smoke bellew-第3部分

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With　the　third　pack　he　became　bold。　　He　fastened　the　straps　to　a　ninety…five…　pound　sack　of　beans　and　started。　　At　the　end　of　a　hundred　yards　he　felt　that　he　must　collapse。　　He　sat　down　and　mopped　his　face。

〃Short　hauls　and　short　rests；〃　he　muttered。　　〃That's　the　trick。〃

Sometimes　he　did　not　make　a　hundred　yards；　and　each　time　he　struggled　to　his　feet　for　another　short　haul　the　pack　became　undeniably　heavier。　　He　panted　for　breath；　and　the　sweat　streamed　from　him。　　Before　he　had　covered　a　quarter　of　a　mile　he　stripped　off　his　woollen　shirt　and　hung　it　on　a　tree。　　A　little　later　he　discarded　his　hat。　　At　the　end　of　half　a　mile　he　decided　he　was　finished。　　He　had　never　exerted　himself　so　in　his　life；　and　he　knew　that　he　was　finished。　　As　he　sat　and　panted；　his　gaze　fell　upon　the　big　revolver　and　the　heavy　cartridge…belt。

〃Ten　pounds　of　junk；〃　he　sneered；　as　he　unbuckled　it。

He　did　not　bother　to　hang　it　on　a　tree；　but　flung　it　into　the　underbush。　　And　as　the　steady　tide　of　packers　flowed　by　him；　up　trail　and　down；　he　noted　that　the　other　tender…feet　were　beginning　to　shed　their　shooting　irons。

His　short　hauls　decreased。　　At　times　a　hundred　feet　was　all　he　could　stagger；　and　then　the　ominous　pounding　of　his　heart　against　his　ear…　drums　and　the　sickening　totteriness　of　his　knees　compelled　him　to　rest。　　And　his　rests　grew　longer。　　But　his　mind　was　busy。　　It　was　a　twenty…eight　mile　portage；　which　represented　as　many　days；　and　this；　by　all　accounts；　was　the　easiest　part　of　it。　　〃Wait　till　you　get　to　Chilcoot；〃　others　told　him　as　they　rested　and　talked；　〃where　you　climb　with　hands　and　feet。〃

〃They　ain't　going　to　be　no　Chilcoot；〃　was　his　answer。　　〃Not　for　me。　Long　before　that　I'll　be　at　peace　in　my　little　couch　beneath　the　moss。〃

A　slip；　and　a　violent　wrenching　effort　at　recovery；　frightened　him。　He　felt　that　everything　inside　him　had　been　torn　asunder。

〃If　ever　I　fall　down　with　this　on　my　back　I'm　a　goner；〃　he　told　another　packer。

〃That's　nothing；〃　came　the　answer。　　〃Wait　till　you　hit　the　Canyon。　You'll　have　to　cross　a　raging　torrent　on　a　sixty…foot　pine　tree。　　No　guide　ropes；　nothing；　and　the　water　boiling　at　the　sag　of　the　log　to　your　knees。　　If　you　fall　with　a　pack　on　your　back；　there's　no　getting　out　of　the　straps。　　You　just　stay　there　and　drown。〃

〃Sounds　good　to　me；〃　he　retorted；　and　out　of　the　depths　of　his　exhaustion　he　almost　half　meant　it。

〃They　drown　three　or　four　a　day　there；〃　the　man　assured　him。　　〃I　helped　fish　a　German　out　there。　　He　had　four　thousand　in　greenbacks　on　him。〃

〃Cheerful；　I　must　say；〃　said　Kit；　battling　his　way　to　his　feet　and　tottering　on。

He　and　the　sack　of　beans　became　a　perambulating　tragedy。　　It　reminded　him　of　the　old　man　of　the　sea　who　sat　on　Sinbad's　neck。　And　this　was　one　of　those　intensely　masculine　vacations；　he　meditated。　　Compared　with　it；　the　servitude　to　O'Hara　was　sweet。　Again　and　again　he　was　nearly　seduced　by　the　thought　of　abandoning　the　sack　of　beans　in　the　brush　and　of　sneaking　around　the　camp　to　the　beach　and　catching　a　steamer　for　civilization。

But　he　didn't。　　Somewhere　in　him　was　the　strain　of　the　hard；　and　he　repeated　over　and　over　to　himself　that　what　other　men　could　do；　he　could。　　It　became　a　nightmare　chant；　and　he　gibbered　it　to　those　that　passed　him　on　the　trail。　　At　other　times；　resting；　he　watched　and　envied　the　stolid；　mule…footed　Indians　that　plodded　by　under　heavier　packs。　　They　never　seemed　to　rest；　but　went　on　and　on　with　a　steadiness　and　certitude　that　was　to　him　appalling。

