CHAPTER XIII
THE TRAIL OF THE "DEMON'S HEART"
The tillicums of the gold country still speak with bated breath of the "Demon's Heart," the great nugget that left its trail of ill-luck, misfortune, and death, from the Black Fork Kaskana to Dawson, and from Dawson to the divide—and beyond. The tillicums wonder how far beyond.
About hot stoves in far-away trading posts men ask each other if the great nugget is still working its harm among men. Has it found its way to the mint and been stamped into coins? Or, to the jeweler, and been fashioned into costly rings to encircle fair fingers? And if so, have the crucibles and the melting pots removed the bane? Or, will misfortune forever dog the footsteps of the women who wear the rings, and the men who possess the coins, stamped from the gold of the "Demon's Heart"?
But of all the tillicums in the land of the peaks and passes, only two know that the trail of the great nugget is ended. For Special Constable Connie Morgan of the Royal North-west Mounted Police prefers to speak of other things. And Ick Far, the leathern-faced, the imperturbable, speaks nothing at all, but sits in sphinx-like silence with his eyes fixed upon far things—thinking his own thoughts.
As the June Altroff sheered in toward the Dawson wharf, her stern wheel lashing the waters of the Yukon into white foam, the little knot of men who awaited her arrival were horrified by a dull roar and a sudden high-flung column of smoke and steam, as before their very eyes the little steamer disappeared from sight, leaving the surface of the Yukon strewn with a mass of white wreckage, and the struggling forms of men.
Five minutes later, the police launch Aurora, manned by Sergeant McKeever, Corporal Rickey, and Special Constable Connie Morgan, shot out from the bank and returned with the half-dozen survivors of the wreck.
It was during the investigation which followed, that the great nugget first came under the notice of the Mounted. In the Miners' and Marines' Hospital the three officers who had accomplished the rescue, closely examined the surviving members of the crew of the ill-fated June Altroff, Neither the captain nor the chief engineer could throw any light whatever upon the cause of the accident. The engineer affirmed that the steam pressure had been well within the safety limit, and the captain testified as to the recent overhauling and inspection of his boilers.
"She jest up and nachlly let go without no cause nor reason whatsumever," he concluded, and at the words a man in the adjoining cot, who had been frightfully scalded in the explosion, raised a bandaged hand and beckoned weakly to the officers. Connie and Dan McKeever bent over him.
"It's in my coat," he muttered thickly; "the thing that made the boat blow up."
"You mean a bomb?" cried McKeever.
"No—gold," muttered the man. "It's a nugget. One hundred an' four ounces, she weighs! An' she saps men's lives!" McKeever glanced significantly toward Connie who stood upon the other side of the cot. Interpreting the glance, the injured man continued, speaking with difficulty: "You think I'm out of my head, but I ain't. I'm a goner! I'm all burnin' up inside, an' my heart's on fire! But I tell you my head's clear! Tell 'em to bring my coat. It's sewed in the linin'."
An attendant handed McKeever a soggy mackinaw from which the river water still dripped to stand in little pools upon the floor. The coat sagged heavily upon one side, and as the Sergeant held it he noted that its weight far exceeded the weight of any water which the thick garment could possibly have absorbed. As Connie slit the lining with his knife, a heavy object thudded loudly upon the pine floor. Lifting the object to the bed, the boy unwound a wrapping of cloth. The next instant the officers, the hospital attendant, and the men upon the adjoining cots stared with bulging eyes upon a great nugget of gold that showed dull yellow against the grey of the blanket.
"It's streaked with red—an' it saps men's lives!" moaned the man in the cot as he sought to draw his bandaged body away from its fancied contact. Connie lifted the lump to examine it more closely. It was rudely heart-shaped in form, with one side rough as furnace slag, and the other ground smooth as velvet by the action of sand and water. But its most peculiar feature was the band of a darker yellow, almost reddish cast, that appeared on the smooth surface and struck through to reappear on the opposite side.
Where did you get it?" asked McKeever hoarsely. "An' what's it got to do with the blowin' up of the June Altroff?"
"Aye, what's it got to do?" shuddered the man in the cot, as he stared with horrified eyes at the huge nugget. "It got the Injun, an' it got Hans Anderson, an' me, an' them out there in the river—that went down with the boat an' never come up ag'in. What's it got to do with us all? An' why is it red, an' heart-shaped? It's ha'nted, that's why! It's demon gold!"
