AFTER THE CRISIS
Mankind in Dawson having muddled its affairs, the gods took a hand in the game.
John Berwick, as he turned his face homewards early on the following day, happened to take the route that would carry him by the Barracks, notwithstanding that it would add a mile to the journey. As he climbed the hog's-back to Lookout Point he saw the tall military figure of Smoothbore in front of him. The Commandant, seeing him coming, awaited him.
"Good-morning. The air is very good."
"It is, indeed."
After this there was a pause. Evidently Smoothbore desired to make no reference to the interview of the preceding day. Possibly he judged the cause of the reformers to be already lost. If so Berwick would give him every opportunity of keeping the conversation from politics: so he continued,
"How pure the Klondike is and clear, and how beautiful are the shades across the Yukon!"
"'And only man is vile,'" quoted the Commandant.
Berwick realized that the Head of the Police was poking fun at him; and not knowing Smoothbore very well, concluded that he must know of the new stampede; in fact, he seemed to be watching the dark specks of moving men streaming over the summit of the Dome.
"Do you often walk abroad so early?" John asked.
"Yes, it is becoming a habit. One requires but little sleep in this climate; I shall soon return, and go to work."
"Are your labours heavy?"
"Oh, heavy enough; there are many details."
"You have a splendid force, sir."
"I have, and they are loyal to me and their country."
"Loyalty is among the chief of human virtues. But is loyalty in all cases a virtue?"
"I consider it so."
"Your men must find many duties distasteful to them."
"Duty is often distasteful, but it is never to be mistaken. With me it is very well defined. Are you also taking a morning constitutional?"
"I am going up to the Dome." It would not do for John to let the other know the whereabouts of his abode or to divulge the fact that it was his custom to sleep at night. It was a custom with many in that city of perpetual light to sleep in the normal daytime and work at night.
"I'm going the same way. We'll walk together. I wish to spy out the land a bit. We may decide to build a trail to Moosehide."
The two continued on the winding trail, which was now lined with human habitations, set down without any idea of system. Some were cabins, others tents, others still a combination of the two—such, indeed, as was John's "home-ranch." Before many of them camp-fires were crackling and burning, and meals were being prepared. The two who were or had been the leaders of the opposing parties passed without attention being paid to them.
"Ah! there's the danger signal, the result of the first frost, and a sign that summer will soon pass away." John pointed to a willow whose leaves had turned crimson and scarlet.
"Yes, we shall have winter soon; this weather won't last. But you are in error in supposing that the bright tints in our foliage are due to frost; the mistake is very common. The redness is mere ripeness."
They found many topics in common, and mutual interest made the stiff effort less trying as they climbed and climbed.
As they approached a point on the trail, half way to the summit, a man was seen coming down, dragging a log by a rope. They stepped aside from the path, which here was on the side hill. Berwick, who was outside, happened to place his foot on a loose lump of moss lying on a stone. It moved; his foot slipped; he lost his balance. He struggled on the shelving ground, grabbed at some grass, was tangled in some brush, tore his hands, went down with a crash, being stopped by a sharpened stump of a severed tree-trunk. The point grazed his arm and pierced the body under the shoulder-blade. At once the Commandant and the woodman went to his help, but the jar of attempting to raise him brought a cry of pain. It was necessary to cut the tree-stump before he could be assisted to his feet.
They had to carry him down the hill, his mind in a half-swoon punctuated with throbs and stabs of pain, until he awoke to consciousness in the St. George's Hospital.
It seemed more as the remembrance of a dream than of actual occurrence. He was in England. Even the voice of Alice ...
A pungent odour was about him. He heard a buzzing rising rapidly in key, higher—higher—yet higher; higher—higher still; then there was a "click." As John Berwick's senses were stolen away by the blessed influence of an anæsthetic his lips framed the word "Alice." She heard the name, and was glad.
The first words John uttered as the drug left him were incoherent; but gradually they took form.
"Who's afraid to die? I'm not afraid to die. What's the good of a man's religion if he's afraid to die?"
"I know you're not afraid to die," said Alice.
The only reply she got was, "Oh, my head! my head!"
"What's the matter with your head?"
"Oh, my head! it's bursting."
"Water! water!" continued to be his cry; but Alice would feed him with only a drop or two at a time. Gradually his ravings grew less pronounced, less frequent.
"Who are you?" he asked, after gazing for some time with dazed eyes at Alice. "You look very like Alice Peel. Alice is in England, and I am—where am I?"
"I'm glad I look like Alice Peel," she said in reply.
"She's the only girl—in all the world," he murmured, before his mind again wandered, and he muttered straggling fragments of verses.
"Alice, Alice!" he cried suddenly.
"Yes," said Alice, soothing his head with her cool hand.
He recognized her. "Alice!" he cried again.
She bent over and kissed him. "Go to sleep," she said.
John did as he was commanded. When he woke two hours later he called for water, and Alice gave him some from a cup.
"Alice, I've been wounded; yes, I remember that—but how did you get here?"
"I will tell you to-morrow when you are stronger. You must not excite yourself now."
But at six o'clock that evening Surgeon-Major Peel, taking his temperature and finding it normal, gave the necessary permission. So Alice told their story.