The Stampede Page #3

"The Stampede" by Rex Ellingwood Beach is an adventure novel set against the backdrop of the Alaskan gold rush. The story follows a group of prospectors and adventurers who embark on a perilous journey in search of fortune and glory amidst the harsh and unforgiving wilderness. As they confront the challenges of nature, rivalries, and their own ambitions, the characters reveal their true natures and the complexities of human desire. With vivid descriptions and a gripping plot, Beach's narrative explores themes of hope, greed, and the relentless pursuit of dreams in a rapidly changing world.

• Short story

								

cañons and broad reaches. "We foller it to yonder cross valley; then
east to there."

To Buck's mind, his gesture included a tinted realm as far-reaching as a
state.

Stretched upon the bare schist, commanding the back stretch, they
munched slices of raw bacon.

Directly, out toward the mountain's foot two figures crawled.

"There they come!" and Crowley led, stumbling, sliding, into the strange
valley.

As this was the south and early side of the range, they found the hills
more barren of snow. Water seeped into the gulches till the creek ice
was worn and rotted.

"This 'll be fierce," the Irishman remarked. "If she breaks on us we'll
be hung up in the hills and starve before the creeks lower enough to get
home."

Small streams freeze solidly to the bottom and the spring waters wear
downward from the surface. Thus they found the creek awash, and,
following farther, it became necessary to wade in many places. They came
to a box cañon where the winter snow had packed, forming a dam, and, as
there was no way of avoiding it without retreating a mile and climbing
the ragged bluff, they floundered through, their packs aloft, the slushy
water armpit-deep.

"We'd ought 'a' took the ridges," Buck chattered. Language slips forth
phonetically with fatigue.

"No! Feller's apt to get lost. Drop into the wrong creek--come out fifty
mile away."

"I bet the others do, anyhow," Buck held, stubbornly. "It's lots easier
going."

"Wish Sully would, but he's too wise. No such luck for me." A long
pause. "I reckon I'll have to kill him before he gets back!" Again they
relapsed into miles of silence.

Crowley's fancy fed on vengeance, hatred livening his work-worn
faculties. He nursed carefully the memory of their quarrel, for it
helped him travel and took his mind from the agony of movement and this
aching sleep-hunger.

The feet of both men felt like fearful, shapeless masses; their packs
leaned backward sullenly, chafing raw shoulder sores; and always the
ravenous mosquitoes stung and stung, and whined and whined.

At an exclamation the leader turned. Miles back, silhouetted far above
on the comb of the ridge, they descried two tiny figures.

"That's what we'd ought 'a' done. They'll beat us in."

"No, they won't. They'll have to camp to-night or get lost, while we can
keep goin'. We can't go wrong down here; can't do no more than drownd."

Buck groaned at the thought of the night hours. He couldn't stand it,
that was all! Enough is enough of anything and he had gone the limit.
Just one more mile and he would quit; yet he did not.

All through that endless phantom night they floundered, incased in
freezing garments, numb and heavy with sleep, but morning found them at
the banks of the main stream.

"You look like hell," said Buck, laughing weakly. His mirth relaxed his
nerves suddenly, till he giggled and hiccoughed hysterically. Nor could
he stop for many minutes, the while Crowley stared at him apathetically
from a lined and shrunken countenance, his features standing out
skeleton-like. The younger man evidenced the strain even more severely,
for his flesh was tender, and he had traveled the last hours on pure
nerve. His jaws were locked and corded, however, while his drooping eyes
shone unquenchably.

Eventually they rounded a bluff on to a cabin nestling at the mouth of a
dark valley. Near it men were working with a windlass, so, stumbling to
them, they spoke huskily.

"Sorry we 'ain't got room inside," the stranger replied, "but three of
the boys is down with scurvy, and we're all cramped up. Plenty more
folks coming, I s'pose, eh?"

The two had sunk on to the wet ground and did not answer. Buck fell with
his pack still on, utterly lost, and the miner was forced to drag the
bundle from his shoulders. As he rolled him up he was sleeping heavily.

Crowley awakened while the sun was still golden; his joints aching
excruciatingly. They had slept four hours. He boiled tea on the miners'
stove and fried a pan of salt pork, but was too tired to prepare
anything else, so they drank the warm bacon-grease clear with their tea.

As Buck strove to arise, his limbs gave way weakly, so that he fell, and
it took him many moments to recover their use.

"Where's the best chance, pardner?" they inquired of the men on the
dump.

"Well, there ain't none very close by. We've got things pretty well
covered."

"How's that? There's only six of you; you can't hold but six claims,
besides discovery."

"Oh yes, we can! We've got powers of attorney; got 'em last fall in St.
Michael; got 'em recorded, too."

Crowley's sunken eyes blazed.

"Them's no good. We don't recko'nize 'em in this district. One claim is
enough for any man if it's good, and too much if it's bad."

"What district you alludin' at?" questioned the other, ironically.
"You're in the Skookum District now. It takes six men to organize. Well!
We organized. We made laws. We elected a recorder. I'm it. If you don't
like our rules, yonder is the divide. We've got the U. S. government
back of us. See!"

Crowley's language became purely local, but the other continued
unruffled.

"We knew you-all was coming, so we sort of loaded up. If there's any
ground hereabouts that we ain't got blanketed, it's purely an oversight.
There's plenty left farther out, though," and he swept them a mocking
gesture. "Help yourselves and pass up for more. I'll record 'em."

"What's the fee?"

"Ten dollars apiece."

Crowley swore more savagely.

"You done a fine job of hoggin', didn't you? It's two and a half
everywhere else."

But the recorder of the Skookum District laughed carelessly and resumed
his windlass. "Sorry you ain't pleased. Maybe you'll learn to like it."

As they turned away he continued: "I don't mind giving you a hunch,
though. Tackle that big creek about five miles down yonder. She
prospected good last fall, but you'll have to go clean to her head,
'cause we've got everything below."

Eight hours later, by the guiding glare of the Northern Lights, the two
stumbled back into camp, utterly broken.

They had followed the stream for miles and miles to find it staked by
the powers of attorney of the six. Coming to the gulch's head, to be
sure, they found vacant ground, but refused to claim such unpromising
territory. Then the endless homeward march through the darkness! Out of
thickets and through drifts they burst, while fatigue settled on them
like some horrid vampire from the darkness. Every step being no longer
involuntary became a separate labor, requiring mental concentration.
They were half dead in slumber as they walked, but their stubborn
courage and smoldering rage at the men who had caused this drove them
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes