the beginning of the end—deeper into the mountains—the western slope—on the edge of the snow—the golden valley—it is all mine—night thoughts—last words—i see him no more.
two days passed away. they had been days of peace and rest. no further attempt had been made to molest us. awed by the terrible fate of so many of their bravest men and leaders, who had lost their lives on the raft over the cataract, the sircies had abandoned the valley and returned to their own country.
when the fact of their departure was fully ascertained by the scout, we moved out again to the meadow by the lake; but before we quitted the island red cloud had a long conversation with me regarding our future movements. seated by his father’s grave on the evening next but one after the events recorded in the last chapter had taken place, he began by telling me that the object of his life was now achieved, and that henceforth he was careless as to what might happen to him, or whither he would go. he would probably turn his face towards the south again, and join some scattered remnant of his tribe at the headwaters[316] of the platte, or in the country of the yellowstone.
i told him that it was all the same to me which way he turned his steps; i was ready to follow him.
but he replied that it must not be. already his companionship, he said, had cost me heavy. my faithful friend had lost his life, my own had often been in hazard. he had still many enemies. the sircies, the bloods, the blackfeet, and the peaginoos, would all bear to him in future an enmity, not the less active because it was based upon wrongs done to him by them in the first instance. for himself, it mattered little now what his enemies might do; his father’s spirit could rest in peace. but for me it was different. i had been a true brother to him; he could no longer lead me into danger. there was yet one place to which we would travel on the same road, and when that place was reached we would part.
such was the substance of what he said to me.
it is needless to say that i felt terribly cast down by this threatened ending of our companionship. it seemed impossible to think of life without red cloud. true, only a year had elapsed since he and i had met, but that year had been equal to five. from him i had learnt all i knew about the prairie and its wild things. would it be possible for me now to face its chances and its trials alone? and where else could i go? i had literally no home.
this wild life, while it taught the lessons of bravery, hardihood, endurance, activity, and energy, did not bring worldly wealth to those who followed it. i had come to the prairie poor. i would leave it even poorer still. as these thoughts crowded upon me, my face no doubt betrayed to the sioux their presence. he spoke in a cheerier tone,—
“our parting time,” he said, “has not yet come. wait until it is at hand, and the path you will have to follow will be clearer to you.”
next day, as i have said, we quitted the island, and made our camp again by the lake. on the following day we packed our horses, and moved off to the upper end of the valley. i had thought that there was no outlet in that direction, but in this i had been mistaken, for shortly after mid-day we came to where a steep face of cliff rose before us. the front of this slanting wall held a zigzag narrow path, just wide enough for a single horse or man to move along it. its beginning in the valley was hidden by a growth of firs and underbush, and was known only to red cloud. we ascended by this trail, and having gained the top of the cliff, hit upon a well-defined path, winding in and out between wooded hills. following this for some hours, we reached before sunset a wild glen high up in the mountains.
on the next day we followed up this glen until evening, and camped amid some dwarf fir-trees at a spot where a small spring trickled from the hill-side and flowed out[318] towards the west. all the other streams had flowed eastwards, but we were now on the “divide,” and this westward-flowing spring was one of the parent rills of some mighty pacific river.
the snow-line was not very far above our camping-place; we could see the mountain sheep upon a bare ridge of hills; and the “bleating” cry of the ptarmigan reached our ears when, next morning, the sunrise was glistening on the snowy summits around us.
we remained at this camp all that day. the scout and the iroquois set out for a long hunt after mountain sheep, and red cloud asked me to go with him in another direction. no one stayed to watch the camp, for we were now high above the usual haunts of men, where the great hill-tops dwelt in utter loneliness. we reached, after a toilsome walk, a deep secluded valley, opening upon the one that held our camp.
a ragged forest of pine-trees fringed its sides, through which we pushed our way for a considerable distance. at length, the sioux began to look around him, as though he was seeking for some landmark, or spot known to him in other times, and once or twice he looked to the right or left for some remembered mountain peak by which to mark his whereabouts.
the valley had now closed in, until it was only a narrow cleft between steep overhanging cliffs. it looked as though[319] some long ago convulsion of nature had split open this fissure, over which in time had grown a sparse old forest. large stone rocks and débris half-imbedded in the earth, cumbered the floor of this valley. with a few strokes of his small axe red cloud now cut down a dry pine stick, off which he knocked the side branches; then he sat down on one of the rocks, and said, “the valley which holds our camp leads down to the west side of the mountain. if you follow it down for three days you would come to a river flowing for a time towards the north, then bending west, and at last turning south, until it falls into the sea. far down on that river, on the sandbanks and bars of its course, there are many white men at work. they are washing the sand and the gravel for a yellow dust; that yellow dust is gold. they have killed the indians, who lived in that part of the country since the world began, but who thought more about the salmon in the river than of the yellow dust that lay amongst its sands. the water that carried that gold to these sand-bars, came from this mountain range where we now are, the gold came from it too.”
