Bethune did not reply, and they went on in silence down the snowy street. Jimmy found it hard to believe that Osborne had had any share in the fraud, but a doubt was beginning to creep into his mind. For a few minutes he felt tempted to abandon the search for the gold; but he reflected that he was bound to his comrades and could not persuade them to let the matter drop. Besides, if by any chance Bethune’s suspicion proved correct, he might be of some service to Miss Osborne. No matter what discovery might be made, she should not suffer; Jimmy was resolved on that.
Leaving port the next day, they found a safe berth for the sloop; and when they had hauled her up on the beach they walked to a Siwash rancherie, where they engaged one of the Indians to take them back in a canoe. Reaching Vancouver by steamboat, they had some trouble in finding work, because the approach of winter had driven down general laborers and railroad construction gangs from the high, inland ranges to the sheltered coast. There was, however, no frost in the seaboard valleys, and at last Jimmy and his friends succeeded in hiring themselves to a contractor who was clearing land.
It was not an occupation they would have taken up from choice, but as their pockets were empty they could not be particular. The firs the choppers felled were great in girth, and as Moran was the only member of the party who could use the ax, the others were set to work sawing up the massive logs with a big crosscut. Dragging the double-handled saw backward and forward through the gummy wood all day was tiring work, while, to make things worse, it rained most of the time and the clearing was churned into a slough by the gangs of toiling men. When they left it to haul out a log that had fallen beyond its edge they were forced to plunge waist-deep into dripping brush and withered fern.
For all that, Bethune and Jimmy found the use of the crosscut easy by comparison with their next task, for they were presently sent with one or two others to build up the logs into piles for burning. The masses of timber were ponderous, and the men, floundering up to the knees in trampled mire, laboriously rolled them into place along lines of skids. Then they must be raised into a pyramid three or four tiers high, and getting on the last row was a herculean task carried out at the risk of being crushed to death by the logs overpowering them and running back.
Jimmy and Bethune stuck to it because they had no other recourse, toiling, wet through, in the slough all day and dragging themselves back, dripping, dejected, and worn out, to the sleeping shack at night. The building was rudely put together, and by no means watertight. Its earth floor was slimy, the stove scarcely kept it warm, while it was filled with a rank smell of cooking, stale tobacco, and saturated clothes. The bunks, ranged like a shelf along the walls, were damp and smeared with wet soil from the garments the men seldom took off; and Jimmy was now and then wakened by the drips from the leaky roof falling on his face. He felt that once he was able to lay them down he would never wish to see a cant-pole or a crosscut-saw again.
But the deliverance he longed for came in a way he did not anticipate.
CHAPTER XX—HOUNDED
Clammy mist hung about the edge of the clearing, veiling the somber spires of the pines, but leaving the rows of straight trunks uncovered below a straight-drawn line. It was a gloomy morning. Jimmy, standing with Bethune and several others beside a growing log-pile, stopped a moment to rest his aching muscles. He was wet through, and his arms and back were sore from the previous day’s exertions. Two strong skids, placed so as to form an inclined bridge, led to the top of the log-pile and the soil between them was trodden into a wet, slippery mess in which it was difficult to keep one’s footing. A length sawed off a massive trunk lay across the ends of the skids, and Jimmy and his companions were trying to roll it into its place on top of the previously laid tier.
Getting their poles beneath it they forced it upward, little by little. When they got half-way, a pole slipped, and for a few anxious moments the men strained every muscle to prevent the mass from rolling back, while their companion found a fresh rest for his pole. The log must be held: they could not jump clear in time. Breathing hard, with the sweat dripping from them, they raised it a foot or two, until it seemed possible to lift it on to the lower logs by a strenuous effort. They made the attempt; and one of the skids broke. Laying their shoulders beneath the mass, they struggled with it for their lives. If it overpowered them, they would be borne backward and crushed. With one support gone, it seemed impossible that they could lift it into place. For a few moments they held it, but did no more, though Jimmy felt the veins swell on his forehead and heard a strange buzzing in his ears. His mouth was dry, his heart beat painfully, and he knew he could not stand the cruel strain much longer. But there was no help available. They must conquer or be maimed.
“Lift! You have got to land her, boys!” cried somebody in a half-choked voice. And they made their last effort.