"But where did you get it?" persisted McKeever. "An' who is the Injun, an' Hans Anderson?"
The man called for water and the attendant held a glass to his lips. "The Injun was just an Injun," he muttered dully, after a brief pause. "Hans Anderson found him dead in a wickiup on a crick an' in his hand he held that!" The man stared in strange fascination at the nugget as he talked. "An' he took it, an' buried the Injun. Hans Anderson was trappin' an' prospectin', an' he had a cabin on Black Fork Kaskana. My camp was ten miles above his'n. One day I paddles down to see about us runnin' in our winter's grub by canoe before the freeze-up. An' when I gets to his cabin there ain't no smoke comin' out the chimbly, an' I shoves open the door, an' there lays Hans Anderson in his bunk, an' a ragin' fever was on him, an' he talks wild an' delirious about a big nugget streaked with red. I done what I know'd how for him, an' bye 'n' bye he quieted down. 'Twas then he told me about the Injun. 'There's a curse,' he says, 'on the gold from a dead man's hand!' An' he showed me the nugget. 'It's got me,' he says, 'an' it'll get any one that owns it.' An' he wanted me to take it up to the crick an' bury it with the Injun. But I wouldn't, an' that night Hans Anderson died. I wanted him to give me the nugget, but he said it would bring me bad luck. An' he died with his fingers a-grippin' it tight.
"Him a-tellin' me that-a-way, 'bout takin' it from the hand of the dead Injun, an' then him a-dyin' like he done, when he was well an' hearty the last time I seen him, a few days before, it give me the creeps, an' had me plumb scairt of the red-streaked nugget. I allowed I'd bury it with him. The next day I dug a grave an' I put Hans Anderson in it, with the nugget still clutched in his hand. An' then, jest as I give a last look, a shaft of sunlight struck down an' lit up the gold till it shined, an' glittered—" the man paused, shuddered, and moistened his lips with his tongue. "'The gold's got you! You're a fool!' I yells to myself out loud. 'Gold's gold! An' here's more of it in one lump than you ever seen or ever will see. Gold ain't nothin' but rock, or whatever it is. It can't do him no good, nor you no harm. An' it's as much yourn, now, as it was his'n when he took it from the Injun!' An' I reaches down and tears the chunk from his fingers, an' throws in the dirt, an' jumps into my canoe an' paddles for the big river. I sewed the nugget in the linin' of my coat. At Five Finger I caught the June Altroff, an'—an'—it's got me—like Hans Anderson said it would."
The scalded man died. And that same night occurred the fire that razed the Miners' and Marines' Hospital to the ground. By dint of much work and no little heroism the patients were all removed. In the official records the cause of the fire is given as a defective flue, but those who had looked upon the nugget and listened to the scalded man's story wonder. The hospital attendant, and the captain and the chief engineer of the June Altroff talked. And up and down the river, and among the far hills, the nugget became known as the "Demon's Heart," and men spoke in awed whispers of the ill-luck that followed its trail.
During the excitement incident to the fire, the nugget was forgotten. And though men searched and dug in the ruins for many days, no trace of it could be found in the ashes. Then, suddenly, it reappeared as mysteriously as it had vanished. This time in the possession of Nick Mullane, who affected scorn for its power for harm, and exhibited it in his store, where men flocked in numbers to gaze upon the misshapen talisman of ill omen. These men who came to gaze remained to buy, and Nick Mullane's business began suddenly to rival that of the A. C. Company.
But the man's prosperity was short-lived. No more does Nick Mullane scoff at the power of the nugget to work harm. And the men of the Yukon add one more milestone to the trail of the "Demon's Heart." For, between two days, the nugget disappeared, and with it all the gold that had accrued by reason of Nick Mullane's sudden increase of business.
Nick Mullane appealed to the Mounted. And Sergeant Dan McKeever accompanied by Ick Far headed into the hills, following a three-man trail. On Burton Creek they buried a man, and at Hot Springs, another, and at Bonnet Plume Pass the trail of the third man was so completely lost among the rocks that even Ick Far could not follow it. And the "Demon's Heart" passed beyond the ken of the men of the Yukon.