as he spoke he began to wedge the pine stick between a fragment of rock and the bank to which it partly adhered. the stone, loosened from its place, rolled down to a lower level. where it had been, there lay exposed to view a hollow space, in which a number of dull yellow lumps were[320] seen, mixed with white stones and withered pine-moss.
red cloud laid his stick upon this hollow in the darker rock.
“look,” he said, “there is the yellow dust for which the white man fights, and robs, and kills. there it is in plenty—not in dust, but in stones and lumps; take it. a white man without that yellow stone is like an indian who has no buffalo. take it, my friend. you have been a brother to me; you have fought for me, you have lost much for me: here is all i have to give you. around where we stand this gold lies thick among these rocks. five years ago an old shuswap indian, who had once been in the mining camps of the lower country, showed me this spot, which he had long kept secret, dreading lest the white man should find it out, and come here to kill the indians as he had done elsewhere. that old shuswap is dead, and i alone know of this place. see! all around you these white veins run through the rocks! look up overhead, you will see them glistening in the sun! see below, where the dry stream-bed is choked with the broken masses, and the golden lumps lie thickly about! in a few hours you can knock out from these crumbling pieces gold enough to load a horse with. it is all yours. to me it would be of no use. i would not track the moose better if i had it; my aim with my arrow or rifle would not be truer, my eye would not see clearer, my arm would not be stronger; but you are nothing if you have it not. all your[321] courage, your friendship, your energy, will count for little if you have not plenty of these yellow stones. there, fill this saddle-bag to-day; to-morrow we will come here again, and then on the next day we will move away. where the valley divides below our camp, our paths in life must separate.”
“look!” said red cloud, “there is the yellow dust for which the white man fights, and robs, and kills.”
i seemed to be in a dream as i listened to all this. i looked around, and saw plainly enough the truth of what he said. there, running in every direction through the rocks, were the white seams of quartz; and thick amid their snowy surface shone the rich yellow lumps of gold. a few yards away, where the splintered rocks lay piled together, small nuggets lay mixed with gravel and broken stones; and in the hollow beneath the stone which he had at first moved from its position, was the hoard, long since gathered and hidden there by the old indian who had discovered the place. and now all this was mine—mine to do what i liked with. i who but a day since was a poor wanderer, possessing only a horse, a gun, and a few items of prairie trappings, was now the owner of this golden glen, with enough to purchase all glencar twice over. and yet i was not elated at the sudden change in my fortunes. i saw that the end of my wild life had come. i saw the future, with its smoke of cities, its crowds chained to the great machine called civilization, pulling slowly along the well-beaten road. no more the great wilderness; no more those vast and gorgeous sunsets; no more my companionship with this strange lonely[322] man.
the sioux read my thoughts. “you think the wild life would be better than this gold i have given you. you look upon your life as closed. my friend, you are wrong. your life is still all before you. you are only setting out upon its prairies. many long years from now, when you are in sight of the mountains of the setting sun, you will know that i, red cloud the sioux, showed you the right trail, though he could not follow it himself. we cannot change our colours. the red man cannot give up the wilderness; he dies amid the city and the fenced field. you cannot make this wild life your own, even though you may wish to do so. you have other work to do; you must go back and do it.”
“and you?” i said, rousing myself from the dream into which i had fallen, “will you not come with me, and share the wealth you have given me? with the hundredth part of the gold lying around us here, we can traverse the earth from side to side. there are vast spaces in other lands as well as in this one. asia has wilds as lonely as america. there are sky-bounded plains in southern africa, where the wild animals roam in savage freedom. come with me, and we will seek these huge horizons, far away from the bustle of crowds and the smoke of cities.”
he shook his head. “my brother,” he said, “it would not do. the great prairies are dying; the buffalo are going.[323] the red man must pass away too. come, let us to work while there is yet time.”
he began to collect together several pieces of gold in the hollow where the old shuswap had made his store. when many pounds’ weight had been gathered, he filled two saddle-bags; but there was still remaining enough to fill two more leather wallets. the shuswap’s store held pieces of pure gold of every shape and size—some flattened pieces, others rugged knobs like walnuts, and rounded nuggets as large as eggs.