He　sat　and　cursedhe　had　no　breath　for　it　when　under　wayand　fought　the　temptation　to　sneak　back　to　San　Francisco。　　Before　the　mile　pack　was　ended　he　ceased　cursing　and　took　to　crying。　　The　tears　were　tears　of　exhaustion　and　of　disgust　with　self。　　If　ever　a　man　was　a　wreck；　he　was。　　As　the　end　of　the　pack　came　in　sight；　he　strained　himself　in　desperation；　gained　the　camp…site；　and　pitched　forward　on　his　face；　the　beans　on　his　back。　　It　did　not　kill　him；　but　he　lay　for　fifteen　minutes　before　he　could　summon　sufficient　shreds　of　strength　to　release　himself　from　the　straps。　　Then　he　became　deathly　sick；　and　was　so　found　by　Robbie；　who　had　similar　troubles　of　his　own。　　It　was　this　sickness　of　Robbie　that　braced　him　up。

〃What　other　men　can　do；　we　can　do；〃　Kit　told　him；　though　down　in　his　heart　he　wondered　whether　or　not　he　was　bluffing。



IV。

〃And　I　am　twenty…seven　years　old　and　a　man；〃　he　privately　assured　himself　many　times　in　the　days　that　followed。　　There　was　need　for　it。　　At　the　end　of　a　week；　though　he　had　succeeded　in　moving　his　eight　hundred　pounds　forward　a　mile　a　day；　he　had　lost　fifteen　pounds　of　his　own　weight。　　His　face　was　lean　and　haggard。　　All　resilience　had　gone　out　of　his　body　and　mind。　　He　no　longer　walked；　but　plodded。　　And　on　the　back…trips；　travelling　light；　his　feet　dragged　almost　as　much　as　when　he　was　loaded。

He　had　become　a　work　animal。　　He　fell　asleep　over　his　food；　and　his　sleep　was　heavy　and　beastly；　save　when　he　was　aroused；　screaming　with　agony；　by　the　cramps　in　his　legs。　　Every　part　of　him　ached。　　He　tramped　on　raw　blisters；　yet　this　was　even　easier　than　the　fearful　bruising　his　feet　received　on　the　water…rounded　rocks　of　the　Dyea　Flats；　across　which　the　trail　led　for　two　miles。　　These　two　miles　represented　thirty…eight　miles　of　travelling。　　He　washed　his　face　once　a　day。　　His　nails；　torn　and　broken　and　afflicted　with　hangnails；　were　never　cleaned。　　His　shoulders　and　chest；　galled　by　the　pack…straps；　made　him　think；　and　for　the　first　time　with　understanding；　of　the　horses　he　had　seen　on　city　streets。

One　ordeal　that　nearly　destroyed　him　at　first　had　been　the　food。　The　extraordinary　amount　of　work　demanded　extraordinary　stoking；　and　his　stomach　was　unaccustomed　to　great　quantities　of　bacon　and　of　the　coarse；　highly　poisonous　brown　beans。　　As　a　result；　his　stomach　went　back　on　him；　and　for　several　days　the　pain　and　irritation　of　it　and　of　starvation　nearly　broke　him　down。　　And　then　came　the　day　of　joy　when　he　could　eat　like　a　ravenous　animal；　and；　wolf…eyed；　ask　for　more。

When　they　had　moved　the　outfit　across　the　foot…logs　at　the　mouth　of　the　Canyon；　they　made　a　change　in　their　plans。　　Word　had　come　across　the　Pass　that　at　Lake　Linderman　the　last　available　trees　for　building　boats　were　being　cut。　　The　two　cousins；　with　tools；　whipsaw；　blankets；　and　grub　on　their　backs；　went　on；　leaving　Kit　and　his　uncle　to　hustle　along　the　outfit。　　John　Bellew　now　shared　the　cooking　with　Kit；　and　both　packed　shoulder　to　shoulder。　　Time　was　flying；　and　on　the　peaks　the　first　snow　was　falling。　　To　be　caught　on　the　wrong　side　of　the　Pass　meant　a　delay　of　nearly　a　year。　　The　older　man　put　his　iron　back　under　a　hundred　pounds。　　Kit　was　shocked；　but　he　gritted　his　teeth　and　fastened　his　own　straps　to　a　hundred　pounds。　　It　hurt；　but　he　had　learned　the　knack；　and　his　body；　purged　of　all　softness　and　fat；　was　beginning　to　harden　up　with　lean　and　bitter　muscle。　　Also；　he　observed　and　devised。　　He　took　note　of　the　head…straps　worn　by　the　Indians；　and　manufactured　one　for　himself；　which　he　used　in　addition　to　the　shoulder…straps。　It　made　things　easier；　so　that　he　began　the　practice　of　piling　any　light；　cumbersome　piece　of　luggage　on　top。　　Thus；　he　was　soon　able　to　bend　along　with　a　hundred　pounds　in　the　straps；　fifteen　or　twenty　more　lying　loosely　on　top　the　pack　and　against　his　neck；　an　axe　or　a　pair　of　oars　in　one　hand；　and　in　the　other　the　nested　cooking…pails　of　the　camp。