But the tillicums still wonder what lies at the end of the trail.
"Afraid of ghosts?" asked the Superintendent commanding B 'Division, as Connie entered the office in answer to the summons of his chief, and stood at attention.
Connie smiled. "No, sir!" he answered. "That is, I don't think I am. I never saw one. I don't believe there are any. And if there aren't, I couldn't be afraid of 'em."
"Yes, but suppose there are," persisted the Superintendent with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Well; then I wouldn't be afraid. I guess if they're sensible ghosts they won't try any monkey business with the Mounted."
The officer laughed. "You'll do," he said. "Of course there are no such things as ghosts, but it's hard to make the Indians believe it. In fact, it's hard to make 'em believe anything a white man believes. Ordinarily I don't pay any attention to their yarns. But this case is a little different." He picked a paper from his desk. "Here's a letter that was brought in by a trapper yesterday. It's from MacFarland, chief trader at the Tilton Lake, H. B. C. Post:
"'Superintendent commanding B Division,
Royal North-west Mounted Police,
Dawson, Y. T.
"'Sir:
"'I beg to call your attention to the fact that the Indians in the vicinity of Red Tail Lake have abandoned their hunting ground and have moved to the immediate vicinity of this post. They insist that a ghost or tamahnawus has taken possession of the Red Tail Lake country, and they refuse to go back until the police come and chase it away. These Indians have great respect for the Mounted, and if you can spare a man or two I think they can be persuaded to return without trouble. I am calling your attention to this matter because the Tilton Lake Indians are beginning to resent the invasion of their hunting grounds; and while there has been no open hostility, trouble may break out at any minute. Also, because the Red Tail Lake country is winter range for thousands of barren-ground caribou which are the main dependence of these people for meat, and if the Indians are not made to return to that section, the forthcoming cold weather will cause a great deal of suffering among them.
"'I should have investigated this matter myself, but I am alone at the post, my clerk having gone outside with the brigade. I am, sir,
"'Faithfully yours,
"'T. J. MacFarland, chief trader,
"'H. B. C. at Tilton Lake.'
"So you see," said the Superintendent, "that it is up to us to straighten this business out. Your job will be to mush over there, shoo the ghost out of the woods, and round the Red Tail Lake Injuns back to their own stamping ground. Red Tail Lake is only forty or fifty miles north of Tilton Lake Post, and I advise that you swing around and have a talk with MacFarland before you visit Red Tail Lake. Better talk with the Indians, too. Take Ick Far along. Use your own judgment when you get there, and if you find that any white men have put up a job on the Indians to scare them from their hunting ground, bring them in, and I'll see that they get what's coming to them. The thing is to get these Indians back home. You'll have to step lively if you do it before snow flies."
Connie saluted, and as he crossed the room the Superintendent glanced with pride at the trim figure of his youngest recruit. "He'll get to the bottom of it," he muttered. "He's a sure enough tillicum."
Red Tail Lake lies beyond the Bonnet Plume Pass. On the second day out, when Connie explained to Ick Far the object of their patrol, the Indian listened in silence and at the end wagged his head gloomily. Despite years of service with the Mounted, the Indian, Ick Far, retained the savage's dread of the supernatural. But stronger than this dread was his loyalty to the service. Orders were orders. And Ick Far, albeit with fear and trembling, would have followed an officer of the Mounted to the very place of departed spirits.
On Burton Creek, and again at Hot Springs, the scout with much muttering and foreboding of evil, pointed out the graves of the men he had helped McKeever to bury.
"I'm t'ink dat kultus gol' she cross to de Red Tail Lak'," he grumbled. And as they pushed forward Connie^s thoughts recurred to the great misshapen nugget of pure gold with its uncanny streaks of red, and to the graves that marked its trail.
At Tilton Lake Post, Connie interviewed MacFarland. But the Scotchman could add nothing to what he had already written. Whereupon, the boy turned his attention to the Indians.
With much gravity the chief of the band expounded: "In the first days of the dripping moon came a white man and a woman to Red Tail Lake. They came from the north-westward and not from the country of the Mackenzie. And upon the shore of a spruce-sheltered bay, they built a cabin. The man did not seek to trade, nor did he give any presents of tobacco, or fish-hooks, or files.