it was indeed a wonderful sight, all this treasure lying hidden away in this remote and desolate valley, thousands of feet above the sea level! “curious!” i thought. “man struggles and strives for this metal, lives for it, dies for it, forgets every other pursuit, gives up health for it; and here it lies a stone amid other stones. the winds blow heedlessly upon it; the sun looks down in summer; the snow covers it in winter, and the pine-tree rustles in the evening breeze unmindful of its presence.”
the sun was getting down behind the western ridges as we started on our way back to camp laden with our golden loads. when we reached the camp the two indians had returned, both bringing loads of mountain mutton, the result of their hunt. red cloud said nothing to them about our day’s work. the fewer persons who knew the secret of the golden valley, the better would it be, he thought, for mankind[324] in general, and for indians in particular. so we ate our supper of wild mutton that night, and lay down under the stars, wrapped in our robes; but all the golden wealth that lay beside me could not reconcile me to accept with contentment the prospect of abandoning this wild roving life for the smoother roads and softer beds of civilized existence.
for a long while i tried in vain to sleep; my mind was dwelling too strongly upon the events of the preceding day to allow my eyes to close in rest. our camp lay facing towards the east; right opposite, a great tooth-shaped mountain top lifted itself high into the starlit heavens. the stars, wondrously clear in the transparent atmosphere of our lofty position, rose from behind the triple peaks of this giant. i lay watching them as the night wore on; at last there came one lustrous star; right between the forked peaks it rose, throbbing in many-coloured rays of light, until it looked like a gigantic diamond glistening in the icy crown of the mountain king. then i fell asleep, and dreamt that i had scaled the summits of the rocky mountains, and was looking down upon the great prairies of eternity.
the following day was a repetition of the one that preceded it. again we sought the golden valley, and again we returned to camp with loads of the precious metal. the whole treasure when packed in wallets made a load just sufficient for one horse to carry. red cloud did the work[325] of packing the loads himself.
all was completed early on the morning of the second day, and quitting our high camp, we began to descend the valley in a western direction. we soon came in sight of the low country upon that side. it was different in every aspect to the prairie region of the east. there the green meadows had spread out into measureless distance, here ridge after ridge of pine-trees stretched away into the west. many a rugged range of mountain rose amid the wilderness of pines, and bold summits of naked rock, or snow patch glistened, above the sombre world of endless forest.
winding along a descending trail we often lost sight of this panorama, as some projecting ridge of our mountain closed the outward view.
by sunset we had reached a spot where the trail forked—one branch descending still westward towards the mining camp on the fraser river, the other bearing away in a northern direction.
here we camped. we had come down many hundreds of feet during the day. the forest growth was large and lofty, and the pine grouse and the partridges were again around us. far down in the plain a light haze of smoke hung above the tree tops.
on the next morning we were to separate. the iroquois and the scout would accompany me to the first mining camp, from whence they would recross the mountains to their own peoples. red cloud would take the northern trail to the athabasca valley. the preparations were soon ready, but we delayed the moment of parting to the last. at length red cloud rose, and began to unfasten his horse from the tree to which it had been tied. it was the signal of separation.
we shook hands in silence.
“see,” he said, “the smoke of your people’s fires far below; there is your road, and here is mine”—he pointed to the mountain trail. “i could not go with you, i would have to begin life again;—i am too old to change now. there is no one to come after me. the sioux are nearly all gone, the buffalo are fast going; but the wilderness will last long enough for me.”
“and is there nothing then that i can do for you?” i said. “you have done everything for me: let me do something in return.”
“well, my friend,” he replied, “sometimes think of me. when i am camped at night far out on the great prairie, i would like to say to myself, my white brother remembers me. that is all.”
then he turned off to the north, leading his horse by the bridle up the mountain path. i stood watching him as step by step the void of space grew wider between us. how lonely it all seemed, this solitary man turning off into the mountains to go back from the shore of civilization into the great prairie sea! as thus i watched his slowly[327] receding figure, memory was travelling back over the long trail of our companionship—back through all the varied scenes of strife, and chase, and travel, to that distant day when first on the shore of the wilderness our lives came together. “think of you!” i said, speaking half aloud my thoughts. “yes, that i will. whenever the wind stirs the tree-branch, or rustles the reeds and meadows—wherever the sun goes down over distance of sea or land—in the moonlight of nights, in the snow of long winters, you will be near me still.”
at a bend in the trail he turned to look back: it was but a moment, and then the mountain path was vacant, and i saw him no more.