But　work　as　they　would；　the　toil　increased。　　The　trail　grew　more　rugged；　their　packs　grew　heavier；　and　each　day　saw　the　snow…line　dropping　down　the　mountains；　while　freight　jumped　to　sixty　cents。　No　word　came　from　the　cousins　beyond；　so　they　knew　they　must　be　at

work　chopping　down　the　standing　trees；　and　whipsawing　them　into　boat…planks。　　John　Bellew　grew　anxious。　　Capturing　a　bunch　of　Indians　back…tripping　from　Lake　Linderman；　he　persuaded　them　to　put　their　straps　on　the　outfit。　　They　charged　thirty　cents　a　pound　to　carry　it　to　the　summit　of　Chilcoot；　and　it　nearly　broke　him。　　As　it　was；　some　four　hundred　pounds　of　clothes…bags　and　camp　outfit　was　not　handled。　　He　remained　behind　to　move　it　along；　dispatching　Kit　with　the　Indians。　　At　the　summit　Kit　was　to　remain；　slowly　moving　his　ton　until　overtaken　by　the　four　hundred　pounds　with　which　his　uncle　guaranteed　to　catch　him。



V。

Kit　plodded　along　the　trail　with　his　Indian　packers。　　In　recognition　of　the　fact　that　it　was　to　be　a　long　pack；　straight　to　the　top　of　Chilcoot；　his　own　load　was　only　eighty　pounds。　　The　Indians　plodded　under　their　loads；　but　it　was　a　quicker　gait　than　he　had　practised。　Yet　he　felt　no　apprehension；　and　by　now　had　come　to　deem　himself　almost　the　equal　of　an　Indian。

At　the　end　of　a　quarter　of　a　mile　he　desired　to　rest。　　But　the　Indians　kept　on。　　He　stayed　with　them；　and　kept　his　place　in　the　line。　　At　the　half　mile　he　was　convinced　that　he　was　incapable　of　another　step；　yet　he　gritted　his　teeth；　kept　his　place；　and　at　the　end　of　the　mile　was　amazed　that　he　was　still　alive。　　Then；　in　some　strange　way；　came　the　thing　called　second　wind；　and　the　next　mile　was　almost　easier　than　the　first。　　The　third　mile　nearly　killed　him；　and；　though　half　delirious　with　pain　and　fatigue；　he　never　whimpered。　　And　then；　when　he　felt　he　must　surely　faint；　came　the　rest。　　Instead　of　sitting　in　the　straps；　as　was　the　custom　of　the　white　packers；　the　Indians　slipped　out　of　the　shoulder…　and　head…　straps　and　lay　at　ease；　talking　and　smoking。　　A　full　half　hour　passed　before　they　made　another　start。　　To　Kit's　surprise　he　found　himself　a　fresh　man；　and　'long　hauls　and　long　rests'　became　his　newest　motto。

The　pitch　of　Chilcoot　was　all　he　had　heard　of　it；　and　many　were　the　occasions　when　he　climbed　with　hands　as　well　as　feet。　　But　when　he　reached　the　crest　of　the　divide　in　the　thick　of　a　driving　snow…　squall；　it　was　in　the　company　of　his　Indians；　and　his　secret　pride　was　that　he　had　come　through　with　them　and　never　squealed　and　never　lagged。　　To　be　almost　as　good　as　an　Indian　was　a　new　ambition　to　cherish。

When　he　had　paid　off　the　Indians　and　seen　them　depart；　a　stormy　darkness　was　falling；　and　he　was　left　alone；　a　thousand　feet　above　timber　line；　on　the　back…bone　of　a　mountain。　　Wet　to　the　waist；　famished　and　exhausted；　he