"For the space of a moon they lived in the cabin, and each day his canoe was to be seen on the lake where, always in company with the woman, he fished and hunted to obtain his winter supply of meat. Always the man appeared to be afraid. Always his eyes searched the shores. And always he scanned the faces of the Indians who approached in canoes as though he feared some man who would come to him over the water. But now, the Indians know that it was no man he feared, but the kultus tamahnawus. For one day, a small party of Indians who were hunting upon a hill saw the canoe of the white man driving rapidly down the lake. In the bow was the woman and the man was in the stern, and both paddled furiously so that the canoe shot forward with great speed. And they turned to pass down the river by which the waters of the lake find their way to the frozen sea. And even as the Indians looked, the canoe, in the time of a lightning flash, was gone. The kultus tamahnawus had reached from the depths and had pulled them beneath the surface of the swift-flowing river. With their own eyes, the young men who hunted had seen this thing. And in great fear they hastened to the village, and would have fled from the Red Tail Lake country. But there the hunting and trapping is good. And there come the caribou in thousands to winter, so that always there is meat in our bellies, and the robes in our lodges are warm.
"I, Sam Spotted Raven, am chief, and that night I called a council. The young men who were fearful spoke with eloquence and were loud in their demands that the village be moved far from the shores of the spirit-ridden lake. One or two even affirmed that they had seen the great hand of the kultus tamahnawus rise from the water and drag the canoe into the depths. But this I did not believe. For I know that young men who are stricken with fear are more apt to see with the eyes of the heart than with the eyes of the head. And there are many strange and terrible things told which, in truth, never occurred. Many of the older men were like-minded. For they knew that to move from good hunting grounds at the coming on of winter is bad. I told the young men that the canoe had struck upon a rock and had been destroyed after the manner of canoes since the memory of man. I told them they would find the broken canoe and the bodies of the drowned ones upon the bank of the river below.
"In the morning I selected three young men and three old men and we started at a point far below to search the banks of the river. In an eddy, revolving close beside the bank, we found fragments of the broken canoe with the bark battered and scraped where it had pounded against the rocks. 'See?' I said to the young men. 'Your tamahnawus has chewed up the canoe but he did not like it and he has spewed it into the river.' And the old men laughed, but the young men scowled and said nothing. And farther on, upon a bar of white gravel, the body of the man bumped softly against the pebbles in the current. He, too, had been battered upon the rocks of the rapids and we dragged him from the water and buried him after the manner of the white men." The old chief paused and puffed at his pipe of heavy tobacco:
"Once more I ridiculed the young men, and once more the old men laughed, but the young men replied that the body of the woman we had not found. That the kultus tamahnawus had broken the canoe and killed the man, but the woman he had taken to live with him upon the floor of the river. We continued on toward the lake, searching the banks, for I did not believe the young men. I believed we would find the body of the woman even as we had found the man.
"It was noon when we camped in the scrub but a short distance below the place where the canoe had disappeared. I wanted to visit the spot but the young men would venture no nearer, for the fear of the kultus tamahnawus was heavy upon them. I persuaded them to accompany me to the hill and point out the spot so that I and the old men who were not afraid might visit the place. The hill was but a short rifle shot from the river and as we reached the top there came to our ears the sound of a splash. All looked toward the river, but nothing was to be seen save the sunlight glistening upon the surface of the swift-flowing water."
Again the old man paused and glanced nervously about: "I, Sam Spotted Raven, believe only what I see with the eyes of my head. In my heart was no fear of the kultus tamahnawus. And my words are true. Even as we looked, the surface of the water was broken and the head of a woman appeared with the long hair floating out upon the water and she started to swim to the shore toward the base of the hill whereon we stood. With my eyes I saw it. For I looked after the others had fled. There is no mistake. The woman came up from the water at the spot where she went down the day before. She drew near the bank and I waited no longer. No woman of flesh and blood could remain under the water for a day and a night. She, herself, was a tamahnawus, and she was drawing nearer!
"When I arrived at the village I found that my people had waited not upon my orders, for the lodges were already struck. And so we came to Tilton Lake, and will return no more to the Red Tail Lake country until the white-man police has come and chased the tamahnawus far from there."