The Corvallis gazette. [volume] (Corvallis, Or.) 1862-1899, 1895-04-18

were the sources of the water supply, |
and in reaching my place of refuge l |
was chilled through and through. But |
I set my heart to it, and determined |
to get out of the fix with a whole
skin if Providence permitted. The |
thought of leaving all that gold was
sickening, but I knew if got off free !
and could reach Wrangel or some
other settled point, the return might
be possible.
1t took me little time to reach the
niche in the cliff, and once there,
lcrouching against the sides, standing
partly in and partly out of the water,
I waited for over six minutes before
III made another move. Finally l be
lcame stiff, cold and hungry. That
Hast state of distress decided me to
make an attempt to better my condi-
ltion. Indians or no Indians, to be
killed or to escape-in any event,
was going to get out of that. Better,
1 thought, to die with my boots on
THAN to perish miserably with cold and
hunger.
HIS COMRADES GONE.
So 1 slid into the water, and care
fully keeping beneath the surface, eX-
posing as little of my body as dared,
or must perforce to keep afioat,
: reached the bank in front of our camp.
Not a vestige of it remained. saw
only the smoking embers of the hut
we had built and in which we had
lived for forty days-"Ole," Ulrich
and l. Where We're the other two
now? Dead or carried off captives?
Nothing about the place could tell me.
1 felt miserable, forsaken, sick of life
[ was alone in a wild country. 10
turn and plunge to the bottom of the
water and return no more to the sur
face was something like a half-con-
ceived idea.
The appearance of things indicated
that the Indians had been gone some
. time 1 shouted the names of "Ole"
I land "Ulrich." Only echoes came back
from the hills and canyons. l wan
; dered about for days, searching every
Z where for them. No trace of their
t lpresence was visible anywhere-God
knows how many miles-I struck our
{ camp once more There was the bank,
t the heap of charred wood that had
been our dwelling-place and that
t cursed Golden Bar"
l 1t was evening. The sky was aglow
:, with a rosy aurora. To my imagina-
ton it spangled clots of blood upon
1 that mocking stretch of sand and peb-
2 bles, where the gold lay in nuggets
and flakes and dust. l lifted up my
hands and cursed the place, for l was
sure now that ''Ole" and Ulrich were
ldead-slain by those damnable red
l skins.
: : A TERRIBLE WINTERS TRAMP.
Y I was hungry, ragged, wretched. I
: had eaten little, subsisting in my wan
: deringS ON nuts and roots. My
t search of the ground was thorough,
but no sign could 1 find of the lost
ones. 1 spent another dreary day
there and then 1 turned from it, set
n ting my face towards the southeast
h in the direction, thought, that must
4 be towards Wrangel. But 1 overrated
:, my knowledge of woodcraft. There
r was no sun to point me right. The
t long winter nights had commenced
e lit became colder and colder. The
e thermometer ranged far below zero
i ISnow came in masses and binding
5, lbliZzards.
I wandered on and on, always with
|. the instinct of self-preservation strong
v within me. l never thought of Civ
Y ling up. Hunger, cold, snow. ice, fever
: ldelirium, nothing mattered; but life
g lsweet life.
/ I.aralyzed bleeding from wounds
e on the body, head and face, frozen. the
: sight of one eye nearly gone, attenu
l. lated to the mere shadow of man
h still, "Uife! Life! Lifev' 1 cried in
: to live foreverr'
S 1 went on this way for weeks
). Through that terrible winter of 1881
e 1 wandered in that awful wilderness
t 1t was on March 27. 1885, that final
b lily 1 found one of my own kind, with
lin twenty-five miles of Bonner's ferry
d I"Jim" Edwards was the man, God
!. bless him!
When l plunged from the "bar"
had my belt full of gold. All the time
o this had remained strapped around
/ Imy waist. I never thought of remov'
+ ling it. And so it came with me tC
a Jim" Edwards lonely cabin, between
t lake Teslin and lake Kootnai. 1t was
e May before I stirred from the thresh.
s old of his door. When left I gave
e him all the gold but $4,000 worth
f There must have been at least $4,000
: worth left with him. That was about
/ twhat we estimated it.
t 81 said nothing to him about the
- ''Iake of the Golden Bar" I loathed
the place. Not thrice it's wealth would
. have tempted me back to it. And l
e determined that no other lives should
l., be sacrificed for it's glittering treasure
: bar. l made my way to Spokane.
from there to Chicago. and after a
stay of three days there, to New
York. 1 remained here a short time
! only. Then 1 shipped on a cattle
l steamer for London.
5 ULRICH TOLD THE SECRET.
t 1 have kept myself posted about the
| discoveries in Alaska, and since 1 re-
f turned to this country, some months
: ago, the desire to once more try my
luck has been strong. But l have
' crushed this longing down. And now
{ it appears that this DIR. Mulcahy at
: tended Ulrich, who escaped to Wran-
: gel, and he got the secret of the lake
, from my ill-fated friend.
, Well, if it is so, and there is strong
) evidence of it's truth, should like to
: go for it myself. 1t is mine by right
: of first discovery, and l know that
could lead party on the shortest