gold—devil’s gold—gold that costs lives!” A tiny flame flared for a moment among the ashes and died. Straightening himself with a jerk Corporal Downey recovered his pencil and made a notation in his notebook. Then, with water from the lake, he extinguished the last spark of smouldering embers, loaded his canoe, and pushing out into the lake headed west.