whatever help he could. Taking a lantern and a shovel, he made his way up the trail in the bitter cold and wind. Along the way, he heard tales of everything from the Scales camp being destroyed to there being little or no damage. Ignoring these conflicting stories, he pressed on up the trail and finally met up with a group of men with shovels.
“We’re digging out at least a dozen people,” one man told Adrik. “There may be more, but we saw a couple of parties headed through this direction. One man said there were at least twelve.”
Adrik shook his head and took up a shovel. “We might as well get to work,” he said, eyeing the ominous mound of snow and debris.
Twenty people were eventually rescued. The workers laughed and slapped each other on the back while the injured were treated to warm beds and strong coffee. The mountain had failed to claim their lives and so the folks were generally celebratory, having defeated the slide.
Adrik, however, was more apprehensive. He studied the dark shadows of Long Hill and stared upward toward the summit. Snow swirled around him, gentle and harmless. It was hard to imagine that such a thing could be so deadly.
The next morning there was talk of how they’d escaped the perils of the mountain. How things would be easier now that the threat of avalanche had passed. Adrik reminded more than one person that the Tlingits were still not convinced of a safe passage, and since they’d been the ones to warn of the situation in the first place, perhaps they should be heeded now. But folks generally ignored his suggestion.
Then around nine-thirty the slides began again. Word came down from the Scales that they were shutting the operation down and evacuating the camp. Adrik breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps now they would avoid real disaster.
Around ten o’clock a low rumbling came from Long Hill, signaling yet another slide. Adrik shook his head as word came back that three people had been buried in their tents. He thought of the young Englishman and wondered if he’d convinced his party to bed down in Sheep Camp for the night.
With the evacuation of the Scales came the tram workers. The tram had been set up to assist those gold rushers who had extra money to spend. The tram owners were making a bundle, much to the disappointment of the natives who had found packing for the stampeders to be small compensation for the white man stealing their trail. They didn’t mind Adrik working the line, for he often gave generously to their people, but they resented the intrusion of men from the outside. So, with this thought well etched in their minds, the Tlingits had little comment when the tram workers were caught in yet a second avalanche and killed. After all, they had warned them.
Now people were staring warily up the mountain, watching and wondering. Because the wind had picked up as well as the snow, visibility was near zero. Adrik sensed the impending disaster, but knew he was helpless to stop it. Through a combination of God’s grace and wisdom along with his knowledge of the land, he was standing safe and protected, while others would meet their death.
And then it happened. The roar echoed and vibrated against the mountainsides. The very earth seemed to move as a wall of snow poured down from the mountains above. Would-be rescuers could only wonder and wait, having no idea how bad the situation might be. Had there been others on the trail? Had they met their match in this devastating play of nature?
Adrik felt certain there would be trouble. He loaded up what he could carry and grabbed his shovel. There was work to do.
Rumors ran rampant. Announcements of two hundred or more dead filtered down the trail. Gunshots were fired off to signal the need for help. The stampeders were more than generous with their offering. They came in droves, responding in a way indicative of the frozen north. You helped your brother in his need, because next time it could just as easily be